Main Characters: John Lewis, the Gray Mare and Me (age about 10)
Approximate Date: 1962
Introduction.
This is another “horse story”. It is not a story I had originally intended to post. My father is not a key figure and neither Rob nor I were put in dangerous situations.
This is a story about a black man who was one of my early mentors and about the best cutting horse we ever owned. I decided to include this after a conversation that transpired recently during an OLLI class that I am leading about Together Louisiana. Towards the end of the session, Lady Carlson, a brilliant woman who happens to be be black and who is “my boss” in TLA, had each of the 18 class members tell “their story” in two minutes or less. Three of the class members happen to be black women. All three of them are very accomplished and greatly respected by nearly everyone (black and white) who knows them. One of these ladies, when called on, talked about the divide that still exists between the races. She said that in most interactions with white people, she feels they see her only as a “black woman”. She went on to say something that I consider to be one of the best compliments I have ever received. “But there is one white person here who does not see me as a black woman or a black person; he just sees me as a person. It is David Treppendahl.”
So, I wondered, why is that? Why am I different in this regard? Have I somehow learned through lectures and books to change my perspective on black people? Not really. I realized it is something that I have always known. I recalled that the person I loved the most as a child was not my parents nor my siblings; it was Peaches. (I have included a photo of Rob, Peaches, and me.) Peaches was five years older than me. She was my constant companion and teacher when I was young. (In a future story, I will tell about our last hug.) And there was Cellie Dangerfield – also about five years older than me. Cellie was a star football player for the black school in Wilkinson County; very bright and popular. Cellie’s family owned 300 acres of adjoining land to ours. They were not in any way in a servile position to our family. Yet Cellie chose to become my big brother and took Rob and me on many adventures. One of those adventures got him in big trouble with my mother. (It was a story I told when I gave a short eulogy at his funeral.)
The story I have included here is about The Gray Mare and John Lewis. John was a black man who lived near Wyoming Plantation and would come help us when we worked cows there. This was an early experience where my takeaway was, “black people are great” and there is no reason to view them as any less worthy than white people. How could I not think so based on such experiences?
The Gray Mare.
She was a silver-gray quarter horse. She belonged to Mr. Wilks John who sold us Valhalla, so she came with the Place. The Gray Mare was renown as being the best cutting horse in Southwest Mississippi.
One day we were at Wyoming Plantation working cows, a 2,000 acre place that my family owned at the time. The property was located west of US Highway 61 just north of the LA/MS line and was bordered on the east side by Bayou Sara Creek. I spent a lot of my young life on Wyoming. I was about 9 or 10 on this occasion.
The day had started with us bringing a few extra horses in a horse trailer to use to get the cows up and put them in the catch pen. Our main help included Spot and Brown. When we worked at Wyoming, a black man named John Lewis would often help us and he was with us then. John had his own place, so he was not a tenant farmer nor a farm hand. He was the most impressive black man that I knew during my early years. He was very handsome – looked sort of like Sidney Poitier. He was well spoken, gentle and wise. Dad had great respect for him; I never heard Dad say a critical or harsh word to John Lewis.
About an hour or so after we had gotten the cows up and were “working” them (dehorning, vaccinating, castrating, etc.), a Brahma heifer bolted and jumped over the catch pen fence. Everyone else was fully engaged in vital work; I was the only non-essential worker. So, Dad looked at me and said, “Why don’t you go see if you can get that heifer back?” Yes sir.
The horses were tied up outside the catch pen under a shade tree. I had my pick and was going to take Cinnamon when John came over and said, “David, take the Gray Mare.” I told him that I had never ridden the Gray Mare before and didn’t know if she would mind me. John said “You don’t want her to mind you, you just let her do the work and don’t get in her way.” I said OK, adjusted the stirrups for my short legs, and hopped on. I turned her in the direction where the heifer had gone and relaxed the reins. She took off. The Gray Mare had obviously observed the breakout and knew what our job was. I just held on.
It was a big pasture and I could see the heifer going down the road a long way off at a trot. The road would take her into the woods where there were numerous trails she could take to elude us. Rather than chasing right after the heifer, I thought it might be best to steer wide and gave a tug on The Gray Mare’s left rein. She agreed, turned, and began to gallop for the edge of the woods. She wanted to circle around in front of the heifer before the heifer reached the woods and I concurred. When we reached the woods, the heifer was off to our right about 200 yards and about 100 yards from the reaching the woods. The Gray Mare accelerated and I just hung on tight. We were flying. The heifer started running; the foot race was on. The Gray Mare beelined for the opening and I had the good sense to know what was coming and braced myself. We went from a full gallop to a dead stop in an instant about 10 feet in front of the heifer blocking her from entering the woods. The heifer was startled and attempted to cut back to the left. The Gray Mare whirled and blocked her again. Back and forth we went – the heifer lunging, the Gray Mare anticipating and cutting her off. My biggest feat in all this was hanging on and not being thrown off.
Note: Brahmas are a lot faster and more agile than say Angus or Herefords. Even so, after a dozen or so unsuccessful attempts to elude us, the heifer stopped. And we stopped. The heifer looked at the Gray Mare and then at me. She then turned around and headed back toward the catch pen. While the young cow would have preferred to walk, the Gray Mare pushed her to a fast trot. As we neared the catch pen, I saw the main gate open. They had seen us coming and had moved all the cows to the next pen in. Two minutes later, the heifer walked into the empty catch pen and the Gray Mare stopped just inside the gate. Everyone, including Dad, congratulated me for bringing back the Brahma heifer. I looked over at John and he gave me a wink and a beaming smile. Dad admitted that he didn’t think I would be able to round up that wild heifer. And of course, I didn’t. The Gray Mare did.