“Pot Broke”

Jay Edward Beus told this tale to fishing buddies, one or two of which were writers. It was retold in the Jan. 1954 edition of  Argosy Magazine by Harry Steeger. Beus was a rancher from Soda Springs Idaho. Kind of a big wheel back in the day, owning something like 16,000 sheep. If you’ve ever taken the road down to the Sewage treatment plant you may have noticed a row of old buildings to the south east along the Lava reef above the Bear River. That was home base for Beus back then. Beus was a steely eyed Westerner that gave the impression of being able to handle himself in any scrap and walk away on both feet, but if this tale is to be believed he was also a bit of a softy with a big heart. 

The 1954 edition of Argosy which published the tale.

Well as the story goes this was back in the days when Beus was just a beginner with a few sheep. Seems he had a partner by the name of George Small. And they were preparing to go out on the range for a summer. Driving down the road in their car they encountered an unusual sight on the highway between Blackfoot and Pocatello.

Sitting right in the center of the road was a pretty young girl. She sat on a cheap suitcase holding a bawling baby in her lap. An old box of crackers and a bottle with a little milk in it didn’t seem to mollify the baby, who apparently had the sniffles too.

Our heroes rose to the occasion. They offered the girl and her baby a lift. Once in the car, she confided she was on her way to Ogden, Utah, though she didn’t have a penny to her name. Our youthful Galahads brought her as far as Lava Hot Springs. Here they arranged for a room at the hotel and, before leaving, paid for it. In addition, they gave the girl $10 for her bus ticket to Ogden. They departed feeling as good as if they’d spent a week in church.

That, however, was not to be the end of the girl and the baby. Far from it. On the tenuous thread of a baby’s sweater hangs this tale. They found the sweater in the car, so next day back to Lava Hot Springs they rushed. There was our heroine, back on her suitcase again- baby, sniffles and all, perched forlornly at the junction with the highway.

Two things happened simultaneously. The baby climbed into the pickup truck and along came Beus’ and Small’s flock of sheep. That settled it. The baby indicated clearly that he liked them.

The two wild and wooly waddies struck a deal. They agreed to pay $10 down and $10 per year rental, taking the baby with them and relieving the mother of her burden.

Now lest any of you sympathetic readers figure Beus and Small were trafficking in babies, divest yourselves of this false impression. They had no such intent. Beneath those tough and thorny exteriors, beat the hearts of softies. Their only objective was to find an excuse for giving the girl some money as bulwark against this distressing situation. Once the girl could get a grasp on herself, they knew instinctively that the situation would correct itself. After all, they could take care of the baby, for they were both bachelors and good sheep herders.

The deal made, they prepared to take off immediately, but in the confusion of parting they never did get the mother’s name. All she left them was the 14-month-old-baby, a pair of shoes, two pairs of coveralls, socks, a hairbrush and a little pot.

Since the baby had a cold, the first move was obviously to go to the drugstore. Castoria. Just the thing for a baby. The next move was the baby’s, and it certainly did, if you know babies. Well this one needed a bath from head to foot in practically no time flat.

What to do for a bathtub? Simple, buy a big bread pan and kill two birds with one stone. So they did and it worked out fine. When it wasn’t serving as a bathtub it was a bread pan and vice versa.    

Apparently it didn’t take the three of them long to settle down into a snug family relationship. And as the months rolled along, they moved from Bancroft through Ten Mile Pass and across Blackfoot River to Wooley Valley.

All the while the little boy was doing fine. They’d given him a name , Bunky, they called him. Chief accomplishment, according to Beus, was that by this time they had the child pot-broke. You could see Beus drawing fine pride out of this fact.

After the first day the little guy never cried again.

Sometimes mosquitoes would come in like dark clouds, but they had an answer for every situation as it arose. They simply sprayed Bunky along with the horses and sheep and themselves. And when they had to leave camp for errands or to chase after strays, they would tie Bunky to the wagon tongue with a rope and anklet.

Then misfortune struck. The local humane society found out about this rather extraordinary situation and sent the sheriff hot footing it out to investigate. Beus and Small were dismayed. Needless to say, by this time the sun rose and set on the baby. Whether they cared to admit it or not, he was rapidly becoming the major interest in their lives, and Bunky was apparently the happiest junior waddy in the West. The sheriff stormed around, made threatening gestures and finally came up with a brief report for the humane society: “That’s the healthiest baby in the entire county.” So Bunky and his foster fathers continued on their way.

Well it wasn’t long after that when Bunky’s mother returned for him. Right away, Beus continued, the mother spoiled him. She put diapers on him again and that was the end of the fine waddy training. Such was the ravages of civilization. It seems that Bunky’s mother had married again. She brought her husband, a man from Utah, back with her, but no time were any names ever mentioned. Soon it came the day for final good-byes. It was a sad day indeed for Beus and Small as they waved good-bye to Bunky, his mother, and stepfather.

Not for long though. Within a matter of hours back they came. Bunky had cried continuously all the way to Ogden. This time they stayed a week, but it was only extending the evil day of departure. When the family finally left the two sheepherders bought Bunky enough toys to last for three years.

I thought that was quite a story. Although I haven’t mentioned it prior to this, there was another reason why I’ve told it here. Beus and Small would like very much to know what happened to Bunky. Where is he today? What is he like and what is he doing? Beus and Small had debated hours as to whether or not to send him to Yale or West Point or some other large University, so they’d like to know his plans. Beus says there are a hundred other people in Soda Springs vicinity who would like to know the same thing. So if by some rare coincidence Bunky happens to be reading this column, or if it comes to the attention of Bunky’s mother or someone else who knows them, please communicate with me and I’ll pass your welcome letters on to Jay Beus.

As a result of this story being printed it wasn’t long before Jay Beus received a phone call from a young man in Oregon. The young man said he had been reading Argosy and come across  the story about Bunky. He explained that he had always been called Bunky, but didn’t know how he had acquired the nickname. He was pleased to know the origin of his name and who had given it to him, but preferred to remain anonymous. In addition to the call Beus received a letter from Lava Hot Springs telling of the whereabouts of Bunky’s mother:

Mr. Beus

Dear Sir,

The lost has been found Bunky’s mother sent her mother a mother’s day card. She is in Denver. She didn’t give any address. Just General Delivery. Her mother wrote her about Bunky and you. So she should be hearing from her again.

Not any real historical significance to this tale, but a pleasant little story about a couple local guys and a couple of complete strangers and how innocent and simple things were some 80 years or so ago in rural Idaho.