Issue
34
- December 10, 2009 - Page 2
Slogan for Carnation Canned Milk
by Cowboy Stan Paregien
Copyright 2009
by Cowboy Stan Paregien
Copyright 2009
[ My good neighbors Bud and Karen Barton sent this little item to me, written by someone unnamed as if it were about an incident in the life of a husband-wife team of Wisconsin dairy farmers. I've heard cowboy poets tell this basic story, with various embellishments, but never with such a nice visual aid to accompany it. So, I'm gonna take the liberty of telling it in more or less the way I've heard it over the years, i.e., the c-o-w-b-o-y way. ]
Seems that rancher Slim Hoffman's wife, Thelma, was a well-rounded woman. She could haul hay with the best of 'em. And she could do whatever Slim asked her to do come branding time. All that plus milking a cow twice a day, doing the washing whenever she could, and cooking three darned good meals a day. She was quite a hand.
Truth is, in 1945 she was in her prime. And that included her ability to write. Oh, mostly she wrote mighty interesting letters to her family and friends, as well as a little poetry about life there on their west Texas ranch.
No, wonder then, that when ol' Slim tossed the afternoon mail on her small writing table her eyes locked in on a circular from Carnation Milk Company. They had only recently started selling canned milk. And now they were announcing a poetry contest with a $5,000 first place prize. Anyone could enter, and all was required is that the poem start with the line, "Carnation Milk is best of all".
Well, Thelma cleared off her desk and with a #3 pencil and a yellow tablet she began to jot down some ideas. She wrote feverishly all afternoon. She stopped long enough to cook supper and do her evening chores, then it was back to work on her idea for the poem.
The next morning, as Slim got ready to drive into town to the feed store, Thelma told him about her completed poem. She read it to him and folded it up and gave it to him.
"Honey," she said, "we're out of envelopes and stamps. So would you buy a few extra? And put my poem in an evelope, put a stamp on it and mail it to the Carnation Milk Company for me."
Slim nodded his head as he stuck the poem and the address in his faded blue denim shirt which he had buttoned at the top.
About six weeks passed and then one day, lo and behold, there was a fancy letter addressed to Thelma and it was from the Carnation Milk Company. She was sure that she had won the prize, but she didn't want to open it until Slim came in from the pasture, so he could also enjoy the excitement of the moment.
An hour or so later Slim rattled up near the house in his old pickup. He wiped the sweat and dust from his face with the inside elbow of his left shirt sleeve. And just as his boots hit the first step of the porch, Thelma swung open the screen door.
"Come on in, Slim. I got me a letter here from the Carnation Milk Company and I know my prize money must be in it."
They sat down at the kitchen table. She tried to open it, but she was so excited that she kept dropping it. So she gave it to Slim to open.
Slim torn off one end of the envelop, blew inside to puff it open. He took out the letter and began to read it:
Dear Mrs. Hoffman:
Your entry in our Carnation canned milk poetry contest was received at our office.
A few of our judges actually said they liked your poem, but the final decision was that
your poem was far too rough and vulgar. In fact, your name has been blacklisted
from entering any future contest, whether in poem or essay form. In short, please
do not send anything to us again.
Sincerely,
The Judges
Carnation Canned Milk Poetry Contest
Thelma was absolutely stunned. She had written a simple, lovely poem that could be read in any home or, for that matter, any church. She was nearly in tears trying to solve this mystery of her rejection. "Oh, my Lord, how could this have happened?" she moaned.
Then it hit her.
She look over at Slim and he was squirming in his chair, doing everything he could to avoid eye contact with her.
"You changed it, didn't you, Slim!" she yelled. "You re-wrote it before you mailed it, didn't you?"
Slim stared at the floor and moved his right boot like his was stubbing out a cigarette. "Well, darlin', I did change it a little bit."
"A little bit?" she moaned. "My poem might have won us $5,000 and, Lord knows, we need it."
"Ahhhh, now, Thelma," Slim said, trying to extricate himself from a very delicate situation, "I just thought your poem didn't have enough punch to it."
Thelma rolled her eyes and said, "Not enough 'punch,' huh? Well confess up, Slim. What did you write?"
So Slim recited the poem that he sent in as her's.
Thelma fainted right on the spot. And poor Slim spent the next three weeks sleeping in the old run-down bunkhouse.
This is what Slim had written:
