I’ve always been careful about picking heroes. Too often you end up being disappointed. But I do have a few. You might say they picked me.
I suppose my first hero was my father. I am one of those fortunate sons who can say my father was the best man I have ever known. He was a prince of a man – quiet and shy - solid as a rock. He was one with the land and he had a natural feel for the miracle of the seed and the sun and the soil.
Never once did I see him angry. There was a reasonableness about him that drew people to him. Looking back, I realize now it was not only a pleasure, but a privilege to work with him side by side.
In all the years I knew him, he never disappointed me, not once.
I found my next hero to be my brother, Tom. God is a master at choosing the eldest. A man of solid character like our father, he saved my life at least once and saved my hide on more than one occasion. It is a fine thing to have an older brother you can look up to.
Next on my list of heroes would be my maternal grandfather, Will Herod Brim. Known by his friends as “John Reuben,” I called him “Pa Reub.” He lived in the Brim Hollow, in a house with no bathroom and no running water. He died of a third heart attack in his 69th year. I was 12. In the short time I knew and loved him, more than anyone else, he galvanized my self-esteem. I shall never forget the feel of his whiskered old face, the smell of his flannel shirts, or the light in his eyes. There are some people you would like to forget, there are a few who are unforgettable.
And then, there was Charlie Midgett. We called him “Mr. Charlie.” Long before Sunday School became a feature of country Baptist churches Mr. Charlie was a catalyst in nurturing a Sunday School in the little country church I attended as a boy. In some ways, I think he considered it his life’s work. He was forever promoting Sunday School. When the big snow falls came, he would drive his tractor and hay wagon around the community making sure kids made it to Sunday School. Countless lives have been impacted over many years by the dedication of Charlie Midgett. His work was the stuff of heroes.
The next hero I would mention was a man named Claude Harris. He was the best boss for whom I worked in all my working years. It was my plan when I finished my studies at the University of Tennessee to work for him. My plans took a detour when I was recruited to operate a livestock market for Tennessee Livestock Producers hardly a week after I finished school.
Mr. Harris was the supervisor for livestock grading for the Tennessee Department of Agriculture for many years. Thanks to him, Dr. John Reagan, and a series of conservative Commissioners of Agriculture, Tennessee boasted one of the most consistent livestock grading services among all the Southeastern states. The grading service remained virtually unchanged by turnover in Tennessee’s Governor’s office for decades.
From Gladeville, TN, (“The Glade”) in Wilson County, Claude Harris was a serious and accomplished breeder of Hereford cattle. He was smart, cut from conservative cloth, and took a commonsense approach to life, every day. He was the kind of man you wanted to work for.
So, when I completed my work in livestock market management, I went to work for him. Never once did he show up unannounced at a worksite that I was not glad to see him.
Our three sons were born during the five years I worked under his supervision. Although he and I never discussed it, he made sure my schedule kept me close to home when babies were due. It was a touch of kindness never to be forgotten. Speaking of sons, he and “Miss” Nelda raised three fine sons of their own, Mike, Keith, and Steve. All three are “chips off the old block.”
Far too few people know, but the people who knew him know that Claude Harris was a giant in the Tennessee livestock industry. I’m sure he never saw himself that way. But that is what makes for real heroes.
Copyright 2025 by Jack McCall
