On the Farm with H.C. Wyatt

[nw-mailing-list at nwhs.org]

Harry Bundy is always enticing me to do bad things, and now he wants me to 
relate the story of Harry Wyatt's bull.

But first, let it be said that Mr. Harry Wyatt, who retired as Vice President 
and General Manager of the N&W, was "the last of the Old School," the total 
opposite of the "Saunders & Thereafter" gang.  He was well respected by 
everyone, and I never heard anyone utter a disparaging word about him.  He was also a 
real gentleman... perhaps the last of such to fill high offices on the 
railroad.  If anyone on the whole railroad was looked up to as "the man who knew 
everything," it was H.C.W.

Mr. Wyatt's father was General Agent at Pulaski for years.  I have a 
photograph of the elder Wyatt and my grandfather standing beside engine 1376 at the 
East Radford Round House around 1914.

Well, it seems that as retirement loomed on the horizon, Mr. Wyatt decided it 
would be a good thing to spend his Golden Years relaxing on a tranquil farm, 
and so bought himself a nice spread, complete with a beautiful brick home, 
near "Tie Yard Hill," between Singer and Elliston.  It was right across Rt. 11 
from the Radford Division main line.  

And on his farm he had some cows....  Er, NO... that's the wrong song !  !  !

On his farm he thought it might be good to raise thoroughbred cattle.  So he 
bought some blooded cows, and then he went in search of the best bull possible 
for his cows.  I've forgotten the dollar amount he is said to have invested 
in the bull, but do recall that it was five or six times my annual earnings as 
a brakeman.

So, the bull is delivered to the Wyatt Farm and "introduced" to the cows.  
Nothing happens.  More time passes, and still nothing happens.  The patter of 
little calves' feet is not heard on the Wyatt pastures.  Even with the passage 
of months, still there are no little hooves upon the Happy Grass bought for the 
Golden Years.

Being neither farmer nor veterinarian himself, Mr. Wyatt did as any prudent 
man would do in such a situation.  He sought advice from an expert.  And the 
"expert" was not far away... he was Montgomery County farmer, and said to be the 
best bull diagnostician for miles around.

Said "expert-on-bull-problems" comes down off the Allegheny Mountain to the 
Wyatt plantation on request, replete with a layer of dust from the fields and a 
battered straw hat.  He checks out the situation.  He eyes up the bull, 
checks the front end, checks the back end, and does whatever else bull-diviners do.

"So, what's the problem?" asks Mr. Wyatt, subsequent to the examination, 
confident in the wisdom of the bull expert and also in the prowess of his 
specimine bull.

"Dunno, for sure, Boss" said the wise old farmer.  "But you might as well get 
rid of this d*** bull 'cause he ain't got what it takes to fix up your 
cows... at all !  You done bought your'seff a non-workin' bull ! "

Unfortunately, the story does not include what H.C.W. said to the fellow who 
had sold him the "bad bull."   A tiny fly-upon-the-wall might have observed 
another side to H.C.W.'s calm and marvellously composed visage, which usually 
looked as reserved and poised as a flinty face upon Mount Rushmore.   I'll bet 
there were some choice words exchanged.  One wonders if the N&W Law Department 
was asked to ascertain the case law on the purchase of "non-performing bulls." 
 Nor is it known if the defective bull wound up as bullberger or was simply 
retired to be a grass muncher.

This story was told to me by H.C.W.'s brother-in-law, so I doubt that it is a 
fabrication.

God rest your soul, Mr. Wyatt.  We wish we had your kind in the business 
today !

-- adburnett
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