Tri-State Neighbor: South Dakota Farm Newspaper

I have written before about Father's Day, some might say a bit too often. Hey, it's my column. As I reflect upon the upcoming thank-you-to-dad weekend, I spent some time thinking about the many dads that I have known and I mean in a special way, who spent their life in the cattle business.

In fact, one of those fellows was a man named Olaf Tuntland, originally from the Beresford, S.D., country. I first met Olaf and Edith, his quiet, loving, business-minded spouse, in the summer of 1959 on their farm just a couple of minutes west of Brandon, S.D. Allow me to elaborate.

One of the first incoming freshman that I met on third floor of Scobey Hall at South Dakota State University in the fall of 1958 was their first-born son, Alan. He, like so many other lifelong college friends, was a student in the College of Engineering and as opposed to yours truly, he took his life as an academic very seriously. I should add that there was a group of third floor rowdies who became acquainted the first month or so and that friendship has survived some 47 years.

That summer get-together on the Tuntland farm resulted in Olaf and I hitting it off immediately because he had someone to take to the barn and cattleyard who was actually interested in the operation. Not too long after that, I moved in with Olaf and Edith for about a year and the rest, as they say, is history. One of the many pleasures associated with a lifetime in the cattle business is the fact that there were literally hundreds and hundreds of folks just like Olaf.

After the stockyards began selling feeder cattle by auction in 1972 many of those became "regulars buyers" who seldom missed a sale. One of the unique things about a cattle auction is the fact that after a few weeks, each of these most necessary people will wind up in exactly the same seat.

Oh sure, there are those occasions when a "stranger" shows up and unknowingly sits in the wrong seat but for the most part, once the seating order is established it is there as long as that particular buyer attends. Prior to the implementation of those insufferable cell phones, many of the "regulars" even had a phone jack installed adjacent to their auction seat and it was a most valuable tool of the trade.

So many of those buyers, i.e. dads, are indelibly printed in my mind and whether I was perched on the auction block beside the auctioneer or in the ring taking bids, there was a comfort to look out in the crowd and see those familiar faces. A big part of that comfort, obviously, is the fact that any auction, be it land, cattle or machinery and the prices established therein are only as good as the people who make the purchases. Buyers make the market, good or bad, that is how it is.

If a person is lacking in patience, which has always been a Jim trademark, then the dead time on auction day can become quite boring. Once everything is sorted, the bunks are full of hay and the alley is tidied up, all a person can do is wait for the next "turn in the ring." That is when I would spend lots of quality time wandering around the arena eating hot dogs, sipping soda and pretty much being a pest to the buyers.

There were two fellows who were, in fact, sort of like a dad and who spent thousands of hours in the same seat buying for themselves and many others and it was there that I had a lot of fun, learned a lot about life and took more than my share of verbal abuse.

Wayne Wettlaufer and Cornie Van Duyn from Winfred, S.D., and Colton, S.D., respectively, are no longer with us, as is the case with a lot of the "old timers" but oh my, did they leave a mark. Not only a mark on the cattle business and their families, but also a mark on their farms and on me personally.

Those two Depression-era heroes plopped themselves down, side by side, in the same two seats when the auction began and whether it was four hours later or 14, they very seldom moved other than the occasional pit stop. After all, they might miss a bargain. Besides, they didn't have to, they had me for their errand boy and run errands I did and I might add, had a lot of fun doing so.

I mentioned how very fortunate I have been to make so many acquaintances that reminded me of my own father and Cornie and Wayne epitomized that phenomena. I suspect that the readers of my generation are familiar with parents and uncles and neighbors and friends who were of the same ilk because quite frankly, almost all of them came from the same dust bowl setting.

They were tough and hard working and believed in the philosophy that you play the hand you are dealt or get out of the game and for most of them, getting out of the game was not an option. Even if they wanted to, and most did not, there was really no place else to go. So they stayed and survived and raised great families and ultimately did pretty darn well in their individual operations.

I could have chosen many other farmer feeders of the same mold as Wayne and Cornie but to me they most represent what this column is all about. Quiet, resourceful men who did whatever it took to survive and succeed and that is pretty much what life is all about. I only hope that someplace in that big old cattleyard in the sky, they have already run across my dad. I think they would really hit it off.

My father has been gone since the summer of 1968 and his family still talks about his influence on their lives. We probably always will because that is what parents are supposed to be about. It takes a lot of years for kids to realize the lessons that they were being taught. If your dad or mom are still with you, even if they don't know you are there, take the time to stop by. They may not know it but you will.

Remember the dads who serve and the families who wait. Happy Father's Day.

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