The Offset Disk

This blog is going to seem strange, because this plow, that is still on the farm, reminds me of several things.

In the spring of '67, The Beatles released Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, an album that set the mark for every 60's rock band that hoped to be successful. Many tried to produce something comparable, but although some created some incredible things, nothing was like the music that the Fab Four created.

The music, however, still haunts me. That spring marked a time, that changed everyone in Malad--especially those, who knew Paul Jones.

Paul played in a small hometown garage band that did cover songs of great music from that period, but more importantly, everyone liked him. One day I remember him walking home with us from school. He laughed and listened to me and my friends, who were two years younger than he.

There was a "field day," that the high school planned. There were track and field events, a flag football and baseball games. Everyone had a lot of fun. During lunch, the class of '69 went to a local reservoir. I'm not sure, but I think Ann's brother Marvin swam with them. The four--Alan Hall, my cousin Stan Palmer, Paul Jones and Marvin--tried to swim to a floating dock. It appeared not far from the shore. They did it fully clothed, and they also swam with their canvas shoes on their feet.

They swam out to the dock without a problem, but then they tried to return. Paul grew tired and began to sink. He panicked. Alan was a strong swimmer, and he tried to help Paul, but it appeared that both boys would sink below the surface. In the hysteria of the moment, Paul sank below the murky surface of the water. The class joined hands and tried to wade into the water to find him.

I remember praying as a eighth grader and hoping everything was just a mistake, and that someone would find Paul sitting on the shore of that reservoir. One minute he was walking home with us on the way home from school, and days later, he was gone.

They found Paul a day or so later. When his body sank to the bottom, it rolled into some weeds and moss. Divers found him. I'll never forget how badly I felt, how badly everyone felt.

That spring found steady rain showers. It was dreary. The times were sad. When school ended that year, it was the first time that dad hadn't been able to finish the summer fallow.

Volunteer wheat and weeds grew almost a foot high in the fields, and the ground was still soaking wet after school ended.

We had a D-6 Caterpillar tractor. The job we began took two weeks of steady work.

Dad would have me begin. Mom cooked me breakfast, and I was on the tractor and plowing by six in the morning. I plowed until dad arrived with lunch. He would take the tractor, and I would eat what mom sent with him: all hot food wrapped carefully by my mother in old newspaper to keep it warm. She wrapped the soda for me that way too. Salad or vegetables were in a bowl, sometimes wrapped if needed. There was nothing simple about the meal. It was something well-planned, something designed to fill me and give me the energy to work.

I would drive the tractor until well after dark. Dad would arrive at 10:00, sometimes a bit later. I would see the headlights of the '64 Chevrolet two-ton truck. Dad would walk out to me in the field. I drove home, and dad stayed and plowed until two or three or later in the morning. He would then drive home, sleep for a few hours, and then he would begin work the next day. Dad did things that needed to be done at the ranch.

He brought 50 gallon barrels of fuel. He fixed things. He worked with cattle. Dad did things we did all summer, while I did work on the tractor. There was never a time for either of us, when there wasn't some to do: rocks to haul, fences to fix, cattle to brand or doctor or move into new grazing areas.

Arriving at the ranch at night, mom would have this incredible dinner for me--steak or roast beef and potatoes and gravy. I would eat quickly, shower and get into bed. At five or so the next morning, it began again.

Dad and I did that for two weeks. We finished the summer fallow. The fields were in order, and the next year's crops looked very good, until frost took the bottom portion of the large field of fall grain in '68 in the fields we called 19 Holler.

I wish I knew, where dad kept all his old books. We noted how many trucks of grain we took from each field during a year's harvest. It was a way of ensuring that no one was dishonest about the truckloads of grain they hauled to market for us. That actually happened one year.

Dad never did business with that man again, and his having a record of the grain we had, and his noting how many loads the operator took out of our grain storage was also critical in ensuring that they were unable to take advantage of us.

The small plow at the top of this page is the one dad had and used during that awful spring. It was a year that began with a tragic death of a hometown favorite son, and it continued with weather hampering the work on farms in the area.

Whenever I hear a song from Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band, I think of that young man, who died so young. I think of the work I did with my father, and the chance to see how important it was in life to do what it took to get a job finished.

The Holocaust Museum honored me with the chance to do a fellowship during the 90's, and much later after my bout with cancer, I did volunteer work for them. My supervisor, who became and remains a very good friend, once told me that he knew I would be successful, but I approached tasks with passion.

Dad taught me that. Mom taught me that. Whether it was farm work or enjoying a meal to give me the energy needed to work, they taught me this: if there is something worth doing, it's worth doing well.

It made all the difference in my life.