MONTANA CENTENNIAL TRAIN
Patches the Queen-Howard Copenhaver (continued)
One of our former guests and her mother picked Marg and I up at the station and drove us to "Calumet Farms," home of Bull Lee, the world-famous racehorse and sire. It was great to see the magnificent animal, even though he was old at the time. You could see royalty showing in his actions and blood lines.
Then we went on to Frankfort, Kentucky, and up into the governor's office, where they made me an honorary "Kentucky Colonel," long Kentucky rifle and all. And, as we were leaving the room we met a group of dignitaries ushering in Montana's Governor Tim Babcock to accept the same honor. I have held it over poor Tim's head ever since — I was made a Kentucky Colonel before him. He was second choice.
Look out Washington, D.C., we thought, when we got to the nation's capitol, where we were really treated like royalty. The city came out and put on a big banquet in our honor. It was great. But before the banquet, a few things came up.
We paraded down Pennsylvania Avenue and around the circle at the White House. The sidewalks were lined with dignitaries; on the steps stood President Lyndon Johnson and others. Montana senators and representatives were right down at the street edge on the sidewalk, greeting us as each unit passed. When your unit came even with them, you simply paused for a minute to pay your respects to them. When a unit would stop, out would step Senator Mike Mansfield, who reached out and shook hands and called everyone by his or her first name. Now, I was thinking that this old boy sure knew a lot of Montanans on a first name basis when I realized that the guy standing beside him had a paper and pen and was cuing him along with the names.
Right in front of Marg and I were Herb Toelke and the Tallyho. As Herb stopped his six-horse hitch, Mike stepped up on the loading step and shook Herb's hand, and said, "Good to see you again, Herb." Herb gathered up his lines and, with that big booming voice, said to his shotgun rider, "Who the hell was that S.O.B.? Never saw him before in my life."
As he drove away, you should have heard the people laugh, clear up to President Johnson. Herb was great but never ceased to open his mouth and stick his foot in.
The parade went swell. No trouble at all that day so everyone was ready for the banquet that night. With us were Bonny Jo, Miss Montana, and Kitty Quigley, Miss Montana Centennial, who led the parade and appeared on television and radio stations, singing and answering questions about Montana. Now some gals just go along with the show, but not Kitty. You never knew what she'd do, but you could bet it would be different.
When we got settled down at our tables that evening in a huge banquet hall, Kitty was at our table. Dignitaries were giving their "One-two-three-testing" at the microphone and everybody was chatting, paying little attention to what was being said. Suddenly, a loud voice boomed out over the intercom, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States." And in walked President Johnson, down a winding stairs to the podium. Everyone rose to their feet, but not before Kitty jumped up, gave a cowboy holler and jerked out her two six-shooters, which were loaded with blanks, and shot into the air. Now, you never saw so many Secret Service men in your life. They were all over Kitty immediately and had her guns — just about scared poor Kitty to death. The crowd went wild laughing and President Johnson thanked her for
the Montana greeting, gave a short speech and left. I'll tell you what! Kitty sure put the cowboy trimmings on that high toned affair. When we first started the real planning of this trip, Mr. Moses of the New York World Fair board offered us space for two years for our exhibit cars and asked us to lead the opening day parade to start the World's Fair of 1964, which we did. This, by itself, was quite an accomplishment but we also thought it was a great way to finish a month-long circle of parades and shows.
The Centennial Train exhibit was left in New York with a crew to tend it and we've never forgotten the volunteers who finished our big show in New York. A corral of poles was built and a few cattle were left to have on exhibit. One cow had a calf while New Yorkers, television men and women, newspapers and all watched and enjoyed nature from Montana at its best.
Then we were headed west, looking for mountains and home, and by this time you are wondering why this story is entitled "Patches, the Queen." Well, here it is. This mule, Patches, was a pinto, tall, well put together and had a character of her own. She could get into more trouble in five minutes than you could get her out of in an hour, but she was a good pack mule.
While we were on this tour, the Ralston Purina Company donated a horse ration to feed our stock. It was ground up alfalfa, corn, oats and barley compressed into pellets with molasses as binder, making it sweet and palatable. We fed no hay so the stock lacked bulk in their diet and they were always hungry and craved grass. When we were in Clarksville, Virginia, where there was grass between the tracks, we tied the horses on a line along the parlor cars to let them stay out in the fresh air during the night. One morning when we went to water and feed them, Patches was gone. How she got rid of her halter I'll never know. But, after a search around the train cars and puffing engines, we found the old gal across the yard, peacefully grazing between the tracks.
When we were at our last stop before heading home and were short on food for the horses, someone showed up with a truck-load of hay. We scattered it along the picket line so the stock could eat while they were tied to the line. The Shetlands were tied right next to my mules, all eating peacefully. Some kids, with their mothers watching close by, were sitting there, petting the Shetland's heads. One kid had a wooly head of hair, kind of a big Afro haircut. Well, he must have been in Patches' way because she just reached over took a mouthful of that pile of hair, gave the kid a shake and threw him out of the way.
Up jumped the kid, running toward his mother, screaming, "I was bitten by a mule." But that was as far as the incident went; the kid seemed to be pleased that old Patches had picked him instead of some other kid. As for Patches, she went right on munching that big bite of Afro hay. No pain, no strain.
On our way home, we got our first glimpse of those Crazy Mountains as we rolled into Billings, Montana, and we were anxious to be home. But the west-side-bound cars headed for Missoula were sidetracked and, after about three hours, a switch engine hooked up to the tail end of a slow freight headed west and we were once again on our way. We didn't get far when we realized that right in front of us was about five carloads of pigs. By then, we had lost our fancy parlor cars, so were riding with the baggage and the horse cars. Boy, you should have smelled the fresh air that came from the pig cars ahead. What a ride.
When we hit the Continental Divide out of Butte, those horses and mules started braying and whinnying and continued to do so until they were unloaded at the Missoula stockyards. How they knew they were home I don't know, but they did. We turned them loose in the stockyards and they started to run. And they ran and ran and ran, until each owner had loaded their stock on trucks, and headed home.
As for me, the memory of that trip lingers. It was a great trip with great people, many new friends and experiences no one else will ever have.
Thank you, Howard Kelsey, for dreaming. And Patches for some great memories.
One of our former guests and her mother picked Marg and I up at the station and drove us to "Calumet Farms," home of Bull Lee, the world-famous racehorse and sire. It was great to see the magnificent animal, even though he was old at the time. You could see royalty showing in his actions and blood lines.
Then we went on to Frankfort, Kentucky, and up into the governor's office, where they made me an honorary "Kentucky Colonel," long Kentucky rifle and all. And, as we were leaving the room we met a group of dignitaries ushering in Montana's Governor Tim Babcock to accept the same honor. I have held it over poor Tim's head ever since — I was made a Kentucky Colonel before him. He was second choice.
Look out Washington, D.C., we thought, when we got to the nation's capitol, where we were really treated like royalty. The city came out and put on a big banquet in our honor. It was great. But before the banquet, a few things came up.
We paraded down Pennsylvania Avenue and around the circle at the White House. The sidewalks were lined with dignitaries; on the steps stood President Lyndon Johnson and others. Montana senators and representatives were right down at the street edge on the sidewalk, greeting us as each unit passed. When your unit came even with them, you simply paused for a minute to pay your respects to them. When a unit would stop, out would step Senator Mike Mansfield, who reached out and shook hands and called everyone by his or her first name. Now, I was thinking that this old boy sure knew a lot of Montanans on a first name basis when I realized that the guy standing beside him had a paper and pen and was cuing him along with the names.
Right in front of Marg and I were Herb Toelke and the Tallyho. As Herb stopped his six-horse hitch, Mike stepped up on the loading step and shook Herb's hand, and said, "Good to see you again, Herb." Herb gathered up his lines and, with that big booming voice, said to his shotgun rider, "Who the hell was that S.O.B.? Never saw him before in my life."
As he drove away, you should have heard the people laugh, clear up to President Johnson. Herb was great but never ceased to open his mouth and stick his foot in.
The parade went swell. No trouble at all that day so everyone was ready for the banquet that night. With us were Bonny Jo, Miss Montana, and Kitty Quigley, Miss Montana Centennial, who led the parade and appeared on television and radio stations, singing and answering questions about Montana. Now some gals just go along with the show, but not Kitty. You never knew what she'd do, but you could bet it would be different.
When we got settled down at our tables that evening in a huge banquet hall, Kitty was at our table. Dignitaries were giving their "One-two-three-testing" at the microphone and everybody was chatting, paying little attention to what was being said. Suddenly, a loud voice boomed out over the intercom, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States." And in walked President Johnson, down a winding stairs to the podium. Everyone rose to their feet, but not before Kitty jumped up, gave a cowboy holler and jerked out her two six-shooters, which were loaded with blanks, and shot into the air. Now, you never saw so many Secret Service men in your life. They were all over Kitty immediately and had her guns — just about scared poor Kitty to death. The crowd went wild laughing and President Johnson thanked her for
the Montana greeting, gave a short speech and left. I'll tell you what! Kitty sure put the cowboy trimmings on that high toned affair. When we first started the real planning of this trip, Mr. Moses of the New York World Fair board offered us space for two years for our exhibit cars and asked us to lead the opening day parade to start the World's Fair of 1964, which we did. This, by itself, was quite an accomplishment but we also thought it was a great way to finish a month-long circle of parades and shows.
The Centennial Train exhibit was left in New York with a crew to tend it and we've never forgotten the volunteers who finished our big show in New York. A corral of poles was built and a few cattle were left to have on exhibit. One cow had a calf while New Yorkers, television men and women, newspapers and all watched and enjoyed nature from Montana at its best.
Then we were headed west, looking for mountains and home, and by this time you are wondering why this story is entitled "Patches, the Queen." Well, here it is. This mule, Patches, was a pinto, tall, well put together and had a character of her own. She could get into more trouble in five minutes than you could get her out of in an hour, but she was a good pack mule.
While we were on this tour, the Ralston Purina Company donated a horse ration to feed our stock. It was ground up alfalfa, corn, oats and barley compressed into pellets with molasses as binder, making it sweet and palatable. We fed no hay so the stock lacked bulk in their diet and they were always hungry and craved grass. When we were in Clarksville, Virginia, where there was grass between the tracks, we tied the horses on a line along the parlor cars to let them stay out in the fresh air during the night. One morning when we went to water and feed them, Patches was gone. How she got rid of her halter I'll never know. But, after a search around the train cars and puffing engines, we found the old gal across the yard, peacefully grazing between the tracks.
When we were at our last stop before heading home and were short on food for the horses, someone showed up with a truck-load of hay. We scattered it along the picket line so the stock could eat while they were tied to the line. The Shetlands were tied right next to my mules, all eating peacefully. Some kids, with their mothers watching close by, were sitting there, petting the Shetland's heads. One kid had a wooly head of hair, kind of a big Afro haircut. Well, he must have been in Patches' way because she just reached over took a mouthful of that pile of hair, gave the kid a shake and threw him out of the way.
Up jumped the kid, running toward his mother, screaming, "I was bitten by a mule." But that was as far as the incident went; the kid seemed to be pleased that old Patches had picked him instead of some other kid. As for Patches, she went right on munching that big bite of Afro hay. No pain, no strain.
On our way home, we got our first glimpse of those Crazy Mountains as we rolled into Billings, Montana, and we were anxious to be home. But the west-side-bound cars headed for Missoula were sidetracked and, after about three hours, a switch engine hooked up to the tail end of a slow freight headed west and we were once again on our way. We didn't get far when we realized that right in front of us was about five carloads of pigs. By then, we had lost our fancy parlor cars, so were riding with the baggage and the horse cars. Boy, you should have smelled the fresh air that came from the pig cars ahead. What a ride.
When we hit the Continental Divide out of Butte, those horses and mules started braying and whinnying and continued to do so until they were unloaded at the Missoula stockyards. How they knew they were home I don't know, but they did. We turned them loose in the stockyards and they started to run. And they ran and ran and ran, until each owner had loaded their stock on trucks, and headed home.
As for me, the memory of that trip lingers. It was a great trip with great people, many new friends and experiences no one else will ever have.
Thank you, Howard Kelsey, for dreaming. And Patches for some great memories.