Sheriff Fay F. Brown’s Badge: Mule Men

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· Sheriff Fay F. Brown’s Badge: Mule Men

It’s Friday, March 4, 1927, at the Reno County Sheriff’s Office in the temporary courthouse. Fay Brown and Alfred Ludwig, friends, are talking about their former military service.

*

“Brownie,” said Alfred J. Ludwig, 33, Army recruiter for the Hutchinson, Kansas, area, “how are you?”

“Expecting spring weather to show up any day,” replied Sheriff Fay F. Brown, 36 years old. “How’s recruiting? You need an old mule man to help make your monthly quota?”

“Those days are over, Brownie, for both of us,” said Al Ludwig. “The Army ain’t what it used to be. Nowadays, we want trained technicians in a hundred professions. We offer courses in moving picture photography, weather forecasting, banking, office management, and even carrier pigeon training.”

“What, no one delivers milk anymore?” asked Fay.

“The old Army mule is giving way to motor power,” explained the recruiting sergeant. “Now it’s necessary to establish transportation schools about the country with a corps of expert mechanics.”

I’ve been a lucky guy,” said Brown. “My five months on the Mexican border with the Kansas National Guard, when we were at Eagles Pass, the Texas border station, was a hiccup compared to your time in the World War.”

“We had a formidable foe Over There,” said Ludwig. “But both you and me had a special assignment that was, at times, unappreciated. Caring for an animal, a mule, in the midst of a war was a full-time job. I’m still proud of our work. Mules saved lives. We have every right to be pleased with our record of caring for animals, especially when we worked in the fight against their epidemic diseases.

“I recall our regiment’s march from the front towards Rimaucourt. The weather was anything but favorable during the whole hike; snow and rain with high winds and sometimes stinging hailstones made things very disagreeable. But the morale remained at one hundred percent because of the one word that was in everybody’s mind: home.

“At Rimaucourt the drudgery, monotony, and worries within the company began to lighten considerably, due to the turning in of the animals,” Ludwig continued. “A sincere sigh of relief went up when the last stubborn mule had been roped into its box car, but a day or two later us mule men felt lost and began to realize what the companionship of our animals had meant.”

“We had respect for our mules,” said Fay. “The men that worked with mules either began with patience and trust, or they ended up in the field hospital.”

Al laughed knowingly. He had seen enough men kicked when they least expected it. During the war, Al had lived cheek-to-cheek with his mule and they developed great respect for one another. His mule wasn’t a person, but he was a companion.

Again, Fay remembered things he had said years before that leaped from his lips: “You can tell a horse what to do, but you need to convince a mule.”

Al smiled, nodded, and laughed again. Mules had a strong sense of self-preservation. If a mule felt he was being put into danger, he often refused to follow orders. Al knew how the Army’s mules and horses deserved better treatment than they had received. “We sort of accepted the nightmare of what man had created,” said Al, “but the innocent animals didn’t know why they were there, in the mud and blood of the battle fields.

“Most of us got to come home more or less intact,” Al continued. “Too many of our brave beasts, some with their vocal cords cut (so they didn’t alert the enemy to our battlefield location), were sold off to French butchers, a terrible fate given their service. I prefer to imagine my last mule, Rowdy, being purchased by a pleasant peasant farmer who harvested wheat. My war-time, four-legged companion could be alive today. I imagine the French farmer and Rowdy working as a closely-knit team, Rowdy receiving all the creature comforts of food, shelter, and care any mule could ever want.

*

“What can I do for you today?” asked Fay. “Has Judge Fairchild been helping you with recruitment again?”

“I just want your opinion on a couple of young men I think you’ve met,” replied Al. “Then I’ll visit the county attorney’s office.”

*

“Cora,” said Fay, “Al Ludwig was down at the office today checking to see if some young men on his recruitment list were worthy of another chance.”

“Tell Alfred to stop by for coffee,” said Cora. “If any of his potential recruits have been locked up here in the last couple of months, I can give him my opinion,” said Cora. “How’s he doing?”

“We talked about being wagon drivers and mule men and how those animals were better in mud than any automobile or truck,” said Fay. “Then we had a laugh recalling just how stubborn a mule could be.

“Al would like to see a statue of a mule at our military cemeteries, especially at Fort Leavenworth,” said Fay, “because they were the unsung heroes of the World War.”

“Honey,” said Cora, “it sounds like you’re ready to adopt an old Army mule. Where would we keep it, in the bull pen with the prisoners?”

“Whenever I talk with Al, I recognize how the circumstances of our deployments were so different,” said Fay. “On the Mexican border, our regiment complained of the heat and the dust storms or the boredom, but we weren’t losing men and mules to enemy shelling, machine gun fire, gas attacks, and pneumonia.”

“Fay,” said Cora, “you’re feeling bad again about not having fought Over There, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so,” admitted Fay. “I like Al but after we relive our days working military mules, I start thinking of the animals and the men who were slaughtered on the battle fields of Europe. I wasn’t there, but I can imagine the scared and screaming animals with terrible neck wounds or their entrails hanging out. I sometimes dream of trying to reach the floundering mules that are seriously wounded. I can put them out of their misery with a single bullet through their head. But, finally, when I reach them, I pull the trigger–click, click, click–it’s empty. No bullets.”

“Fay,” offered Cora, “if it helps, remember that someone had to help protect the families of the soldiers while they served. Every man in uniform fought for their friends and family here in the States. You helped keep their loved ones in Hutchinson and Reno County from harm so the soldiers could do their job in the trenches. They wanted you here, not Over There.”

“I know you’re right,” agreed Fay. “It’s just that my memories are cycling. Tonight I’ll remember my friend John Ferguson from when we served on the border in Machine Gun Company. I’ll recall how I accused him of shaving off my Charlie Chaplin mustache one night while I was sleeping. He never confessed, but he always had a sly grin when I asked him about it.

“Tonight, in my dream,” continued Fay, “I’ll see myself reading every daily newspaper during the War and checking it for casualties. Then, in September 1918, I’ll spot John’s name as killed-in-action, dead in the Argonne.”

“John’s gone,” said Cora, “but we still have each other.”

“Yes, thank god,” said Fay, “by morning my war memory will pass and I’ll be safe here with you.”

*

Until next time, happy writing and reading.

The Kansas Authors Club www.kansasauthors.org is a statewide organization that encourages and supports great writing. It’s divided into seven districts. In Hutchinson, Reno County (part of District 6), we have monthly meetings at Hutchinson Community College. http://www.hutchcc.edu You’re invited. Questions? Contact Jim Potter, jim@copintheclassroom.com