Karlo, the herd sire at Guy S. Bowman’s, Albion, Nebraska. He was the “least famous” of several stallions pictured in that first Percheron Notes, but I kind of liked him the best of the lot.

That initial issue of the Notes carried a report of the National P.M.U. Producers Association’s meeting held on March 13, 1952. It was held at the Fair Grounds Hotel, Indiana State Fairgrounds. That tells me it was the same time as the Indiana Spring Stallion Show and Breeders Sale. If the draft horse business had a Mecca and a holy week 50 years ago, Indianapolis was the place and mid-March was the time. It was there that heavy horse people would gather, renew their friendships (as well as their vows), talk horses, maybe bid on each other’s horses and then talk some more horses.

It had elements of a pep rally. Charley House, that eternal optimist and head coach, was quoted in that first Percheron Notes as follows: “The draft horse business has never looked better. I think it will go up in leaps and leaps.” Knute Rockne couldn’t have said it better.

This event drew an estimated crowd of 1,000 or more people, year after year–right through that whole era when the draft horse business looked like nothing quite so much as the tomcat who had challenged the milk truck and lost.

As for that sale 50 years ago this spring, the fifty-six purebreds (both breeds) averaged $237.50 and the thirty-one grades averaged $181. Not bad when you factor in the price of other things at that time. Not great either–but a good deal better than the condition of that roadkill that challenged the milk truck. That event was truly a great annual affirmation by a determined bunch of people. It is almost impossible to overestimate the importance of the role played by this Indiana Breeder’s Sale in Indianapolis through the late ‘40s, ‘50s and early ‘60s.

So that was obviously the place and time for the P.M.U. producers to meet. They would all be there anyway. The board consisted of the two breed secretaries, Blanche Schmalzried and Anne Brown, and five P.M.U. producers–all of them very prominent and successful purebred breeders. Bob Jones, Farmer City, Illinois; Sherm Read, Richland, Michigan; Ralph Humes, Delaware, Ohio; Roy Curtis, Princeton, Iowa; and John Taft, Mechanicsville, Illinois.

In due time, but not for a long time, I would meet every one of these men and I’m convinced that they were in the urine business primarily because (1) it was a means of getting the feed bill underwritten on their brood mares; (2) it was more profitable to sell draft horses by the gallon than by the head; and (3) it gave them a respectable financial reason for hanging on a bit longer and even make a few bucks while they were doing so. But for those particular guys, I think it was as much a last resort as it was opportunity–very unlike the urine business of today.

So, O.K., wise guy–how do you know all this stuff? Were you in Indianapolis interviewing or eavesdropping on those guys? No, I wasn’t. I’m guessing. I wasn’t even close to Indianapolis, nor was I spending any time thinking about the future of the draft horse–in the event they had one. I was more likely speculating on my own future–in the event I had one. In brief, I had other fish to fry. 1951 was no keeper–and ‘52 didn’t look a whole lot different. But actually, it was. But I didn’t know that either–50 years ago this January 2nd. You just never know how things are going to turn out.

With that we will put the still shrinking but heroic draft horse business aside and take a more general look at 1952.

First off, Illinois whipped Stanford 40 to 7 in the Rose Bowl. It was actually played on New Year’s Day, in the afternoon, right after the parade. Like every other Rose Bowl since Genesis. Like the Lord intended for post season football. And Illinois and Stanford were both champions, or at least designated representatives of their two conferences–the Big Ten and the Pac Ten. The contract between the two conferences was in its sixth year and would last for the rest of the century. There was a certain orderliness to it. It excluded the east–”too effete;” the south–”too cantankerous;”and the High Plains and Rocky Mountain states–”too aw shucks cowboyish.”

Now it is late in the afternoon of January 4, 2002. Last night (after dark!) Miami University (from Florida) whipped Nebraska 37 to 14 in a football game and they called it the “Rose Bowl.” It was all very upsetting, sort of like Easter in late May without the bunny. And it showed. That first half was a sorry spectacle. Proof that it is dangerous to mess around with Mother Nature.

Nebraska’s only previous Rose Bowl appearance was in either 1940 or ‘41. I think they played Duke but am not sure. I don’t know who won. I could look all those things up but I’m not going to because I don’t care. What I think I remember, and really want to tell you, is that every single starter on that Nebraska team was a graduate of and had played his prep football in a Nebraska high school. This was before platoon football, so when you say the eleven starters it was on either offense or defense. That is what I find truly remarkable–that Nebraska’s team was from Nebraska. And I would guess (not going to look this up either) the scholarships were modest and the graduation percentage high.

Old fashioned colonialism was sputtering to an end everywhere. Libya, a former Italian colony in northern Africa became the first country organized under the auspices of the United Nations. In terms of vegetation, Libya is one of the most barren patches of ground in the world. It had, in 1952 anyway, about the lowest per capita income in the world. Except for oil, their prospects weren’t any too rosy. I suppose you could say this new nation was the UN’s Christmas gift to the world. Thus far, I’d say it has about lived down to expectations.

The old warhorse, Churchill, back in office after a six year hiatus, wasted little time in getting over to Washington to confer with President Truman. Churchill, whose mother was an American, managed to hit it off pretty well with all three of our presidents during his time in the sun; FDR, Truman and Eisenhower.

Just a few weeks after Winston’s visit with Harry, there was a week or more of bloody riots in the streets of Cairo, Egypt, and the mob seized control of the British Embassy. King Farouk declared martial law with a shoot-on-sight feature that calmed things down. This was nothing sudden–it was an old rift.

And clear on the other side of the world, in a place called Vietnam, colonialism was also in retreat. Most of us had never heard of Vietnam (or French Indo-China) and certainly did not expect it to become an important part of our lives. The communist guerrillas were having wonderful success against the French forces in January of 1952. The timing was almost symbolic. The communists greatest successes were coming at the very time France was burying one of its WWII heroes, General Jean de Lattre deTassigny. He was the most successful post war commander of the French forces in that part of the world, but he had to leave Vietnam because of his cancer–which killed him. From that point on it was downhill for the French in that country. Would his continued good health have made any difference? For the short haul, maybe. For the long haul, I doubt it. France’s empire was fading–and it is very hard to postpone (or reverse) a sunset.

Given this state of affairs, one might wonder just why anyone would wish to be president of the United States? There are always volunteers for high office and in January of 1952, General Eisenhower let it be known that he was willing to be courted. As for a political party–he declared himself to be a Republican. Supreme Commander of N.A.T.O. at that time, he also said he would not seek the nomination. Nonetheless, about three months later, he requested that he be placed on inactive military status as of June 1. Truman could scarcely deny the request. So, the battle was on in earnest between the old “Dewey” forces versus the “Taft” forces led by Senator Bob Taft from Ohio.

Experts (what would we do without them?) said that the Leaning Tower of Pisa in Italy should bite the dust in 2151–so they only had about a hundred years in which to get it fixed. Not fixed, as in straight up and down. Who would bother to look at that? The world is full of water towers and fence posts. No, fixed to keep right on leaning at about the same angle forever. That is where the tourist money is. I am pleased to report that the Leaning Tower of Pisa has been fixed. It should be an architectural marvel and steady money maker forever.

Now with all this “colonialism is in retreat” talk you might think that monarchy was also washed up. But that was not true. On February 15, 1952, George VI, a man who never wanted to be king, died; and England mourned–truly mourned. George VI was thrust into kingship when his brother, Edward VIII resigned his commission you might say, to marry an American woman named Wallis Simpson. So starting in 1936, George did the best he could, which was plenty good enough. During the darkest days of the London Blitz, he and his queen stayed in residence and did what kings and queens are supposed to do–stay put, show up for work and inspire their countrymen and women. The funeral evoked both passion and pageantry to such an extent that the casual onlooker would probably not have guessed that the empire was in serious decline.

His successor would be his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, who was 25 years old, and married to Philip, a Prince of Greece and Denmark. So, the King is dead–long live the Queen. Elizabeth and her consort, Philip, were in Kenya when word reached her that her father had died. They were staying at a place called the Treetops Hotel, which was built in the branches of a giant fig tree. Isn’t that something? To be notified that you are now queen–while in the branches of a giant fig tree.

I missed one very significant death in this column last time. Will Kellogg, who developed the first flake-type breakfast food (and other vegetarian foods) at his brother’s sanitarium in Battle Creek, Michigan, died at the age of 91. He credited his long life to his diet, based on (I’ll bet you can guess) Kellogg’s Corn Flakes.

I think his longevity had as much or more to do with his unflappable good nature and his generous spirit than his diet. When a fire engulfed one of his factories he calmly said, “The fire is of no consequence. You can’t burn down what we have registered in the mind of the American woman.” The man gave millions to charity. I would guess he slept soundly, loved much, harbored few grudges and ate at least two bowls of Corn Flakes most every day.