34. The Youth Tour ... THE FARM EAST OF PINE VILLAGE

For a week between his junior and senior years in high school, Robert participated in the Rural Electric Membership Corporation Youth Tour of Washington, D.C. Delegates were chosen through the state 4-H organization in a fairly selective process. The bus left Indianapolis in the wee hours of Monday morning so as to arrive in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, for a visit to the battlefield at dawn. Robert noted the low ridges that the soldiers formed for their protection. Fog crept across the ground of Pickett’s Charge. The vapor swirled as if churned by wounded soldiers walking back to the woods. The hills and patches of meadow could have been idyllic, but the landscape seemed weighed down by the carnage that occurred there. The guide took the group past monuments, markers, and statues, including the new Indiana monument. Ultimately, the students ascended Little Round Top and looked down upon Pennsylvania’s Elysian Fields.

Later that day, the enormity of the Capitol impressed Robert—especially when he stared at the ceiling of the rotunda. A young guide exclaimed, “You’re all from Indiana? Far out!” A tour of the Supreme Court Building included the courtroom with its red plush curtains hanging between pillars. Robert found the atmosphere dark and forbidding. As each chair was different, the chairs became the judges—in Robert’s imagination.

After the group relaxed at the Marriott Twin Bridges Motor Hotel, the delegates from all the states took part in a boat cruise past Ladybird’s Fountain, jutting high above the Potomac and lit by colored lights.

Tuesday morning found the Indiana group at the National Rural Electric Cooperative Association (NRECA) Building. Arthur Mitchell, NRECA director of youth activities, kept the delegates laughing with his “Johnny Carson” style of humor. At the Rayburn House Office Building, delegates from Robert’s area of Indiana met Congressman John T. Myers, who represented the Hoosier State’s Seventh Congressional District, and Congressman William G. Bray, who represented the Sixth Congressional District. Robert sat next to Congressman Myers at lunch. A waiter gestured toward Congressman Myers and said, “This is the nicest man in the House.”  

Then the bus took the students to the Smithsonian Institution. Robert was mesmerized by the Hope Diamond, although he considered rumors about its curse both unfounded and silly. Robert appreciated seeing a mockup of the Apollo Lunar Module.

Robert found the Iwo Jima Memorial imposing. The struggling forms of the statues called to his artistic spirit.

The Lincoln Memorial and the Thomas Jefferson Memorial were visited in turn. Robert found the quiet of the Jefferson Memorial a peaceful change from the chatter of tourists elsewhere. He looked out upon the great rippling bay with its reflection of the Washington Monument.

On Wednesday, the delegates from all the states filled a ballroom at the Marriott where they listened to a speech by Senator George McGovern, who was running for President of the United States. Then buses took the students to the South Lawn of the White House, where Secretary of Agriculture Clifford M. Hardin, from Knightstown, Indiana, greeted them. Secretary Hardin had hardly begun his prepared speech, when he was interrupted by President Richard M. Nixon, who put in an unscheduled visit. Secretary Hardin glanced over his shoulder, saw the President, and said, “Well, here is a man I think you all know. May I introduce President Richard Nixon.”

“I saw these young people gathered here, and I thought I should come say ‘hello,’” President Nixon said. Robert happened to be standing only ten feet from the podium, so he had a close view of the Thirty-Seventh President. Robert heard hardly a word of President Nixon’s extemporaneous speech, but he knew it focused on the importance of the 1970 Farm Bill.

Thursday began with a tour of the Washington Monument. Robert took the stairs from the top of the obelisk back to the ground. Next, the bus transported delegates to George Washington’s Mount Vernon. Robert stood silently before the graves of George and Martha Washington as he tried to imagine the Colonial Era.

Robert doubted that the people who lived in the past could ever have felt that anything was new and fresh. They wore historical clothing, they lacked present-day conveniences, and they depended on primitive means of travel, such as sails and horses. They might have felt glum. They might have sighed, wistfully wishing they, too, could live in the 1970s. Robert tried again to picture that, in George and Martha’s day, the present moment was just as present to them as the present moment was to him. Their lives unfolded as a succession of surprises, for their history was not yet written. All at once, Robert felt that George and Martha could walk around the corner of their home and say hello to him.

Robert was surprised to learn that George and Martha Washington’s house was sided with yellow pine that was rusticated to give the illusion of sandstone blocks with beveled edges and that it was painted with sand paint.

Later, the guide at Ford’s Theatre said that planning was already underway for a salute to entertainment that would star Bob Hope and Raymond Burr in the autumn. Despite the bright lights, Robert felt a gloom lingering about the stage and the box where tragedy had occurred on Good Friday of 1865. The black cloud of melancholy hung thickly over the Petersen Boarding House across the street where Lincoln had been carried.

Later, at Arlington National Cemetery, Robert stood at the grave of John F. Kennedy during the changing of the guard. He could hardly believe the number of graves of those who had lost their lives in Vietnam.

On Friday, Robert and the other delegates from Indiana toured the Vietnam Embassy before going to the Washington Zoo, where Robert found the gorillas and the elephants fascinating.

When Robert returned to Indiana, he felt a growing affinity for the study of American history—a fact that might help to explain why he would eventually earn a PhD in early American literature.

20. The Sophomore Year ... THE FARM EAST OF PINE VILLAGE

The year 1969 marked the fiftieth anniversary of the Warren County 4-H Club Free Fair, as the event was named in the catalog of contests. After the thrills of the week began fading away as memories, Robert anticipated his sophomore year at Pine Village High School. On the opening day, Robert met the new English teacher. As she wrote her name on the chalkboard with big letters and bold strokes, she said, loudly enough for all to hear, “My name is Miss Matthews—with two t’s!” She clacked the chalk beneath the two t’s in her name. With a freshly minted degree, Miss Matthews was teaching for the first time. She brooked no nonsense.

And Robert learned so much about literature and writing from Miss Matthews that he would eventually earn three college degrees in those subjects!

Before her, Mr. Cavanaugh, Mrs. French, and Mrs. Wilson had done their part to bring Robert forward in his understanding of English. Miss Matthews continued his education and brought him to the level of sophistication that would stand him in good stead for a long career.

On that very first day, Robert sensed that Miss Matthews was the proverbial force to be reckoned with, and, thereafter, he dotted every i and crossed every t, including both t’s in Matthews.

While Robert’s class slogged through Julius Caesar, Robert suddenly looked up past Miss Matthews, his eyes fogged over, and he pictured Shakespeare’s play as a farce. The tedium of inching forward through Elizabethan English melted away as Robert visualized comical scene after comical scene.

He enlisted Dennis’ help, and, before long, a script, of sorts, had emerged. Mr. Boots readily consented to their request to use the Wollensak reel-to-reel tape recorder. It remained to free not only themselves but also various classmates from the study hall, so that recording could take place in the band room.

As if the cosmos had been listening, Mr. Boots, the band director, volunteered to give Dennis and Robert signed hall passes, allowing them (and others) to spend study hours in the band department filing music. Given such an unlimited supply of passes, Robert, Dennis, and their cast of aspiring actors and actresses enjoyed ample time to record Julius Caesar, the comedy.

One day, Robert and Dennis came to Miss Matthews’ class with the large Wollensak in hand.

“Why do you have a tape recorder?” Miss Matthews asked, wondering if she should say “no” automatically or listen to whatever answer might be forthcoming.

“We have a recording that pertains to our study of Julius Caesar,” Robert replied.

The tug-of-war in Miss Matthews’ mind was visible on her face. Deciding to risk her classroom control, she said, “Alright. You can play it, but I decide when to shut off the machine.”

The class leaned forward eagerly as the stereo tape began to play. Again and again, laughter erupted. Miss Matthews kept saying, “Shhh!” but finally gave up. She sat at her desk, and—guess what?—she smiled! To her lasting credit, she smiled and smiled. Then she laughed! As funny voice after funny voice lent itself to a fractured version of Shakespeare’s tragedy, Miss Matthews laughed hysterically.

It was a triumph!

After such a success, Robert chose to set an even more preposterous goal.

Mr. John Taylor, coach and biology teacher, had a flat-top, a piercing stare, and a commanding presence, Mr. Taylor had a zero-tolerance policy regarding noise from elementary students. When grade school boys made too much of a racket in the restroom, Mr. Taylor banged open the door and stood like a gladiator ready for battle with a paddle in his hand. Had any student a pin to drop, you knew it would have been heard.

In grade school, Robert had feared Mr. Taylor, but having taken Mr. Taylor’s freshman biology class had convinced Robert that Mr. Taylor actually had a kind heart. As a sophomore, Robert and a senior named Ted put their heads together. Mr. Taylor was now the principal. Temporarily encumbered by a cast on his leg, he spent much of his day in a wheelchair. Ted was excellent at drawing souped-up sports cars, and Robert could sketch people’s portraits. So the two of them created an oil painting of Mr. Taylor in a smoking, fire-breathing hot rod of a wheelchair leaving a trail of dust taller than the gym as he zoomed around the school!

When Ted and Robert presented the painting to Mr. Taylor, Robert was fairly certain that Mr. Taylor would sentence them to hard labor; much to Robert’s surprise, Mr. Taylor held the painting as if he had just won the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes! He was smiling! “You guys painted this? This shows real talent!” When he looked up at the artists, he had the merest hint of a tear in his eye! Mission accomplished! It was true that the lion had a heart of gold!

Ted could play anything by ear on a keyboard, and he also performed on bass guitar. He played in a band named Bayou Inhabitance. Robert’s class booked the band for an evening’s entertainment on January 23rd, 1970, at a cost to the class treasury of fifty dollars. Ted and Robert created a poster with caricatures of the band members.

Local musicians fulfilled many significant functions in Pine Village, as they had for generations. Samuel C. Fenton, born in 1877, may have been high strung, but he was a talented musician. On hot summer evenings, residents sat on their porches and listened to his melodious playing. He performed with several bands in northwestern Indiana. Ultimately, Samuel played cornet in the well-known band led by Arthur Willard Pryor, who had served as assistant conductor of John Philip Sousa’s band and who was a famous trombonist. Pryor composed “The Whistler and His Dog,” a popular concert piece. Eventually, Samuel split his lip and decided to forgo the cornet. He returned to Pine Village, where he gave piano lessons.

Samuel’s first cousin, Charles Albert “Charley” or “Cobbie” Cobb, born in 1883, played several instruments. Charley organized his own band, known as “Cobbie’s Band.” Lena (Fenton) Rhode, born in 1884, a first cousin of Samuel and Charley, studied piano at the Chicago Conservatory. She served as pianist for the Methodist Church in Pine Village. In her seventies, Lena continued to play hymns, but the minister occasionally had to awaken her.

Samuel, the trumpeter with the split lip, was married to Bessie Ogborn (1881–1967), daughter of Levi Ogborn. Samuel and Bessie had one daughter, Dorothy Fenton, who became an accomplished pianist. For graduation exercises way back in 1919, Dorothy joined Adele LaPlante in performing the “Poet and Peasant Overture” piano duet.

Charles and Robert revived the “Poet and Peasant Overture” and played it publicly several times. The brothers wore matching polyester sports coats in a lizard green and pumpkin orange plaid.

Charles was considering universities. The family had made a trip to Bloomington that Robert later recalled as hilly, wooded, and filled with limestone buildings, unlike the red brick structures on the Purdue campus. Charles selected Indiana University.

  

4. The Fair ... THE FARM EAST OF PINE VILLAGE

With her placid nature and good outlook, Vicky, the polled Hereford heifer, was easy to train for the 4-H show ring. Robert had merely to touch a hind hoof with the long pole made for the purpose, and she adjusted her leg to present her form in the best position. Diane, the name Charles had finally chosen for his heifer, was another story. She fought the halter, she held her head down as if she would prefer to butt anyone who came near her, and she kept spinning sideways while planning her getaway. Poor Charles! Diane stepped on his boots again and again.

When the Warren County 4-H Fair in Williamsport rolled around, Diane was no calmer. Joe had to take her in tow to lead her to her stall in the north end of the coliseum building. Once she found that she was tied next to Vicky, Diane felt a little better, but she continually watched over her shoulder and mistrusted the movements of the fairgoers who strolled behind the cattle. On the day when Charles led her into the ring for judging, she bucked and reared. The farmers who volunteered to help with the beef competition had to take charge of Diane—but not before she had stepped on Charles’ toes! She earned a red ribbon for her pains.

Vicky, though, peacefully joined in the fun of the contest. Each time that Robert brought her to a stop in the ring, she needed no prodding from him to place her hooves in exactly the right places. Robert could take the precious seconds when he might have been working with her feet to brush up the curried horizontal rows of fur along her thigh and across the back part of her barrel, making her appear just that much more rectangular. When the judge handed Robert not only a blue ribbon but also a reserve champion purple ribbon, he was proud as punch and happy for Vicky!

At the fair, each township took a turn running the cafeteria. Adams Township had Wednesday evening, one of the busiest suppers of the week. Joe and Don finished watering their pigs just in time to wash up and ready themselves for many hours of shucking sweet corn outside the back door of the cafeteria building. Ida joined Mary in doing dishes and keeping the food line supplied. Ida assigned Charles the task of assisting the men, usually by carrying trays of buns to the grillers or by bringing pans of cooked sweet corn to the line. Ida considered Robert old enough (and responsible enough) to help out; he was assigned a gray rubber tub to collect dishes, and, like Tom Sawyer’s friends, he found collecting dishes a wonderful activity! Long before, he had learned a lesson about which he would remind himself for the rest of his life. Work can be fun, but fun can never be work. Most of the farmers shared a great sense of humor. Some contributed to the general amusement by performing as comics, although not on a stage and not for a salary.

Among the happy farmers was Fred Sundqvist, Sr. Smiles emanated from his face like rays of sunlight while his eyes sparkled behind his glasses. In the 4-H cafeteria building, he was ubiquitous, bringing sunshine wherever he went. Here he was wearing his broad white apron and flipping hamburgers on the big grill. Yet here he was razzing Don and Joe about their shucking of the corn. But here he was bringing laughter to a long table full of friends, some of whom he had just met for the first time. Now here he was by the door, discussing swine culture with a foremost hog breeder. He was everywhere!

And Fred even stood before little Robert. “Need a hand with those dishes?” he asked, gesturing with a thumb toward the pile of plates in Robert’s gray tub.

“No, I think I can carry them,” Robert replied.

“They’re not too heavy?”

“No, sir.”

“Are they getting heavier while I stand here asking you questions?”

Robert didn’t know what to say. Fred laughed, and Robert laughed, too.

While Robert was unloading his tub, he saw Fred cutting pies. “How did he get over there that fast?” Robert silently wondered.

Earlier in the day, Fred had been similarly everywhere at once. During the hog judging, he could have been seen leaning on a panel beside the ring with one brown work shoe up on the bottom board. Then he had been back by the pens, persuading pigs to move peacefully down the aisle to be exhibited. Soon, he had been joking with Charlie Coffman about hamming it up at the keyboard of the organ that Charlie played on the platform of the coliseum.

There was no harder worker than Fred Sundqvist, who understood that work can be fun.

… but fun can never be work. Those who had to work at having fun or being funny seldom had fun and were definitely not funny. Confronting the exigencies of daily living began with a sense of humor originating in the heart. Well acquainted with the caprice of the weather—which could make or break farm profits—farmers had to love long hours and hard work that most often took place outdoors in all kinds of weather, and they were most successful when they learned to accept loss with wit, if not a smile.

While Robert picked up dishes in the 4-H cafeteria, he encountered men and women who had spent seven, eight, or nine decades on farms. No matter how self-reliant, they respected the importance of the collaboration that placed rural communities on firm foundations. They were genuinely grateful when Robert cleared a place for them at one of the tables that were arranged in long parallel lines down the length of the building. With keen glances from faces that revealed their years in sun and wind, they politely thanked him with a “much obliged, young man.” Robert felt that, in the simple act of lifting plates into a tub, he had helped make the evening more pleasant for others who had spent decades helping shape and form the good world that he was enjoying.

On Thursday evening, Ida and Charles made a quick trip from the fairgrounds to Pine Village to feed Spot and the ducks while Joe and Robert took care of the family’s livestock exhibited at the fair. Joe and Robert finished early, so Robert’s father suggested that they take a look at the new farm machinery on display.

They walked up and down rows of shiny tractors and various implements exuding the indefinable fragrance of new equipment. As dealers in farm machinery were enjoying a huge increase in sales over the year before, they brought plenty of exhibits to the fair. The newest tractors were more rugged in appearance with heavier gearing.

Joe glanced over to the Ferris wheel. “Want to go for a ride?” he asked Robert, who had to ponder the offer.

Robert was deathly afraid of heights. Once, on a trip to visit Andy and Emmajeanette, the family had scaled the limestone Observation Tower—seventy feet tall—at Washington Park in Michigan City, and Robert had just about passed out from fear when he reached the top. At the farm in Pine Village, a sugar maple in the hog lot had a tempting lateral branch about six feet off the ground, and, time and time again, Robert climbed the trunk so as to sit on the limb but lost all resolve to climb back down. Patiently, he waited for his father to appear in the chicken lot or the barnyard, and, when Robert saw him, he yelled for Joe to come rescue him. Joe had to bring a stepladder to retrieve his son; somehow, Joe never lost his temper at the repeated instances when Robert became stuck on the limb.

Reluctantly and meekly, Robert said, “Yes.” Joe paid the attendant the price of the tickets, and Joe and Robert strapped themselves into one of the Ferris wheel’s seats. Up and up they went. When they were exactly at the top, the wheel stopped.

After several seconds, the attendant shouted up that the ride was not getting electricity and that he would run up to the main electrical box to see if he could determine the cause.

Robert was ready to panic, but his father spoke reassuringly, “There’s nothing wrong where we are. We’re safe. He’ll get the motor going again, and we’ll be on our way.”

Hushed breezes passed by while the seat rocked lightly. Robert and Joe looked down on tractors that they had looked up to only a few minutes earlier. They could see the roof of the coliseum. The conversations of fairgoers seemed strangely nearby for as small as the people appeared from high atop the wheel. Robert and Joe gazed up at fluffy white clouds that were almost immobile, only now and then taking a step forward, and Robert and Joe gazed down on the life of the fairgrounds.

Robert marveled that his father was calm, but Joe understood and trusted the machinery. Taking a deep breath, Robert relaxed and waited for the wheel to roll on.

Shortly, the attendant returned. He shouted, “It was a breaker in one of those new circuit breaker boxes!” The motor hummed back to life. The wheel creaked and began to orbit again.

Before long, Robert and his father were back on terra firma, their Ferris wheel ride enshrined in their memories.

  

                

38. The Champion ... THE FARM IN PINE VILLAGE

The first day of the 4-H fair week dawned, and Joe had already been busy, loading the new wooden box that held the brushes, halter, and products necessary to keep Buttercup looking beautiful. As soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, Ida and Robert were walking the rows and scrutinizing the vegetables to decide which ones to pick for the gardening display. With sunbeams lighting its yellow feathers, a meadowlark perched on a fence post and sang, “How are you today? How are you today?” in answer to the crowing of a rooster in the chicken yard. Then the meadowlark flapped its wings and flapped them again as it dipped and rose, dipped and rose, above the pasture.

Yawning, Charles came to help Joe as he led Buttercup up the chute into the pickup for the ride to Williamsport. She seemed eager to go. Having seen Francis the Talking Mule at the movie theater in Oxford and Mr. Ed on television, Joe and Charles had little difficulty imagining that Buttercup was saying, “Let’s get this show on the road! My fans await me!”

With Robert as her passenger, Ida drove the Chevrolet behind Joe’s GMC, where Charles was seated next to his father. When Joe passed the Mitchell farm, he kicked up dust on the berm as the pickup’s right tires ran just beyond the edge of the pavement. Joe was too busy looking for the Mitchells’ cow to watch the road. Russell, Roger, and Richard were loading a stylish Holstein heifer in their truck. Joe waved. Russell winked and waved back. Joe ran the tires back onto the asphalt.

When the truck and car passed Mrs. Arvin’s house on the left, Robert spotted his former teacher in her garden, and he yelled, “Hi ya, hi ya, hi ya, Mrs. Arvin!” He waved through the open window. Robert was so loud that Ida flinched, grabbed the steering wheel tightly, and pushed the throttle to the floor. The car lurched forward before Ida lifted her foot and brought the vehicle back to a normal speed. Mrs. Arvin straightened up and watched the Chevrolet as it went on down the road.

“Do you think she saw me?” Robert asked.

“Oh, she saw you alright, and she heard you, too,” Ida confirmed. When she told Joe about Robert’s outburst later, he laughed. The saying “Hi ya, hi ya, hi ya, Mrs. Arvin!” became a family quotation, repeated on seemingly endless occasions for years thereafter.

Driving the pickup with Buttercup happily watching the world go by, Joe, meanwhile, was whistling the tune to

Late one night, when we were all in bed,

Old Mrs. Leary left the lantern in the shed,

And when the cow kicked it over,

She winked her eye and said,

“It’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight!”

Red-winged blackbirds sitting on the passing fences chortled in harmony.

Soon enough, the pickup pulled into the fairgrounds of the county seat. Joe maneuvered his GMC into the line of trucks unloading animals to be housed in the south wing of the coliseum and livestock barn. The men in charge of the dairy exhibits assigned Buttercup the southeast corner: an ideal location! No sooner had she taken up residence in the large space than teenage girls walking past saw Buttercup and came up to pet her nose. Ida had parked in one of the regular spots along the shady road, and Robert ran to help his father and brother scatter golden straw in thick crests around and under Buttercup. Joe wrestled the show box in place just behind Buttercup. For weeks before the fair, Charles had decorated it with vibrantly colored Amish star symbols around the sides, and he had perfectly painted large green letters spelling RHODE in the center of the lid. Then he had given the box several coats of glossy varnish. It was a work of art!

Robert ran back to help his mother carry the vegetables to the aisle beneath the bleachers where the gardening exhibits were arranged. In preparation for the event, he had used marker pens, crayons, and poster board to duplicate the Great Seal of the State of Indiana. A magenta and fuschia sunrise colored hills pink and violet while a cinnamon and ginger bison leapt over a log and a woodsman swung an ax to chop an emerald and turquoise tree above aquamarine grass dotted with pale yellow flowers. The kaleidoscopic depiction hung from tiny gold chains behind Ida’s oversized cornucopia basket with a huge cabbage in its maw as beans, corn, carrots, onions, kohlrabi, and turnips poured forth in spectacular array.

Having fed and watered Buttercup, Joe sauntered down the aisle and took a close look at the competition. He felt satisfied that the Mitchell heifer might take the honors away from Buttercup.

“That heifer of yours,” Russell said, as he chewed on a straw and squinted in Joe’s direction, “will put a smile on the judge’s face.”

Joe grinned. “So will yours,” he admitted.

Russell glanced appreciatively at the better heifer of the two that his boys were going to show. “She’ll be a contender,” Russell remarked.

“With the Holstein judging as the first event tomorrow morning, we won’t have too much longer to learn what happens,” Joe said.

Russell turned to Joe. “May the best heifer win!” he said, chuckling.

In the afternoon, the whole family helped give Buttercup a bath in one of the special pens set up for such purposes. She obviously loved being shampooed and rinsed, toweled and brushed, until her coat shone.

The day passed rapidly away. At dusk, the GMC and the Chevrolet caravanned back to Pine Village. That night, Joe hardly slept a wink. At four in the morning, he sat sipping instant coffee as his mind mulled over the finer points of Buttercup and her adversary.

Charles dressed in his show clothes. He wore jeans of the purest white and a new plaid shirt with white, avocado, and light blue squares. Buttercup wore a brand new halter of shiny black leather that Joe had purchased at considerable expense.

The crowd began gathering in the coliseum. Mr. Charles Coffman slid onto the bench before the electric organ on the platform stage, smiled at the audience, and launched into a rousing rendition of “Fine and Dandy.” He completed the song with a flourish and nodded to the families seated on both sides.

Mr. John F. McKee, county extension agent, clapped his hands and strode to the microphone. “Very fine! Very fine!” he exclaimed. He adjusted his silver hair and his equally silver glasses. “Now will the 4-H members bring in their Holstein heifers.”

Roger and Richard Mitchell led their cows into the ring. Then Charles brought Buttercup, who put on her best show for the crowd—and for the judge, a professorial gentleman wearing glasses, a dazzling white shirt, and what appeared to be snakeskin boots. In all, five cows were competing in the class, two led by girls.

Wearing a printed shirt and slacks for show day, Joe stood near one of the wooden panels leading to the judging area, his arms folded and his brows drawn in what Robert called his “eagle-eyed look.” Joe’s friend, Don Akers, strode up from the hog barn. Don’s cap was pulled forward, shading his eyes. His smile, as white as his T-shirt, lit up his tanned face as he rested one foot on the bottom board of the panel and put his hands on the top board. “Well, Joe, how does she look?”

As soon as Joe had seen Don, Joe had dropped his arms, tucked his thumbs just inside the upper edges of his back pockets, and leaned forward in a characteristic posture that meant he would now give the fullest consideration to whatever Don had to say. “I think she looks good,” Joe said, grinning and blushing from having complimented his own heifer.

Don offered, “It’s a small class—”

“—but there’s strong competition,” Joe added, shaking his head with worry.

At the same instant, Joe and Don looked across at Russell Mitchell, who waved at them. With one accord, Don and Joe raised and lowered the first fingers of their right hands in the universally accepted gesture of acknowledgment.

“Russell often wins this class, doesn’t he?” Don asked.

“Yes,” Joe answered, repeating, “yes, he does.”

“Don’t you wish you could tell what the judge is thinking!” Don exclaimed. “But maybe it’s just as well that we don’t know. He might be wishing he had a coin he could flip.”   

Joe laughed, removed his seed corn cap, ran his hand over his head, put his cap back on, and said, “We could give him a quarter, but people might think we were trying to bribe him.”

“What counts is what those boys and girls are learning out there,” Don said.

The judge had the 4-H members walk their heifers around the ring and then stand them. Buttercup needed no encouragement or instruction. When she walked, she strutted, and, when she stood, she posed. Passing his hands along their backs and flanks, the judge studied every detail of each cow.

He approached the platform. A hush fell throughout the coliseum. The judge pointed toward Buttercup and immediately pointed toward Richard’s heifer. “Number one and number two,” the judge barked.

Robert, who was seated beside his mother in the stands, could not be sure what the judge meant. He glanced worriedly from Ida’s face nearby to Joe’s face across the ring.

“I think Buttercup just won,” Ida said, but she was uncertain, too. From their angle, it was difficult to know which way the judge had pointed. Ida looked at Joe. He was frowning, staring straight ahead, and not moving a muscle, but Don was smiling.

The man with the ribbons in his hand stepped down from the platform and into the ring while the judge ascended the platform and strode toward the microphone.

Smiles crept across Ida’s face and Joe’s face and Robert’s face as the man with the ribbons came closer and closer to Charles. The man briefly held the champion ribbon over Buttercup’s neck before handing the coveted purple treasure to Charles, who grinned from ear to ear.

While the reserve champion ribbon went to Richard’s entry, the judge said, “These winning heifers are so nearly alike that they could be twins. It’s really splitting hairs to say there’s a difference between them. For me, it came down to personality. I like the attitude of the champion.” The judge paused; then he shrugged. “She just acts like a champion!” he declared, to the amusement of the crowd. Farm wives and farmer husbands turned toward one another and laughed heartily, nodding in agreement with the judge. “These 4-H’ers,” the judge continued, “deserve a great deal of credit for raising such fine animals, training them, and bringing them to our attention.” With that, he signaled the helpers to assist the boys and girls in leading their cows from the ring.    

Robert and Ida were standing with Charles at Buttercup’s stall before Joe and Don got there. Don’s wife, Mary, came up, almost on the run.

“I was helping in the Craft Building,” Mary said, nearly out of breath, “but I caught the tail end of the judging—” Mary hesitated a second, catching her pun and adding, “so to speak. Congratulations!”

“I have the camera,” Ida said, lifting the Kodak Brownie Hawkeye to show Joe.

“Let’s take Buttercup around the corner outside where there’ll be more light,” Joe suggested.

Charles held the lead strap while Buttercup took her position with the glistening championship ribbon draped across her back. Sun dappled the white-painted building, and Buttercup’s black-and-white coat wore a velvety sheen. The heifer fluttered her long lashes; she knew she was the champion. The snapshot would be preserved for years thereafter.

“That makes it feel like all the work was worth it, doesn’t it, Charles?” Don asked.

“Yes, it does,” Charles assented, while he led Buttercup back to her stall.

“Let’s all get together for dinner in the Cafeteria Building to celebrate,” Mary said to Ida and Joe.

“Want to meet there around 11:30?” Ida asked.

“We’ll see you there!” Mary smiled. “I need to get back to the Craft Building,” she said while excusing herself and dashing away.

Don said, “Now that we know the best heifer won, I can get back to cleaning up my hog pens!” With that, Don headed down the aisle.

“The gardening exhibits should be judged by now,” Joe said.

“We’ll go see,” Ida said. She and Robert marched off to the room, which had been locked during the judging. The wire door stood open. When they walked to where the Great Seal of Indiana stood in all its glory above the cornucopia, they could not believe their eyes. A big pink rosette with the words “Reserve Sweepstakes” on it was pinned to the basketry. An older 4-H member’s exhibit had taken the sweepstakes, but, with so many entrants, being second best was the same as winning.

Even as exciting as the reserve sweepstakes in gardening was, the family felt that the most thrilling experience had been watching Buttercup win her championship.

On the way home that night, Joe silently concluded there had been other champions that day: Don and Mary.