The Saga of Broadway Lad

‘Twas at the hog fair last September.

A day I well remember,

And I was walking up and down with drunken pride.

When me knees began to flutter

So I sank down in the gutter,

And a pig came ‘round and lay down by me side.

As I lay there in the gutter

Thinking thoughts I could not utter,

I thought I heard a passin’ lady say,

“You can tell the one who boozes

By the company he chooses!”

And with that –

The pig got up and walked away!

- Author Unknown

One sunny spring day, Carmen’s dad Hughie, and his mom Gwen, left the farm for a trip to the city. It was no ordinary trip in purpose or in what was to unfold later in the day. The purpose was to purchase a boar pig at one of the swine sales at the Exhibition Grounds. The rest of the story follows.

Most of the young boars at the sale were good looking stock, but one in particular caught Hughie’s eye. So he bid on it and eventually bought it. Hughie was a nervous bidder at an auction. He was always weary of the fact that one may end up spending more money than necessary because others may want the same item and the price would be driven up unexpectedly. There was also the stigma of walking away from a livestock auction with no livestock because of indecision or hesitation in bidding. That wouldn’t do either. New breeding stock was a timely necessity on the farm at this point, to avoid the problems that came about whenever inbreeding in the herd occurred.

After the sale ended, buyers pulled their trucks and trailers around the back of the Wheatland building and loaded their purchases. Hughie did the same. Hughie’s truck was simple and modest when compared to some of the models that were used for hauling livestock. His was a 1965 Chevrolet one-ton with wooden extensions on the box that sufficed for both grain and livestock transport. It also sported a wooden stock rack top that Carmen’s grandfather had fashioned from some scrap lumber he rescued from the woodpile. It was a dull fawn color and offered some rust patches around the wheel wells and some manure and spilled grain in some of the difficult-to-clean nooks and crannies on the running boards. For all of these characteristics and others, the Chevy was affectionately known as “the pig truck”.

Hughie and Gwen were frugal and after having spent a hefty sum on the new boar, there wasn’t a lot left for fun and frivolity. Besides, they had a live passenger cooped up in the stock compartment so, they decided to get home as soon as possible. They did, however, stop at the cafeteria in the Co-op Shopping Mall on 8th Street on their way out of the city. A world famous hot-turkey sandwich and some mashed potatoes and gravy were in order – you know - to celebrate the purchase. Hughie felt accomplished for his efforts at the sale. He was relieved that the job of bidding was over. He wasn’t one to enjoy the spotlight that auction sales afforded. So, this part of the expedition was easy in comparison, anticlimactic so to speak. The food order was given and Hughie and Gwen waited for it to be served. As they sat, the intercom system in the mall clicked on and an announcement filled the corridors with tidings of angst and worry – for someone.

“Would the owner of the light fawn-colored Chevrolet one-ton truck with license plate number HTY 501 please come to the mall office.”

A million thoughts passed through Hughie’s mind as he glanced worriedly across the table at Gwen. He got up and made his way to the mall administration center. On entering, he learned that a pig; perhaps the one he had just purchased, had bolted from its confines and was holding up traffic on both sides of 8th Street (the main traffic artery of the city at that time). He was apparently seen rooting up freshly planted annuals on the median and was darting back and forth in random fashion to the tune of horns and shouts from the working class folk making their way home for supper. The call of the wild was no longer heard in this pig’s ear – it was the call of the city that beckoned now. Broadway Avenue lay dead ahead and there was no stopping him.

Meanwhile, Hughie hustled to the truck he had left in the parking lot and while feeling that the pig the mall personnel were describing may, in fact, belong to someone else – after all, there had been a sale that day – he looked toward the truck to verify his potential loss. End gates and supporting rods, broken planks and metal slide rails lay strewn in every direction from the back of the truck and into the next row of cars. Hughie’s heart sank. The new boar was indeed gone. How could one man ever hope to catch a pig running loose in the city and then put him back into the truck without a proper loading ramp and side rails? He felt helpless and at the mercy of this urbanized boar who apparently wanted no part of a dull farm existence. He walked defeatedly back toward the mall to inform Gwen of the incident. On his way, he noticed a clatter and wailing coming from the service bay of the Co-op gas bar and auto service center. On closer scrutiny, he found that several gentlemen who had all been pig herders in previous incarnations, had cornered his runaway boar in the oil change bay of the filling station. Their next move was to grab him by the tail and slide around on the slick oily concrete garage floor, like kids on a passing truck bumper on a winter street. The pig faltered and two other fellows grabbed hands underneath the pig’s belly and lifted him up. By now, Hughie had backed the truck into the service bay and the gentlemen put the pig inside. Hughie flipped the end gate boards in place in seconds flat, as he had done a gazillion times before and the pig was secured again.

By this time Hughie was ready to head home. Enough excitement for one day! He parked the truck and went inside to get Gwen who had been waiting, unaware of all happenings for nearly an hour. When Hughie climbed the five steps into the dining lounge, he appeared disheveled. His jacket was askew. His shirt was not tucked in and his hat was tilted to one side – even a little more than usual. There was oil on his face and fresh pig manure on his pants. Gwen’s response was not what one might have expected. She did not seem alarmed or worried or angry. She did not question but instead insisted that Hughie sit down and eat his meal saying merely, “You missed the soup- I ate it - and your sandwich is probably cold by now!”

All’s well that ends well I guess. They finally got the boar home without further occurrence. The young boar turned out to be a productive sire but always had that faraway neon glint in his eye. He was a restless soul for a pig. He marched to a different beat; a different drum maybe, actually a whole different band. He refused to be penned up. He made light of the electric fence. No mere wooden penning system could hold him. He ate only from the expensive menu and drank only from the metal trough. He was indeed . . . the Broadway Lad.