“Longhorns on the Guadalupe ”
While doing this painting I was thinking of the days when I owned a herd of cattle. I had a calf in the herd that looked a lot like the one with the dark brown and black markings.
When I was about fourteen years old, one day my dad (for whom I am named after), said that his business partner, John Nance Garner, wanted to talk to me. Mr. Garner had been the Vice President of the United States.
So my dad took me over to Mr. Garner’s home in Uvalde, Texas. He was sitting behind a big dining room table which he used for a desk. It was covered with newspapers from all around the country. There was a light fixture over the table hanging from the ceiling with a green shade like those you see hanging over pool tables. He had a green shade on his head, like those used by poker dealers, over his eyes to shade against the light. He had large white bushy eyebrows over his bright blue eyes and a big unlighted cigar in his mouth. He was wearing his usual dirty khaki shirt and pants.
We sat down. Mr. Garner looked at me, took the cigar out of his mouth, and said “It is my understanding that you want to be a cattle rancher.” I quietly responded to this great man that yes, I wanted to be a rancher. He said: “OK, why don’t you take that 100 acre pasture that I own out west of town and see what you can do with it. You will need some money, so I will call Josh Ashby to loan you the money.” (Mr. Ashby was the president of The First State Bank that Mr. Garner owned.) So my dad took me down to The First State Bank and I signed my first bank loan note.
The next Saturday, my dad took me to the cattle auction barn north of Uvalde. I started bidding on and bought several “moma” cows that had little calves. We took them out to my new “ranch” and released them. I was now a “cattle rancher.”
So, when the other kids my age were playing after school, I had to go tend to my cattle. For several years, it was raining, the grass was growing and the cattle prices were high. I did very well and had money to spend. Then the great drought started, it quit raining, cattle prices dropped, and when I sold the last steer, I was accused of cattle rustling.
This episode of the accusation of cattle rustling, which in South Texas is right up there with capital murder, will be in another story.
Cheers,
Acree
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