Richard The Aristocrat Download

Richard The Aristocrat
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Copyright © 2017 E. B. Wingfield
v2.0

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RICHARD THE ARISTOCRAT

Robert was eight years old and lived in Washington,
the county seat of Wilkes County, Georgia.Washington
was a small country village of about six thousand people
at that time in 1912. Southeast of Washington ran the
“big road,” as Robert called it, or highway, as it is now
called. The big road ran southeast from Washington
about two and a half miles to where it forked.The right-
hand fork ran to Thompson, Georgia, and then on to
Augusta, some sixty-four miles away. Robert went to
Augusta a couple of times with his family and thought
it a far-off and fabulous place where the streets were
paved with cobblestones, and a streetcar pulled by two
big horses went up and down the main street.The left
fork of that big road went to Lincolnton and then to
Columbia, South Carolina. Robert had never been that
far away from home.

Situated in the fork of this road was a small,
one-room country store. It had a porch, much like
a residence, with four chairs and a long bench. The
owner of the store was Leonard Logan, a thin but
towering figure who stood six feet seven inches. Mr.
Logan had the longest legs of any person Robert
had ever seen. He had shoulders, and then legs, but
practically no middle section. Inside his country store
was an amazing array of goods, and to an eight-year-
old like Robert, there seemed to be everything that a
store should have in stock. On one side of the store,
were shelves piled high that reached all the way to
the ceiling, here, there were candies, tobacco and

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RICHARD THE ARISTOCRAT

snuff, canned goods, and tools, some of which hung on
nails. On the other side were bolts of cotton fabric
in fanciful prints, boxes of shoes, denim jeans, overalls
and jumpers. In the middle of the store, and also at
the back, were giant sacks of flour, cornmeal, barrels of
molasses, and smaller sacks of coffee beans.There was
also salt pork, which Leonard Logan called “sowbelly.”
Robert liked the way that Leonard Logan rolled the
word sowbelly out of his mouth and he tried to get him
to say it whenever he visited the store.

Toward the back of the store there were plowshares,
plow points, and all kinds of farming implements. In the
back were also coils of rope and piles of trace chains
to connect a horse’s harness to a plow or wagon. But
for Robert, the store’s star attraction was an amazing
machine that sat on a counter next to the candy
section. This was the cheese dispenser. A whole cake
or round of cheese was placed upon a circular disc,
and by operating a handle at the side of the machine,
five-cents worth of cheese would be cut off. Leonard
Logan would give six clicks of the little handle for a
quarter.

Sometimes Robert passed the store on the way
to the mill where his family took their corn to be
ground. Sometimes he would jump off the wagon and
dash into Leonard Logan’s country store to get some
penny candy or five cents worth of cheese, while the
two oxen continued their slow pace toward the mill.
They had traveled this road so many times that they

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RICHARD THE ARISTOCRAT

would continue on toward the mill whether anyone
was on the wagon or not. Once they got there, they
would be fed some hay while the wagon was being
unloaded.Afterward, they would be turned around and
would head back home, also whether anyone was on
the wagon or not. Most of the time Robert would make
his purchase then run out and catch up with the wagon,
just down the road from the store. Sometimes, though,
he would lose track of time and gaze in wonder at all
the things in the store and get back on the wagon on its
return trip back to the farm.

One Saturday afternoon in summer, Robert and his
father sat on the porch of Leonard Logan’s country store.
Robert sat on the porch steps in his hand-me-down
coveralls and dirty bare feet. It was so hot that day that
he didn’t wear a shirt, and every so often he would wipe
the sweat across his forehead, pushing his light-brown
hair out of his eyes. His father, John, was sitting on the
long bench alongside his old friend Leonard Logan.They
watched the vehicles coming from town over the slight
hill about three-quarters of a mile away, leaving their
dust trails. The wagons or slow-moving vehicles would
raise a low cloud of that orange-red dust peculiar to
Georgia. A fast-moving buggy with a fast-trotting horse
would raise a higher cloud of dust. Occasionally, one of
those high-wheeled automobiles that looked like a buggy,
but were steered by a long lever, would come by.Those
contraptions made a tremendous amount of noise and
had a terrible odor, with smoke belching out of their

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RICHARD THE ARISTOCRAT

sides. They would raise a huge cloud of dust. Everyone
almost always stood up when an automobile came by.

Robert’s father was talking to Leonard Logan about
getting a new boar hog for the Wingfield hog-breeding
lot. He talked to Leonard Logan a long time about the
possibilities and advisability of getting a new boar hog.
Robert’s family raised stock and had hundreds of heads
of cattle, many hogs, and some sheep, goats, and horses.
Finally, Robert’s father told Leonard Logan that he had
decided to get a registered boar.

“A registered boar,” Leonard Logan echoed
thoughtfully.“What’s that?”

Robert’s father explained that a registered boar
was one that had a family tree that was written down
on paper. Robert overheard all this and found it very
interesting. He got up from his seat on the porch step
and stood beside his father, putting his arm across his
shoulder. Robert’s father went on to tell Leonard Logan
that with a registered boar, someone could tell who the
boar’s father and mother were; being registered meant
that he belonged to a fine hog family.

“Sounds like some fancy hog,” Leonard Logan said.
“What d’you figure a hog like that would cost, John?”

When Robert’s father replied that such a hog would
cost around two hundred dollars, Leonard Logan stood
straight up. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with
the red kerchief he always kept sticking halfway out of
his back pocket. He looked at Robert’s father for a long
moment, hardly believing what he had just heard.

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RICHARD THE ARISTOCRAT

He blinked his eyes a few times and said, “John, you
must be losing your mind.”

After supper that night, when the dishes had been
cleared away from the long dining room table, Robert’s
father brought up the subject of getting a registered
boar hog. The whole family sat at the table with with
a kerosene chandelier above the table casting a warm
glow on their faces. John always sat at the end of that
table. On the left was mother. Robert sat next to his
mother. On the right of this father, was the first son
and then the second son. Robert was the third and
youngest. First they talked about the farm, the crops,
the cattle, and all the while, Robert noticed that his
father’s hands were slightly shaking. He understood why
when his father finally mentioned getting a breeding hog
for the hog lot.You see, spending two hundred dollars
needed the approval of Robert’s mother. She listened
calmly—that is, until Robert’s father finally got around
to the part about the price of such an animal.

She said, “John, you know Dr. Wills charged fifteen
dollars for delivering the children, and he had to ride
three miles out in the buggy from Washington; and
he only charged seven dollars for delivering Robert
because he couldn’t get here before Robert came, and
you took care of me. Now, pardon me for thinking that
two hundred dollars is an awful lot to pay for one hog.”

Robert’s father gently explained that by introducing
new blood, the brood sows would probably have better
pigs that would weigh more, and that in a short time,

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RICHARD THE ARISTOCRAT

possibly within two years, the cost of the breeding boar
would be repaid by pigs.

“And just think, Juliette,” he went on, “as soon as
the neighbors see these bigger and better pigs, they’ll
be wanting to get their sows bred to him.That way we
can be repaid again for the price of a registered boar.”

So it was agreed that a breeding boar was to be
bought, and the strangest preparations that Robert
could imagine began to unfold. This new boar that
was to come to the breeding lot had to have a house.
Robert had never heard of a hog having its own house.
Even so, Robert’s father called Jess Favors, the black
foreman on the Wingfield farm, and told him that a hog
house needed to be built for the new breeder boar
that would be arriving soon. Jess Favors thought a bit
and said he would need four, maybe five hands to have
the hog house built in time. “Use as many hands as
you need,” Robert’s father told Jess Favors. It is worth
mentioning that “hands” is what they called the hired
hands, or workers, on the farm.

A week or two later, there came in the mail the
papers that said that this breeding boar had a name.
His name was RICHARD, the papers said, capitalized
just like that. A letter accompanying the papers said
that RICHARD would arrive by railroad train on or
about such-and-such a date. However much time
passed, it seemed to Robert that the new boar would
never arrive in Washington, Georgia.Then came the day
when Robert’s father got a letter informing him that

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RICHARD THE ARISTOCRAT

Richard had indeed arrived at the railroad station. He
asked Robert if he wanted to ride with him to the train
station to pick up the crate.

Robert stopped jumping up and down and asked in
disbelief,“He’s in a crate?”

On their way to the train station, Robert worried
that Richard might have suffocated during the long train
trip.“Or died of thirst!” he cried.

His father told him to trust the train people to
know their business.“They’ve been taking good care of
Richard, don’t you worry,” he said, giving Robert’s leg a
reassuring pat.The crate was sure to be well-ventilated
and kept in the shade so Richard wouldn’t get too hot,
he promised him.“And you think they wouldn’t be sure
to give him plenty of food and water, coming all the way
to Washington, Georgia in a big box?”

Robert had to agree that it only made sense, but he
still couldn’t get over the fact that their new registered
boar hog had traveled in a big box on a train. Neither
he nor his two brothers had ever ridden on a train. His
parents had talked about riding on the train once and
said that someday when Robert and his brothers grew
up, they might possibly ride on the train as well.

Once they got to the train station, Robert was
impressed with the way the men at the station loaded
that big box on the wagon. After signing some papers,
Robert and his father started the long three miles back
to the farm. Along the way Robert turned around on
the wagon seat and talked to Richard. He fed him three

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RICHARD THE ARISTOCRAT

carrots he had in his pocket, which he brought from
home just for this occasion. Richard loved the carrots
and made contented snuffling noises as he ate them.
He let Robert pat him on his nose and between his
ears. Robert marveled as he felt the coarse bristles on
Richard’s head. He thought he must be the biggest boar
hog in all of Georgia.

When the wagon arrived back at the farm, Robert’s
father and some of the “hands” lifted the crate out of
the wagon with the aid of a hoist they used for loading
and unloading heavy materials going into the barn.
Robert drove the wagon out from under the big box,
and then it was lowered gently to the ground.The end
of the box facing the hog lot was opened and Richard
was coxed and prodded until he cautiously came out of
the crate and was directed into the hog lot. And there
he stood in all his glory, a tremendous black monster.

Robert, his mother and two brothers, watched
the uncrating of Richard from behind the safety of the
fence. They thought such a large animal, especially one
who came from so far away, might be dangerous until
he made himself at home. Robert’s father cautioned the
family to keep clear of Richard and those long, curved
tusks that stuck out on both sides of his mouth.

Richard was delighted to be out of that box, and the
first thing he did was stretch himself. Robert’s father
declared what a fine-looking animal he was. “See how
his back is arched from the tip of his nose to his tail?”
he said, his finger tracing the arch in the air.“That’s the

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mark of a quality breeding boar.” He then pointed out
how Richard stood upon his toes.

“See, Julie,” Robert’s father said, favoring that name
rather than Juliette when he wasn’t trying to negotiate
something important, “hogs that stand on their toes,
that’s a sure sign of a good feeder. Shows he can walk
around and forage for himself. Hogs that stand flat on
their feet don’t stand up well.See how well-proportioned
he is? There’s no belly sagging on that hog!”

Finally, Jess Favors, the foreman, called attention to
the curl to the right in Richard’s tail. “A tight curl,” he
proclaimed,“always signifies that the ham will be sweet.”

There stood Richard, a real aristocrat who had
ridden on a train, had a house of his own, a name, and a
family tree as well.

Neighbors from all around the county came to
see Richard and admire him.The Baptist preacher was
invited to come one Sunday after church, and he rode
out to the farm in his one-horse black buggy. After
everyone oohed and ahhed and agreed that Richard
was a real aristocrat among hogs, the preacher stayed
for supper before heading back to town.

Robert was assigned to the hog lot and to be
Richard’s valet and squire. It was his duty to see that
Richard got food and water twice a day, and to make
sure that his house was clean as a whistle.Thus it was
that Robert became well-acquainted with Richard.

Soon came frost time in October and syrup-making
from the sugarcane.There was a fascinating old brown

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mule on the farm that had light colored legs. Her name
was Sally, and she pulled the rollers of the sugarcane
mill around, which pressed the juice out of the stalks.
Sally would nod her head whenever anyone came up
to her, and Robert always thought she was saying hello.
The minute Sally was attached to the pole extending
from the gears of the syrup press, she would keep
walking round and round until someone told her to
“haw” (stop).

There was a tub under the spout where the cane
juice came trickling out.When it got a little more than
half full, it was replaced with another empty tub, and
then the one with the juice in it was carried to the
copper cooker pan where the cane juice was cooked
down to syrup. Sometimes the boys would take a
dipper of that sweet cane juice and drink it before
it was cooked. Robert couldn’t drink too much of it
at one time because it acted like a laxative. The long
copper cooking pan had small sections through which
the juice flowed as it bubbled and ran over the hot fire,
until finally it had cooked enough water out to be the
proper consistency of syrup.

One time, a hole got into the cooker pan and
Robert’s father had to inquire all around town before
he could find a coppersmith who could patch it up.
The man came out to the farm a few days later and
Robert kept him company while he repaired the long
copper pan. He told Robert an astounding story about
something that happened to him some years ago. One

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RICHARD THE ARISTOCRAT

night, he said, some strangers came to his house and
asked him to do a job for them. But when he stepped
outside and hopped on his horse to follow those men,
they put a black bag over his head so he couldn’t tell
where he was going.“That was the most fearsome part
of all,” the coppersmith told Robert,“riding blind all that
way. I guess I can be grateful they didn’t blindfold my
horse.” Finally they came to a spot near a creek where
there stood a rickety old still for making moonshine,
and he patched the leak in it.After he finished, the men
paid him well, put the black bag over his head again and
took him back home. That was the first and only time
Robert had ever talked to a man who had been to a still
and lived to tell the tale.

As the syrup-making process proceeded, the foam
that forms on the top of the cooking cane juice was
skimmed off as it cooked in the pan. These skimmings
were put in a big barrel. Every day, the “hands” brought
the skimmings from this barrel and put it into a large
keg next to the hog lot. Robert’s father told him that
the skimmings were to be mixed with cornmeal and fed
that same day to Richard and to the other hogs. Robert
knew that the hogs loved the sweet cane skimmings
in their cornmeal, so he asked his father why it was
necessary to feed the skimmings and cornmeal the
same day they were mixed.

“Because if you hold it over the next day,” his father
replied, “it’ll turn sour and make the hogs sick.” His
father was so insistent on this point that Robert was,

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well, tempted to experiment a little. Temptation soon
gave way to action, and he secretly saved some of the
cornmeal-and-skimmings mixture for a day or two, and
fed it to the hogs. He didn’t give Richard any, but the
other hogs loved it so much that they smacked their
lips with gusto. Robert began to question his father’s
judgment. He reckoned that he was about forty-one
years old and maybe had begun to lose his grip a little
bit and didn’t understand things as well as younger
folks do. So Robert decided to try some of the leftover
mixture on Richard, but he would wait until his father
was away from home.

The opportunity came when Robert’s father had
to go out of town for three days to attend the annual
meeting of the East Wilkes Agricultural Club. Robert
had been saving a special batch of the cornmeal-and-
cane-skimmings mixture for about two weeks and it
smelled stronger and stronger every day. He kept a
tight cover on the mixture, so that no one else could
smell it and figure out what he had been up to. The
morning his father left, Robert tried this mixture
on Richard during the first feeding of the day and lo
and behold, he dearly loved it! That evening, when
it was time to feed Richard again, there seemed to
be no ill effects, so Robert decided to feed Richard
the Aristocrat all he wanted of the strong-smelling
mixture. Since Richard was in such fine shape, Robert
gave him a half-barrel of the fermented cane skimmings
and cornmeal. Richard didn’t just relish this mixture; it

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seemed he just couldn’t get enough. He smacked his
lips and groaned with pleasure as he ate and ate and
ate. Finally, Richard began to get enough—too much,
it seemed. He grunted and walked away from the hog
trough, then began to stagger and walk sideways.Then
he started making strange groaning noises and belched
a lot. Finally, after staggering around the pen for
awhile, Richard fell over sideways into a mud puddle.
As Robert stood there, scarcely able to believe what
he was seeing, Richard rolled his eyes until only the
whites showed and his mouth hung wide open. Muddy
water poured into his gaping mouth.

Robert’s face turned white as chalk. He was sure
that Richard was dying then and there, if he wasn’t dead
already, and that he had caused it. How could he make
the half-mile walk back to the house to tell everyone
that he had killed their two-hundred-dollar boar hog
that had ridden on a train? He simply couldn’t; he could
never go back home! Still, he thought he would wait a
bit longer just in case Richard came back to life before
he ran away for good. His mind raced as he thought
what his life would be like now without a family and
a bed to sleep in, and without brothers to play with
after their work was done. As twilight led to a gloomy
dusk, Richard lay in the mud puddle and was still as a
stone except for an occasional twitch. Robert began
to say a little prayer. He prayed to God that if His son
had restored Lazarus from death and Jairus’ daughter
like the Bible said in Luke 8:41, then perhaps He could

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restore life to Richard and save himself from running
away from the terrible deed that he had done.

He prayed for minutes on end, until he saw the
approaching light from a lantern and heard the sound
of a buggy. His father had returned unexpectedly early
and had driven directly to the hog lot! Robert did the
only thing he could think to do: he hid. He stayed in the
darkest spot he could find by the corner fence as his
father got out of his buggy and went inside to check on
Richard.

Robert’s father took one look at Richard,smelled the
food trough, instantly determined what had happened,
and called Robert’s name. Robert didn’t answer the first
time, he was so ashamed, but the second time his father
called, he answered in a meek voice.

“Son, you mind telling me what you’re doing over in
the corner of that fence sitting in the dark?” his father
asked in a weary voice.

Robert stepped out of the shadows and told him
what he had done and that he thought he had killed
Richard. “I was just setting to run away from home
when you pulled up in the buggy and …”

Robert’s father had heard enough explanations. He
walked over to Richard and grabbed him by a back
leg. He yanked at that leg, pulling Richard out of the
puddle while the wretched animal groaned and grunted.
“He’s not dead or dying,” he told Robert between pulls,
“he’s drunk!” He told Robert that feeding Richard that
fermented mixture of cornmeal and cane skimmings

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was just the same as giving him whiskey. “And if you
drank whiskey like he ate that muck you made, you’d
end up just like Richard. You’d fall over, maybe in a mud
puddle like this one, and muddy water would run into
your mouth and people would think you were dead
or dying.” It was the worst talking-to Robert had ever
gotten from his father, but the difference was that this
time he knew he deserved every bit of it.After his father
finished, he gave Robert his kerchief to dry his eyes and
a quick hug to remind him he still loved him.

That night when Robert said his prayers, he thanked
God for a father that knew so much; who was so wise;
who knew about men and hogs, and whiskey, and getting
drunk. He thanked God for sparing Richard from an
untimely death and promised he would always take
good care of him. From that day on, Robert was very
grateful for the opportunity and guiding experience of
having been associated with Richard the Aristocrat.

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