Father teaches that loyalty runs deeper than simple honesty

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(Gail Keck photo)

I was raised on lessons in loyalty.

A farm raised me, and there is so much good that comes from that. What I did not fully realize or appreciate as a child is that this surely meant my parents sometimes clothed and fed us on very little cash flow. There were no bonus checks from a boss for them to use to catch up on bills, no vacation days built in, no health and life insurance provided.

There are examples that now come to me, unbidden, in memories of days so long gone that I am left shaking my head as to how entrenched the event of 60 years ago must be in my soul.

Dairy farmers often hit lows not only in production over the span of months and years, but also in the price of milk per hundredweight. It seemed whenever this happened in the 1960s, unfamiliar faces might show up wanting to talk to our dad about changing milk haulers.

“Do you know Ralph ‘Junior’ Paullin?” I remember my dad asking one of these fellows. The man answered that he was familiar with Paullin Milk Cartage, but didn’t know the man who oversaw the family milk hauling business.

“Well, I do,” my father said. In so many words, I listened as my dad conveyed that the man we saw in church on Sunday was the same good man we saw in our milking parlor.

“He is a man true to his word, and he is a fellow trying to feed his own family and keep his brothers and their families doing well. They are never late picking up our milk; they get to us even in extreme weather and treat us right in every way. As long as there are Paullin milk trucks on the roads, you don’t need to bother stopping here,” was the message I heard my dad express many times over.

This fellow interrupted to say, “But we can haul cheaper for you! We are a bigger business and can even offer cash bonuses for new accounts!” My dad stood up, said it was milking time and again expressed his loyalty to the Paullin family.

I remember hearing bits and pieces of various conversations in our kitchen as I pulled my barn coat and boots from the cellarway. Salesmen of various farm goods and services were kindly sent on their way, my dad making clear his loyalty would not sway their way.

When I was old enough to drive, I ran an errand to purchase a part, paying with cash that my Dad sent with me. When I got back home, I handed him back more money than he expected. “No, no, this is not right. They didn’t charge enough,” he said, picking up the phone.

Even though I was needed in the milking parlor, Dad first sent me to return the cash owed. “They are trying to make a living just like we are,” he explained. “Loyalty means never taking advantage of the businesses that help keep us in business.”

Loyalty runs deeper than simple honesty, my father taught me, and is larger than kindness and respect alone. Loyalty speaks volumes across time and passing generations, and beckons us to always remain true to those who helped build our success, no matter how modest or how monumental.

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