Wilmeth's West

They Came from Cow Country

The Beef Battalion

An Exercise in Humility and Faith

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

     On a recent Saturday, they converged on Ft. Bliss from across a wide swath of the American heartland.  There were license plates from Kansas, Nebraska, Arkansas, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona.  They parked in a compact encampment in a dirt lot in the midst of the immensity of the new expansion of Ft. Bliss.  In all directions the construction stretched.  Part of the expansion was occupied while a large segment remained under various stages of completion.  Every visitor was struck by the size and the scope of the project.  Few would ever be in such a construction project at any other time in his or her life. 

    The location of the encampment was visible from the smoke that came from it.  Directions from military personnel was confirmed with, “that must be where it is because we can smell food cooking over there!”  For a fact, the dually pickups and matched cooking rigs were the scene of the biggest steak fry the local cow country volunteers had ever seen.  The Beef Battalion was in town and they were in full combat mode!

     Bill Broadie was the commanding officer of the Beef Battalion crew.  His card indicated contact information from Ashland, Kansas and Brush, Colorado.  A big burly fellow whose day job is a Superior Livestock Auction rep, Bill ran the proceedings like a military officer.

     By 11:45 long lines were already formed.  The folks who stood in line were largely engaged in subdued and controlled conversation. At promptly 12:00 noon, the order was issued:  “Commence the serving!”

     For the next hour and a half, the controlled arrival and serving of those people proceeded seamlessly.  The courtesy of the crowd was not unexpected, but the genuine appreciation and heartfelt cheer of those soldiers and their families left those of us in attendance with a huge emotional charge. 

    “Thank you, sir, for you generosity!” was ringing constantly from those in line who caught your eye.

     “Where are you from, son?” was asked repeatedly.  “New York City . . .  South Carolina, . . .  Texas . . .  Ohio . . .  Kansas . . .  the Bay Area. . . Washington, DC . . . south Florida . . . Chicago . . . Massachusetts . . . and on and on went the responses.

    “The lines on this side are shorter, folks . . .”

    “Thank you very much, sir.” 

     “You get enough to eat, soldier?”

     “Oh, yes, sir, I never thought I’d eat a steak that big, sir.”

    “How long have you been in the service, ma’am?”

    “Eight years, sir . . . and three here at Bliss.”

     “You like it here then?”

     “. . . I love the food, sir!”

     The Beef Brigade arrived at Ft. Bliss with 5000 rib eye steaks.  It was thought that over 4000 soldiers and their families were fed that day.  So many continued to catch your eye and thank you for the courtesy of feeding them a steak like that.  Many, many said they had never had a steak that big and tender. 

    “Oh, thank you, sir, this is just wonderful!”

    But, the wonderful was the unexpected emotion that those of us on the cow side of the affair experienced.  Few of us had seen our American military in that kind of setting.  When we were told, “Sir, it is not just your thanks that we seek.  We thank you for your support,” it was surprisingly difficult to respond.

     The real hero of the event was a guy who was back in the midst of the smoke and the cooking rigs by the name of Jim Rogers.  Mr. Rogers, from Creekstone Farms of Arkansas, Kansas, donated every steak cooked and served that day.  When we sought him out to talk to him, he tried to avoid any attention.  “This is but a small favor for what these young people do for us each and every day,” was all we could get out of him.

     Bill Broadie has overseen 14 or these events.  He will be back at work on Monday and planning yet for another Beef Battalion event after he finishes his day job after dark.

     The gray haired matrons of the Sonoita, Arizona Cow Belle chapter who served at the first table would get into their cars and head home against the setting sun.  They had delighted the crowd.    

     The Bakers, cow/calf producers from Arkansas, would head home and deal with continuing drought.  They would be incredulous when they were told that their normal 50” of rainfall would be five years of total rain accumulation in our world.    

     The employees of El Paso’s Dick Poe automotive dealerships would put their boots away and look forward to another day that they could be honorary ranchers in a similar event.  They did a great job.

     The local ranching community, complete with the 4H group from Dona Ana County, New Mexico, will all remember this event as we will the mission of the All American Beef Battalion.  That mission statement reads:

“Our mission is to promote American Beef and to support the troops and their                              families fighting the war on terror.”

    The stance of the major benefactor of this event is worthy of much respect.  ‘Don’t let your left hand know what your right hand does’ . . . is so far removed from the modern commercialization of charity and giving that it is not even comprehended.  It was his preference and firm desire not to make any issue of his actions.

     In respect to his stance, those of us who attended can attest that any rewards of this event came not from the giving. Rather, it was the touching and the fellowship of those American soldiers and their families that created the raw emotion of this event. 

     It was special . . . they are special.

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico.  “There are few things in the world that will influence your view of how people act and think like visiting them in their own environment.  When the corners of the world are judged with a view from the banks of the Potomac or the Hudson, those views are incomplete and skewed.  Decisions thus made often run counter to the facts on the ground.”