When I thought of using a college photography class project regarding livestock trucking as a blog, I didn’t consider the importance of a backstory. After all, “a picture’s worth a thousand words.” However, the more thought I gave it, the more I felt it necessary to explain a little. Tomorrow’s blog WILL be about photographs, those I made of the men who drove for Saylor Livestock, my Uncle’s business. It’s important to know a little background on Uncle George.
He was my mother’s brother, born November 18th, 1925, the oldest of six children. He lived in Pittsfield, IL (my hometown), which permitted me more access to time with him, whereas my other aunts and uncles lived further away. George and his siblings were born and raised as farm kids, and that placed George around livestock from his beginnings. When my dad died in 1973 I was 14. Uncle George stepped up to help mom and me.
As a teenager, or in his early 20s, George began working for Gerard Brothers Trucking in Pittsfield. He started as a truck driver, working his way to manager. “Ding” and “Dike” Gerard owned the business, located on the southeast edge of town. Through working for the brothers, George got to know livestock, and people, really well.
He moved on to become an “order buyer,” purchasing cattle from farmers for companies such as Swift and Independent Packing Company, while also locating feeder calves for farmers.
George purchased property West of Pittsfield. Fences were repaired, the grounds cleaned up, a barn and office added. It became Saylor Livestock.
George was the “middle man.” He built a good reputation, working a radius of approximately 200 miles surrounding Pittsfield. It was not uncommon for him to put 600 miles a week on his car as he drove to farms and sale barns looking for cattle. His largest single purchase of cattle was from a farmer in Missouri, 1,014 head.
He worked hard, and he expected others to follow. This led to occasional “head butting” with drivers and others. He likely worked more between the hours of 5-9 a.m. than most people do all day. I have heard stories of some conflicts and I “get it,” though he may have been easier on me as his nephew. I worked for him for two summers and he was hard to keep up with. “Grab a root and growl,” he’d say, implying we should act like a wild animal, jump in and grab a root in our mouths, and dig in with conviction. There were many mornings I had a 5 a.m. breakfast with him at The Cardinal Inn before the day’s work began.
George had a nickname for me. “Gilly.” I relished it and never questioned it. I assumed it was in honor of Gale Gillingham, a guard for the Packers when I loved them as a kid. Instead, it was for a Pike County resident, Gilly Goodin, George knew. Gilly had long curly hair like myself, and that reminded George of a story. George went to Goodin’s to conduct business one day. The man was fixing breakfast and George had to wait. When the bacon and eggs were done, George watched as Gilly took his cast-iron skillet and hung it on a nail in the wall, grease running down the surface from the pan.
As I graduated from high school it was still to be determined if I would make photography “stick.” George and others thought to see if I had the aptitude to follow in my uncle’s footsteps. We drove to Norris Farms, a huge feed lot near Havana, IL to look at cattle. George could estimate the weight of an animal to within 2-3 pounds. He quizzed me, “How much do you think that one weighs, Gilly?” “Oh, somewhere between a thousand and fifteen hundred,” I answered. My cousin Eric saw George soon after this trip. “I heard you’re going to make a cattle buyer out of Kent,” Eric asked him. “No. I don’t think I’ll live that long,” George replied.
Stories…We were sorting cattle at the barn one day, I was having a hard time keeping a head count. I asked my uncle for advice. “Count the feet and divide by four,” he joked!
Gene Stickman was one of the truck drivers and is a friend of mine. I recently spoke to him and he shared this one. Gene drove from Kansas City to Pittsfield with a load of feeder calves. He sat in a White Freightliner with a V-12 Detroit diesel. (think of a Ferrari truck, fast!). Gene made “good time” and called George to announce he had arrived in Pittsfield, at the barn. “You can’t be,” George said, knowing how much time it usually took. Sure enough, when George arrived, Gene and the load were waiting. “I can tell you must have gone fast because the first five rows of cattle had their ears pinned back and were wearing goggles,” said George.
Stories aside, Uncle George became an expert with cattle. He judged 12 consecutive American Royal Livestock Shows, the most prestigious show in the country. The equivalent of being asked to officiate 12 consecutive Super Bowls.
He wasn’t perfect. I’m told he played as hard as he worked. He got into some trouble in business dealings, I don’t know all the details. I was too young and just knew him as “Uncle George.” He bounced back to continue his work until he just couldn’t do it anymore. Age, and a broken hip, took him down.
Uncle George passed in August of 2014 at 88.
Uncle George and his siblings. Date unknown. Clockwise from lower left: Alvin “Bud”, Dorothy, June, Jean, Donnie, George.
Uncle George giving me my “birthday spanking.” January, 1971. His buyer card number for that day still in his pocket.
Ariel view of Saylor Livestock property. Circa early-mid 80s.
Uncle George’s obituary.