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Note: DIAMOND - A Story by Robert Hillman
My dad loved good horses. I remember some pictures we used to have of him posing with some of his teams. They were always perfectly matched, well built, beautiful animals, and his pride was obvious. But due to some poor years, crop failures, bad business decisions, and the depression, he was forced into bankruptcy in the earl 1930's. In those days in the Nebraska farm country, the bank took possession of everything the bankrupt farmer had left and had a farm sale and collected all the proceeds. If the proceeds didn't fulfill the debt, the farmer still owed the balance. Just prior to the sale , my father took some of the basic farm implements to a cousin's farm so that they wouldn't be included in the sale. He took things that wouldn't be missed, and it wasn't much. Technically, it was probably theft, but he had to have tools to start over. After the sale, he rented an old, farmed-out forty acres with a house and outbuildings as a sharecropper, and started over. He was fortunate enough to get a job later as a ditch-rider, so he had a little cash money income, I think about twenty dollars a month during the spring and summer, and started accumulating animals and subsistence farming the forty. But to get back to my story. The good horses were all gone, and he never had another matched, showy team. Instead, he collected a batch of the cheapest, poorest horses to be had anywhere. I don't know how he got them, probably form his cousin*, who was a horse-trader. Anyhow, among this collection of misfits was a horse named Diamond. He was kind of pretty, a deep sorrel with a white diamond on his forehead and stocking feet. He wasn't blocky like a draft horse should be, but kind of slim and rangy. He had been severly cut by barbwire on his right rear leg sometime in the past, and had a mental condition my dad called "stringfoot". When he became excited, his damaged leg would step extremely high, as if he were trying to avoid being cut by wire again, and he would stumble along, three legs working normally and the fourth hitting his belly with every step. I hated Diamond and avoided using him whenever I could. I would do about anything I could to make his life miserable, short of actual abuse. I would have abused him, but my dad never condoned animal cruelty. My methods were subtle, ignoring him, making him wait until I had fed all the others, and various other nasty little slights. I'm sure he got the message and knew how I felt about him and his ridiculous mental quirk. In those days, grain harvest started in the south in late June and proceeded north through September. Professional harvest crews would contract to do the threshing, and would follow the ripening wheat north. At times they could run short on men and animals during their journey, and when they did, men were hired and horses were bought, leased or borrowed along the way. On such an occasion, my dad loaned Diamond and another horse to a crew as they came through our area. We always had more horses than we needed, so it was no big deal to loan a team out. During summer we seldom used more than four at any one time and the work was much lighter than spring or fall. About the end of August I was outside the house one evening and I heard a sound and saw a shape in the darkness. I proceeded toward the barn to investigate and discovered Diamond standing with his head over the gate looking into the barnyard! He greated me and I opened th gate and let him in and fed him. After that, my attitude toward Diamond changed a great deal. I still disliked him, but I treated him just as well as the rest of the bunch. I often visualized what he went through to get back home after he left the threshing crew. Imagine what he must gone through after traveling several weeks north to find his way home and not be captured and added to someone else's herd. I think his return was one of the more amazing things I ever experienced. It taught me a great lesson, one of tolerance for creatures that may be more unfortunate than we were, and one that I was not to learn for a great many years concerning humans.
* Here Bob is refering to Robert McCracken, Jr.
ORIGINAL POEM BY BOB "OCTOBER" HILLMAN
WHAT'S IN A NAME?
My parents have left me a great legacy A gift more precious than gold An inheritance becoming more priceless to me More apparent as I'm growing old.
They gave me five sisters to brighten my life To cherish and hold in esteem To nurture and tease me and always to please me Better sisters would be only a dream.
But my parends did more to give me delight Unintended, I'm sure you might find But a gift so simple and yet so complete It has brought me great peace of mind.
They named one sister Clarice June And June is the month of her birth With a memory like mine, it's easy to see What a gift like that would be worth.
I never forget her birthday Though sometimes I forget the date The months always there, so I look in my book To make sure I'm not early or late.
Olive, Madeline, Kathryn, Lorraine Pretty names, but never a clue To the month of their birth (get hold of your mirth) But I think you'll agree that it's true.
I always forget their birthdays I'm sure they'll confirm if you ask With a mind as muddled and jumbled as mine To remember is really a task.
Just imagine the agony, anger and pain Not to mention discomfort and fear When I wake up in March and think to myself "I forgot them again - LAST YEAR"
I've pondered this problem and think that I've found A solution so simple it's funny It's easy and quick, and should do the trick And probably won't cost much money.
I will legally change those unused middle names Of all my family and friends To a name of great worth, the month of their birth Who knows? It may start a big trend.
Picked up by the bulk of the breeding-age crowd It could start a nation-wide movement Carried on for awhile, it would make me so proud As the Author of "BIRTHDAY IMPROVEMENT."
No more hurt feeling, self-damning or doubt A boon to the memory-impaired No more missed birthdays, greetings on time Conveying a message to be shared.
I pondered calling the Washington folks To see if they wanted the task But I nixed that idea, I don't trust those blokes And decided I'd better not ask.
They've turned Ten Commandments into ten million laws That only a lawyer can read It's painful to think that with my simple idea Who knows where the actions would lead.
I'll look around for a judge who agrees And it would really be great If he would follow the spirit of my goal By granting a generous bulk rate.
Until I learn all these middle names Or at least till I can remember I'll send birthday greetings with my Christmas cards Neatly stamped "DO NOT OPEN TILL SEPTEMBER"
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