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Vol.48-No.25June 20, 1996Unlike Ancestors, Mort Mertz Is Rancher First And ForemostBy Colleen SchreiberSAN ANGELO — Mort...
06/17/2025

Vol.48-No.25
June 20, 1996

Unlike Ancestors, Mort Mertz Is Rancher First And Foremost

By Colleen Schreiber

SAN ANGELO — Mort Mertz has banking in his blood but not in his heart. Unlike the two generations of Mertz’s before him, he never had the desire to put on a suit and be tied to an office on a daily basis. He’s been in the cattle and sheep business full-time since he graduated from college.

“All of my kinfolk were ranchers and bankers until they got broke,” Mertz says.
“I never cared anything about the banking and I really didn’t know anything about it ... Well, I should know something about it, because ranchmen have to borrow money all their life,” he adds.

Mertz’s grandfather, Mortimer L. Mertz, was a long-time rancher, banker and entrepreneur in West Texas. The town of Mertzon, a ranching community in Irion County, was named after him.

The elder Mertz came to West Texas from his native hometown of Beaver Dam, Wisconsin, on vacation in his early teens.

He was only 14 when his father died, and to support himself he took a job as a printer. From the printing office he went into an abstract firm and later into a private banking house.

Mertz says his grandfather had always dreamed of seeing the West, so in 1869 he seized the opportunity, taking six months’ leave from his job. He had planned to travel to El Paso and then back home.

Family tradition has it that Mertz’s stagecoach paused for the night in San Angelo, where he met up with some of the local sheepherders, mostly young men of his own age. They invited him to eat and spend the night with them at their sheep camp.

He apparently stayed for a couple of days, and in the meantime the cook quit, so the young Midwesterner offered to cook for awhile.

“He cashed in his stagecoach ticket to El Paso and never went back to Wisconsin,” Mertz says of his grandfather.

He worked in the Devil’s River country in the Ozona area for three or four years, taking his pay in sheep. Before long he had his own herd. Mertz headquartered on the Beaver’s Lake on the Devil’s River. A landmark of that era, the younger Mertz says, was Mertz’s water hole on the Kincaid ranch.

In 1887 Mertz joined forces with George J. Bird, a rancher in Menard County. Together Mertz and Bird operated a country in Schleicher, Irion and Tom Green counties and trailed 21,400 sheep the first four years they were in partnership.

Mertz was instrumental in getting the Orient Railroad to San Angelo and was named director of the line in 1910. When he died, he was vice president and treasurer of the Orient of Texas. Mertzon, which lies on the railroad’s path, was named in his honor. The little town was first known as Mertz, but the post office later changed it to Mertzon.

In 1892 Bird and Mertz bought a substantial amount of stock in San Angelo National Bank. Bird was made a director and Mertz was elected president, an office which he held for 40 years until his death in 1931.

Mertz’s father, Leonard Mortimer Mertz, was born on March 7, 1896 in San Angelo. He attended grade schools in San Angelo, graduated from the Culver Military Academy, and attended the Wharton School of Business and Finance, the University of Pennsylvania and the University of Texas
He held a regular commission in the U.S. Army during World War I.

During the darkest days of the Great Depression, L.M. Mertz took a job as inspector with the newly established Reconstruction Finance Corporation.

“It was the only source of finance for farmers and ranchers at the time,” his son says. “None of the ranch top people would offer. They had lots of assets, but they didn’t have any weekly cash flow.”

The RFC later became the Farm Credit Administration’s National Credit Association, the Texas branch became Credit Production Association. The RFC office in San Angelo, and the national headquarters was later. That branch became and maintained one of the original names. All the work was handled for the officers in which they were located, Mertz says.

Mertz’s grandmother on his father’s side was a Mayer, another long-time West Texas ranch family.

Abe Mayer Sr.’s father owned a general merchandise store on the banks of the San Saba River. The family later moved their mercantile to Sonora, and Abe Mayer began ranching at Middle Valley operating under the name of T’Half Circle. The town of Mayer, just over the Sutton County line in Schleicher County, was the site of ranch headquarters.

In 1907 Mayer sold his interest in the T’Half Circle to Sol Mayer and moved to San Angelo.

“He was quite a roper,” Mertz says of his grandfather Mayer. “He roped 50-something head of outlaw steers at one point and made enough money off of them to get married.”

In 1909 he and his bride moved to the Howard Well Ranch, on Howard Draw in Crockett County, owned by Val Verde Land and Cattle Company.

In 1915, while operating the Crockett County ranch, in his budget addition known as the Cockett Canyon country, the Middle Concho River in Irion and Tom Green counties from Bird and Mertz.

Mayer became well known for his roping ability. Will Rogers was once a judge at the roper of the time, and he came to the Ozona rodeo every year, where Mayer performed.

Mertz has a fond memory of the summer he and his brother, his mother and sister spent in California.

“I want to go again one day,” he recalls. “Spencer Tracy and several other celebrities were there, and Will Rogers came walking in. His mother was with him, she had the flu and didn’t remove her from the car.”

Mertz says Mort Mertz took a job in Agriculture in Animal Husbandry in the U.S. Army and served for five years.

The partners partnered in the Rice Brothers for three years before Mertz was again drafted into the army. He’d spent time in Africa during World War II in Germany, and during the Korean War he was sent back to Germany, very near where he had originally served.

After mustering out of the service in 1954, Mertz married Madolyn Powell. Rather than return to the New Mexico ranch, he worked briefly for his father on the family ranch at Arden. His brother stayed on in New Mexico for some 20 years.

In 1955 his father-in-law, John Powell, offered him a chance to operate some of his country at Big Lake, so he moved to Big Lake, to the Mertz’s ranch Powell was well known throughout the sheep industry. Powell raised top open-face Rambouillet.

“That’s where I got my start,” Mertz explained.

“He sold me 1252 of those open-face Rambouillets, and that’s the bloodline that I’ve maintained ever since.”

Mertz lambs in March, ships 75 to 80 pound lambs around the middle of September through the first of October.

Lambing later, he says, suits his operation better, not only because fall shipment tends to provide a better market opportunity, but also because he doesn’t worry as much about bad weather during shearing. He usually marks about a 115 percent lamb crop. Mertz also sells some 200 buck lambs a year. He keeps the cream of the crop for his own stud herd. "I'm lucky to get 50 a year that I really like," he remarks. "There's about 20 things you have to look for in sheep that you don't have to look for in cattle." Mertz says if there is one thing that he faults his sheep on is that they used to be longer. "Conformation is very important," he remarks. "You want that stretch in sheep, but you want good wool as well. The wool has to be good on the sides and the belly. You want the same kind of wool clear across their body." Mertz focuses equally on wool and lamb, but lamb income makes him the most money, by far.

The first few years he was in business, Mertz fed his lambs out.
“I never lost any money,” he says, “but I never really made any, either. The ewes have always fed their lambs and they’ve made money every time, so I’ve watched what they’ve done and the last two years I’ve fed mine out and they’ve done fine.”

In addition to his Rambouillet sheep, Mertz has long been a Hereford man.

In recent years he’s incorporated Angus and Salers breeding into his program. His calves are half Hereford, a quarter Angus and a quarter Salers.

“For years, if my Hereford calves weighed 500 pounds I was just tickled to death,” Mertz remarks. “When we crossed the Hereford with the Salers all of a sudden I was weaning 600 pound calves. And then after we took the Saler and put those high-powered Angus bulls on them, we jumped weaning weights up to 700 pounds.

“I think we’ve hit on something for the feedlot, too,” he adds. “These calves gain and perform well in the feedlot, and they grade.”

Mertz has never carried his calves through the feedlot, but three sons have been feeding theirs for several years with Syracuse Feedyard, operated by Koch Beef Co. out of Syracuse, Kansas, and he says they’ve done well.

Mertz used to market his calf crop through an order buyer. Lately he has been going to special feeder sales, and in recent years he’s sold on the satellite. When the market straightens out, Mertz says, he’ll probably try his luck in the feedlot.

His Eldorado country is different, too — so when Mertz first moved to Schleicher County his cattle developed serious problems with lump jaw. Thanks to the help of some veterinarian friends and a nutritionist who formulated a special salt mixture with double the minimum daily iodine requirement, his cattle no longer suffer from this problem.

In 1990 he left Schleicher and moved down to the east clear of mesquite, thanks to an aggressive brush management program which he had been promoting for many years. He recalls that most of the livestock not having enough grass was that way in the early 1990s. That year it started raining in July. We had some rain and it didn’t grow a bit of grass. All it did was sprout these dormant w**d seeds — mesquite, prickly pear and cedar,” Mertz says.

He worries that if future generations are to continue businesses such as ranching, ranch people need breaks, and not necessarily in the taxes.
Mertz says even during a respite, Mertz, like other ranchers in Schleicher County, was facing a serious infestation of cedar. During the 1950s, the rancher has by no means broken even in the brush-busting business, but he is feeding his livestock.

“I had heard about it, this is the toughest year I’ve ever had,” Mertz remarks. “The drought, high overhead, high feed costs, all make it tough.”

Mertz has been feeding hay since October, and his sheep since January.

“We’ll be lucky if we can stay in business another 30 days at this pace,” Mertz said in mid-June. He’s 60 years old, a rancher who did not have the benefit of inherited wealth, but who made his way with hard work and a deep-seated appreciation of the lifestyle.

“My dad and brother never said much to me about it. When I came back from college, Dad did not want me to go. He never wanted to see another dinner ruined because of the problem.”

As for the cattle market, Mertz has lived through several down cycles.

“I bought some registered Red Poll calves in 1952 for $200 in Mexico and sold them for 18 cents,” he recalls.

The recent problem would not have surprised him, he says.

“Dad always told me never to fall in love with my livestock or marry them. I’ve known this bad time was coming, and with the drought … I just didn’t want to sell my cattle.

“The cattle and sheep I have at Arden were my Dad’s,” he continues. “I ate the country off way too short and the only thing he told me not to do, just because they were his.”

Today Mertz operates his wife’s family country at Eldorado and the old Mertz family ranch at Arden. His three sons, Len, Mort and Michael, partner in cow/calf country in Schleicher, Irion and Reagan counties, and his daughter Susan ranches with her husband Dub Slaughter at Sheffield.

Len and Mort, like their grandfather and great-grandfather, are involved in some facet of the livestock and banking business as well. Michael, however, like his father, broke that mold. He’s tried other things, but like his father, ranching was all he ever really wanted to do.

“I learned a lot from Dad and my father-in-law,” the elder Mertz says. “They didn’t tell you a lot, but you learned by watching.”

A rancher can be the best ranchman in the world, Mertz continues, “but unless he’s a good merchandiser he falls short on the other end.”

One philosophy he has passed on to his kids is to raise a product they can stand behind.

“We don’t want to raise something — for lack of a better word — junk,” Mertz says. “We want to raise a good product and we want to fairly represent it. We want to have integrity. That was passed on to me, and I think that I passed that on to my children.”

Vol.21-No.19June 5, 1969Cactus Plants' Unexpected Popularity Opens Neew Market For Desert RanchersMARATHON, Tex. - Don't...
06/12/2025

Vol.21-No.19
June 5, 1969

Cactus Plants' Unexpected Popularity Opens Neew Market For Desert Ranchers

MARATHON, Tex. - Don't grub out that cactus yet. There may be a market for it.

A dealer in desert plants for yard landscapes had a remnant load of yuccas on his hands in El Paso awhile back, trying to sell them for $4.50 apiece so he could go home. A nurseryman beat him down to $2.50. While the dealer was unloading them from his trailer, the nurseryman sold one to a woman for $35.

This points up the potential prices in a growing plant industry beginning to dribble a bit of change into the pockets of some ranchers in semi-desert areas of West Texas, New Mexico and Arizona. At the rate it is expanding, it conceivably could become a healthy money item for ranchers able to exploit it.

Bob Steger, Extension Service range specialist in Fort Stockton, Tex., has found that a rancher having the proper contacts can get $1-2.50 for small ocotillo plants, up to $3.50 for those as much as eight feet tall. Yucca plants may be worth $1-2 each, and multi-headed ones $1-5 extra per head. Chollas can run $1.50- 2.50 apiece.

And that is range delivery. A limited demand for desert plants has existed for many years, so small there was little or no money in it for a landowner. Now, during the last year or so they have become a minor fad. Perhaps the crowding and fast pace of city living is catching up with people, and they like to be reminded of the quiet open spaces. Or perhaps it is just that desert plants are easy to set out, require little water and a minimum of care.

"Maybe people are getting lazy, or maybe they had just rather be fishing than working in the yard," says Sanford DeVoll, former game warden now a plant dealer in Alpine. Most of his volume so far has been in Texas, but he has sold plants as far east as Alabama. Desert plants will thrive in a variety of climates. A friend of DeVoll's has a cactus garden in Aransas Pass, Tex., just a block from the bay. The plants came out of the Big Bend.

For Texas, most of the business so far has been in the Trans Pecos and Big Bend areas, which have a wide variety of hardy species. Most desert plants can be transplanted any time of year, making it a year-around business.

Steger says only a comparatively few ranchers have begun to look seriously at the cactus plants as a cash crop. For years landowners have been content to let people dig them up for nothing, hoping grass might come in where the cactus plant came out. In recent months, however, a great many plant dealers have been knocking on doors all over the Big Bend country. He believes ranchers could drive a harder bargain if they tried.

"A planned program of harvest to maintain a continuing stand should be worked out and this natural resource wisely used," he says. "These ornamental plants can increase overall ranch income if properly handled."

He points out that such plants grow slowly, and if they are all sold at a low price or no price, many years will be required to replace them. Should the industry continue to grow and prices increase, a ranchman might kick himself for having sold out too quickly.

He recalls that it hasn't been many years since ranchers considered much of the wild game as a pest to be eliminated. He thinks the ornamental cactus may just now be coming into its own.

Some of the Marathon ranch operators who have noted the cactus boomlet are the Hess Ranch, which has sold a considerable amount of agave plants; David Adams, whose ranch lies adjacent to the north boundary of the Big Bend National Park; and Bill Donnell, vice president of the Texas & Southwestern Cattle tie Raisers Assn. Donnell furnishes grass seed to the cactus harvesters, asking them to toss a handful into the hole every time they take up a plant.

"The main thing the ranchmen have to do now is to quit giving these plants away," declares Adams. "It doesn't make sense to sell a plant for 50 cents to $1 that has taken 50-60 years to grow. I just won't sell for that kind of price anymore.

"He believes the market is coming up, for the dealers have just about run out of ranchmen who will give the plants away. The word is getting around.

Some people worry that the ranchers might sell off all their cactus and rob the semi-desert area of its natural beauty. DeVoll says he doesn't believe the market is broad enough to absorb that many plants.

However, there are certain comparatively scarce species which bring premium prices. Adams is getting a dollar a trunk foot for his Thompson yucca, for example.

Steger says some ranchers concerned over altering the look of their country restrict plant hunters to out-of-the-way areas and do not permit them to take plants along the roads.

Though its profusion probably will keep it from becoming a profitable market item, even the lowly greasewood or creosote bush has proven to be a dandy ornamental hedge. It's a little hard to transplant, but once established and kept trimmed, it makes a dense growth of evergreen leaves.

May 24, 1973Vol.25-No.18The Pat Rose Name Has Been Known In Del Rio Area Ever Since 1883DEL RIO - Three generations of P...
05/27/2025

May 24, 1973
Vol.25-No.18

The Pat Rose Name Has Been Known In Del Rio Area Ever Since 1883

DEL RIO - Three generations of Pat Roses are ranching in the Del Rio-Brackettville area, representing five generations since the first Pat Rose settled here in 1883 and opened a livery stable.
The three are Pat Sr., just turned 73, Pat Jr. and Pat III, the latter two ranching in partnership in the Brackettville area. Pat Sr. has another son, Abb, ranching near Sanderson.
Family names have a way of being handed down in the Rose family. Pat Sr. was named for his grandfather, the original Patrick Henry Rose, who brought 12 children here from Karnes County by way of Mexico when the railroad was built through in 1883. One of those 12 was Pat Sr.'s father Abb, whose name has been passed on to Pat's younger son. There was another Pat Rose, uncle to Pat Sr.
The first Pat Rose had ranched in Karnes County and also for a short time in Mexico before arriving in Del Rio. Livery stables were a good solid business in that time; he managed to bring up and educate all his children out of the stable, and acquire a bit of town property as well. His son Abb - Pat Sr.'s father - was inclined toward the traditional family ranching trade, however, and in time became a large landowner in Val Verde and Edwards counties.
In fact, Abb- Rose about 1906 decided he had too much land and sold off about 20,000 of his 52,000 acres for $2.50 per acre. Some of that land today, because of the nearby Amistad Lake, is crowding the $200 mark.
In his later years he co-signed notes for a number of people. After his death in 1925 the family was forced to sell much of the remaining land when hard times came to the Del Rio ranch country and mortgage holders called on co-signers to pay off defaulted notes.
Pat Sr. began ranching for himself at the age of 19 when his father helped him buy a small ranch adjoining the homeplace. It proved to be too small for an economic working unit, and 10 years later he sold it to his older brother Martin. He started leasing large places to get a better foothold.
At one point, before he began breaking up his own lease holdings and selling out to his sons, he operated 90,000-100,000 acres. He partnered Pat Jr. in his oldest son's first ranching years, then later partnered the younger son Abb for several years. Both sons are ranching independently now in a large way.
Pat Sr. still has two deeded places which he operates because he does not want to retire. One is 6600 acres which he was left by his father, the other about 10,800 acres which he bought near Com· stock in 1945. He doesn't know how much longer he may have that one; it is on the Amistad reservoir, and developers have been trying to buy it for its recreational potential. They have offered to lease back the grazing rights to him.
The irony is that with all this grand fishing potential running up the price of the land, none of the Rose family are fishermen. "I don't guess any of us has wet a hook in that lake," says Pat Sr. "People tell me how lucky I am to have all that water, but I had already run pipelines all over the place years ago. I had all the water I needed for my stock.”
He has no hobbies he enjoys more than ranching. His biggest single hobby is one closely related, the raising and training of racehorses. This year he will have two Kentucky raised Thoroughbreds out on the circuit. He owns a small home at Ruidoso, N. M., within easy driving distance of the track.
Other people may say the enjoyment has gone out of ranching, but Rose doesn't find it that way.
"We've always loved the ranch, and we still do," he says. Not only are his two sons deeply involved in it, but his two grandsons as well, Pat III and Bill.
Moreover, the Rose ranches have several families of employes who have been on these places since the early 1940s. The Roses have always tried to keep good employe relationships. Some of the present employes grew up on the ranches where they work.
Pat Sr. dabbled in crossbreeding of cattle a few years ago, and Pat Jr. is crossing Simmental on Hereford and Angus cows. When Pat Jr. was in Texas A&M in 1939, Pat Sr. topped 100 registered Rambouillet ewes for him out of about 400 which the late Dutch Wardlaw had bought from the Bullard flock in California. These were the nucleus of a registered flock which has kept the Rose name prominent in Rambouillet circles more than 30 years.
Although Rose has always raised a combination of sheep, cattle and goats, he traditionally has considered sheep the most important. "Goats were good at times and bad at times. Cattle always seemed to need more grass and more rain. I always had to fall back on sheep," he says.
Even during the extreme wool depression of 1971, he was not uneasy about sheep for the long pull. "I felt that wool would come back like it always has. And it did." His eight months wool topped the recent sealed bid wool sale at Del Rio Wool & Mohair Co. at 1.07 1/8.
He figures that he and everybody else in this part of the country used to stock sheep too heavily, to the long-term detriment of the grazing lands. Traditionally, until the drouth of the early 1950s, sheep in the Del Rio area were allowed three acres per head. Now the average is more like five acres, he says.
"Our lambs weigh 10-15 pounds more, and the ewes shear three pounds per head more," he says, crediting part of this to better breeding and the rest to better range.
Only one of Rose's three brothers, Therrell, is still living. He ranches in the Del Rio area. Martin died in 1948 and Hobart in 1964.

Barber, Roper, and Cowpuncher Watson Kirk Moved Around A LotVol.23-No.17May 20, 1971BALLINGER, Tex. - Watson Kirk says h...
05/13/2025

Barber, Roper, and Cowpuncher Watson Kirk Moved Around A Lot

Vol.23-No.17
May 20, 1971

BALLINGER, Tex. - Watson Kirk says he may be the only barber in Texas who learned his trade in an insane asylum. Kirk, who will be 84 on June 8, lives in a rest home in Ballinger. He barbered most of his adult life, roped goats and calves when he was younger, and day-worked on West Texas ranches when there wasn't enough hair to cut. He was a contemporary of the late Bill Nix, a Rankin barber widely known as a roper 50 years ago and a fine heeler to the day he died in the early 1950s. "We were the only roping barbers I ever knew of," Kirk says. "Both of us were fools about a good horse."

Kirk grew up in Burnet County. His father, Newt Kirk, had a reputation of being a "right smart of a cowboy" in his single days, but Watson can only remember him as a "right smart of a farm- er and a hog feeder." The family had a farm on the bank of the Russell Fork of the San Gabriel River. His father bought feed- er pigs, hauling them home in a wagon and turning them loose in a hog pasture, where he fattened them on green roasting ears worth 25 cents a bushel. He fed them in carload lots; when they were ready, he and the boys would drive them afoot to the railroad at Bertram and ship them to Fort Worth.

There were five boys in the family; Watson says he was his daddy's "hiring-out hand." He worked on farms and ranches to bring in outside money. He drove a livery rig for Gotcher Bros. in Bertram and later for Frazier Bros. in Lampasas, meeting trains and carrying passengers to the hotel, or hauling itinerant photographers and drummers around over the country on their calls. Hardware drummers were the most trot1ble because they carried so many bulky samples. On Sundays Kirk would fix up buggies and horses so young men could take their girls sparking.

He says he spent a lot of time walking behind his father's turning plows when he should have been in school, and his formal education ended at 15. But he learned a lot from the drummers.

He married in 1911. Work was hard to find. A friend got him a job helping take care of patients in a state asylum in Austin. Keeping the patients shaved and their hair cut was an eternal problem, and the superintendent asked Kirk if he would like to learn the barber trade. One of the patients was a barber; he undertook to teach Kirk the rudiments. Kirk always kept an eye on him, because the barber had been put away for killing a woman. Kirk noticed that the barber always kept his razors exceedingly sharp.

Mrs. Kirk was given a job in the asylum, too, in the women's receiving ward. The pay was $35 a month apiece, from which they had to take an eight percent discount in cashing the state pay vouchers.

"I wouldn't take a million dollars for what I learned working with crazy people," says Kirk. "It kept me out of lots of trouble."

The only serious trouble he had during his time there was when a patient broke a rocking chair across his head; it took five stitches to close the wound.

After four years he decided to return to the outside world. Friends set him up as manager of a barber shop and sulfur bath in Austin, but he had no management experience, and that job didn't last long. He barbered awhile in Marble Falls, took a job as a state barbershop inspector but lost it when the governorship changed hands.

He always liked to rope. He feels that he may have contributed to the state law which was passed against steer roping because "we were always bad about roping other people's stock; we would rope anything we could get a loop on." He would sometimes neglect his barbering to go to a roping, though he never strayed far enough to make the bigtime. The ones he went to were usually like one about 1924 when he tied Allen Holder, Rankin, roping black muley calves in Brady. They tossed to see which one took the pot, and Kirk won. It was a magnificent sum of $20.

One of his bigger winnings was July 4, 1924, when he tied a goat in 13 seconds and won $113 in Belton. He used some of the prize money to buy a lot of bacon, which the cowboys fried up to eat; they usually camped out in those times.

One of the longest trips he with these two brand-new weapons made to a roping was to Abilene; when he got there the show was rained out.

The best horse he ever had was a sorrel mare named Betty, which seemed to enjoy the sport as well as he did; invariably she would nicker while he made the tie.
Kirk always had a restless foot, and his barbering career took him to many places. "I was always looking for that big dollar just down the road," he says.

As a young cowboy worked a short time in the Ozona country on the Robert Massie ranch. In the late 1930s he went back out to that area, settling awhile in Barnhart, which was then one of the biggest livestock shipping points in the country. He day-worked on various ranch- es there, barbering in town when there wasn't a ranch job.

When the oil boom started at Big Lake, he moved over there and went into a barber shop, where he stayed seven or eight years. He lived in San Angelo for a time. He had a house in the Lake View area of San Angelo in 1953 when a man offered to trade him a little 35 acre farm with house and barn at Coleman. Kirk took the deal. Twenty-three days after he moved from that house, the Lake View tornado flattened it.

At Coleman he did what farming was necessary- on the 35 acres, and kept up his barber trade. About 1961 he traded for a barbershop in Paint Rock, 30 miles east of San Angelo, but Mrs. Kirk died shortly after they moved there. Barbering in Paint Rock was hardly a fulltime occupation, so he filled out his time by working in the wool warehouse and feedstore, answering phones, etc., and often spent his nights at the Paint Rock Feed Yard, catching the phone and being on hand in case trucks came in to load or unload lambs.

He says he always liked barbering, except that when business was brisk it got a little hard on the kidneys. He gave it up a couple of years ago after being hurt in a car wreck.

He has one son, Joe Dayton Kirk, an Air Force career man currently stationed in Albuquerque. The Kirks named him for Dayton Moses, longtime cattle as- sociation attorney and district attorney in Burnet.

Kirk's health forced him to break up housekeeping and move to a rest home a year or so ago. It took him awhile to get used to the idea. "I've already broke out of two old-folks' homes," he declares. He likes the one in Ballinger.

He says he always managed to get a lot of fun out of life. He never did find that "big dollar" he was always looking for down the road, and he knows now that there were times he should have stayed instead of moving.

"But I made friends everywhere I went, and a friend is worth more than the dollar. I always could get along anywhere I was . . . even in Barnhart."

Mixing barbering and cow- punching resulted in experiences, some of them more or less hazardous, which neither straight barbers nor cowpunchers are likely to have.

There was the time, for example, when Watson was alternately barbering and doing ranch work around Barnhart. He happened to be running the town barbershop on this occasion. A local rancher, the late Campbell Hinde, was a regular customer. He preferred a barbershop shave to any other kind. When he got a haircut, he liked his neck shaved squarely across the back.

On this day, while Watson was working on him, Campbell mentioned something about the art of calf roping. Watson enthusiastically pursued the subject while fulfilling his tonsorial duties. When the last calf was tied and the finishing scrape put on Campbell's neck, Hinde went straight to his ranch, saddled his horse, and rode for the rest of the afternoon under a searing sun. That was when he discovered that Watson had shaved his neck a full inch and a half higher than it had ever been scraped before. He felt as if he'd been branded, and his temper was no cooler than that blistered expanse of nape.

"However," Hinde said, when the pain and his wrath had subsided a bit, "it was really my own fault. Take my advice, don't ever talk rodeo with a roping barber when he's working on you.”

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