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When
you take time to think about it, everything in life is in a state of transition.
Back in 1921, a young Methodist preacher assigned to the vastness of the
South Plains approached a major transition – the adjustment from single life to
being married. |
As
Elmer D. Landreth recalled 47 years later in his self-published memoir “The Missing
Book,” he had “found it necessary in order to secure funds for the desperately
needed repairs at the parsonage (in the small town of Dumont in King County) to
mention to a few key people that I expected to be married soon.”
One of
the people he confided in was J.W. “Bud” Arnett, foreman of the 6666 Ranch at
Gutherie. Arnett, a cowboy of the old school, had been running the huge ranch
since 1900. | |
Not long after Landreth
told the 6666 boss of his planned Christmas nuptials, Arnett invited the preacher
to Sunday dinner (in old Texas speak, “dinner” is lunch and “supper” is dinner).
The meal would be at ranch owner Samuel Burk Burnett’s house, a large stone structure
built in 1917 at a cost of $100,000 on a hill overlooking Gutherie.
About
a dozen 6666 cowboys sat at the big table along with Arnett, the preacher and
the already legendary Burnett of Fort Worth. Burnett had registered his famous
6666 brand in the early 1870s. Though some tale spinners have claimed over the
years that Burnett got the idea for his brand from a winning poker hand, the more
likely version is that the first cattle he bought already bore that distinctive
marking.
While the origin of the brand is debatable, undisputed is that
Burnett parlayed his first 100 head of cattle into a ranching dynasty that continues
in operation in the 21st century. But to return to the fall of 1921:
“During
the meal,” Landreth continued, “Mr. Arnett said to Mr. Burnett something like
this: ‘Mr. Burnett, this young preacher is planning to be married soon. He has
been riding horseback, on a horse borrowed from the Pitchfork [Ranch] manager,
to preach all over this country. Since I am now using a car and don’t any longer
have need for the buggy I formerly used and since we still have a good buggy horse,
what would you think of making the preacher a gift of the horse and buggy so he
can take his wife with him over the circuit?”
Burnett, who Landreth characterized
as not having been known for his piety, replied to his foreman: “Whatever you
say, Bud.” Not long after, Landreth had a new ride.
Following
their marriage, Elmer and Alma Landreth “made many a mile in that buggy during
that winter and spring. A few times during the winter we had to put up the curtains
all around and place hot bricks at our feet to keep warm but it was fun.”
By
the time the next regional Methodist Conference came around, Landreth “caught
the car fever” and traded in the buggy and one horse for a used Model T Ford powered
by the equivalent of 20 horses. Looking back on his transition from horse and
buggy to automobile, Landreth recollected that he had not made out particularly
well on the deal.
“Come to think of it,” he wrote, “every car trade I
have ever made has turned out to be a mistake. Maybe the automobile itself is
a mistake…in…light of traffic deaths, air pollution, and other related problems,
but I’ll keep mine for awhile and try to keep my driver’s license current.” |
©
Mike Cox
"Texas
Tales"
August 3, 2007 column
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