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This poem was inspired by the 2007 Cowboy Poetry Week Art Spur subject, Tim Cox' "At His Own Pace"
This is a little story told by life-long rancher, cowboy, mentor and good friend, Lee Jacobsen. Lee rode into Island Park as a kid and started cowboying on the Railroad Ranch, owned by the Harrimans (Union Pacific Railroad) and the Guggenheims (Anaconda Copper, Art Museums etc.) this is a true story about the S.R. Guggenheim as told by Lee that I set to rhyme. Lee always had a little twinkle in his eye when he hit the punchline ...
I'll Just Have to Pay Myself!
The Harrimans and Guggenheims used to congregate.
On their Idaho ranch—a jewel of the old Gem State.
Lee was a workin' cowboy there on the Railroad Ranch,
A simple man, good rider too—decked out in blue jean pants.
One evenin' S. R. Guggenheim had made it clearly known,
That on the morn he'd bring down a herd a ridin' out alone.
Deep furrows then plowed over Mrs. Harriman's brow,
For S. R. just barely knew to tell horseflesh from a cow.
She pulled Lee over tellin' him to take care of old S. R.
Have him ride her blondy mare—don't let him get too far.
Take care of him—not hard for Lee—for as the day dawn broke,
S. R. still had not appeared for he still had not awoke.
Lee rode out early on and gathered up a bunch,
Settled 'em down nicely, and then returned for lunch.
S. R. by then was up and ready—to ride on out somewhere,
They rode out both together—S. R. on the blondy mare.
Lee pointed to a place where cattle just might be,
And told S. R. to take a look, he'd wait there by a tree.
S. R. took off all alone astride that gentle mare,
And found to his delight Lee's bunch just a waitin' there.
He hazed 'em down to the pole corral with a little help from Lee,
And got 'em in at their own pace—as easy as could be.
S. R. was proud as any peacock on this earth had ever been,
And quite oblivious to the fact that pride's an awful sin.
Lee came ridin' over just to check on S. R.'s fun,
Do you think they'll pay me for the work that I have done?
Lee said that Guggenheim didn't need much more wealth,
To which S. R. replied—Then I'll just have to pay myself!© 2007, Paul Kern
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Paul notes: More info is available on the ranch, now a state park at: http://www.stateparks.com/harriman.html
Here is a nice shot of Lee. Even from an angle, you can see the grin on his face.
Paul also shared this picture of S. R. Guggenheim from the National Archives. He writes, "He is the subject of my poem and one-time partner in the Railroad Ranch."
Paul Kern shared the following in our Picture the West feature:
March 19, 2007
Nary a TrackAbout the photo:
Rancher and poet Paul Kern shared this 1924 photo of his grandfather, Alfred Kern. Paul writes:
This vintage photo is of my grandfather, Alfred Kern, with his mule team and rural mail route carriage near Mink Creek, Idaho in Franklin County, Idaho. He is the one to the right Note the sheep camp in the background. Grandpa used to go through a team of mules every three years.
Among other occupations common at the time my grandfather worked as a rural mail carrier to the ranches and farms between Preston, Idaho and Mink Creek. He had two teams, one based in Preston that took him the sixteen miles to Riverdale, where he switched teams to continue on to Mink Creek, up higher in the mountains and about another sixteen miles further on. On the return trip, he would trade teams again at Riverdale and return home. Each team went 32 miles each day. At that rate the animals lasted only three years.It's hard to appreciate the work of these beasts of burden from our perspective today—but they gave it all they had during their short lives of servitude. Through my entire life I have seen horses and mules give everything they have until they drop— literally. And what do they get from it? Some good treatment along the way - maybe - but not always. They don't even get much recognition or remembrance once they're gone.
Here in Utah we are surrounded by pioneer museums that tend to present the human side of things—but leave out the role that the beasts of burden played in the opening of the west. One day, walking out of one of the largest ones in Salt Lake, the following poem just
struck me. Though the names of the mules in our family picture are long forgotten - they themselves are not - and live on in the lore of my family. At least we have the photograph along with inherited appreciation and memories.7, Paul KernThe horses are gone and so are the oxen,
The mules are too—all long forgotten,
Within the walls of the pioneer museum,
There's nary a track or even a trace of 'em.
But there are dishes and hats and spectacles,
Goods hauled west in horse-drawn vehicles.
They even have lots of photos of those,
Who stared unsmiling in a photographic pose.
The musty smell of days since passed,
Lingers on saddles and an old boot last.
A single and a double-tree,
Cracked harness and a chair for three.
There's a prairie schooner by the wall,
And a surrey and sleigh just down the hall,
Covered with pictures of those now dead,
They didn't all walk—it has been said.
Most of those things as a general rule,
Were pulled out here by horse or mule.
It's odd how humans so quickly forget,
And take for granted the things they get.
What they have and what they've got,
Came through creatures of a lesser lot,
You'd think a horse photo or maybe two,
On the walls of the halls would be just due.
But the horses are gone and so are the oxen,
The mules are too—all long forgotten,
Within the walls of the pioneer museum,
There's nary a track or even a trace of 'em.© 200
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Here is a photo of Alfred Kern in 1917:
