The Painting of the Cows

One summer in my college years, my Dad got me a job at a large pharmaceutical plant in Myerstown, where he was the controller of the plant. When he took over as controller he immediately got rid of a standing policy against nepotism. My Dad figured if you had one good employee from a family, chances are another family member could be a good employee too.

I was given the worst job in the plant. I, and the son of an engineer at the plant, were asked to paint a mile of chain link fence that surrounded the company property. That was my Dad, letting everyone know that there was nothing too humble for the Alberts. That's what made him great.

I was a bit hesitant going into this job. I figured I'd get ridiculed and treated differently because I was the big bosses' son. You know how that usually goes.

But that wasn't the case at all. I couldn't believe it. Everyone at the plant loved and respected my father. He was one of them. He treated everyone equally and with respect, and he received the same in kind.

He drove to work everyday in a 1963 Rambler that was held together in some locations by putty. He took his sandwhich to work everyday in a paper bag. He was the controller of the plant, but never separated himself from being just one of the gang.

I learned a lot from watching him, and watching how much people loved and respected him because of his modesty and humility.

And there I was with gallons of metallic silver paint and an endless supply of rollers painting a chain link fence everyday.

I'm sure that no one at the plant was envious of my job. I was out in the heat of summer, everyday I would get covered with paint from head to toe. When you roll a paint roller over a chain link fence it just sprays everywhere.

But I liked it.

I was outside. I liked the warm weather. I grew to be friends with the young gentleman I worked with, and we listened to a little portable radio everyday.

I liked it.

One day my work partner and I walked into the cafeteria covered with paint, like usual, from head to toe. Typically we just ate outside. But I think we needed a soda or something. Upon our entrance to the cafeteria everyone stopped what they were doing and just looked at us, splattered with paint from head to toe. They were amazed. They laughed. We laughed too.

When we got halfway through the summer, we got to about the halfway point of the fence. The problem was, on the other side of the fence was a cow pasture, fully stocked with cows.

Now I've had a rule I've lived by my entire life - I don't mess with anything that is bigger than me. The cows were bigger than me.

My sister would ride horses growing up. "You go sis'!" It's not for me.

My partner in painting laughed at my fear (I like to call it due respect) of the cows. I told him point-blank, that I would not climb over the fence to paint the other side. I'm not painting with the cows.

He grabbed a stick on the ground and continued to demonstrate to me how you control a cow. He jumped up and down, waving his arms, waving the stick in the air, and yelling, "WooHA! WooHA!"

"That's all you have to do," he said to me. "They'll run right away."

"I'm not climbing that fence," I told him.

"OK. I'll do it. I'll show 'ya," he said.

He climbed the fence. At his request I handed him his paint roller, a paint tray and a five-gallon bucket of paint. As soon as he started painting the herd of cows started to slowly inch towards him.

"They'll turn away," he said.

They didn't. They just kept slowly, calmly moving towards us.

When the "lead" cow came near, my partner started his cow control dance.

"WooHa! WooHa!" he shouted waving his paint roller in the air.

Didn't phase the cows at all. They just kept coming, a couple dozen of them.

At the last minute my partner freaked out and scaled the fence, hopping out of the pasture and safely by my side.

Problem is he left all of the silver metallic paint on the other side of the fence.

We watched in silence and in horror.

The cows rubbed against the fresh painted fence, they licked at the silver metallic paint like it was a delicious treat. We watched the cows slowly but surely become covered in paint.

We looked at each other and without a word headed directly towards the plant, towards our boss. There was no hiding this boo boo.

Our boss was a friendly guy. He couldn't believe we could be so dumb. But he saw the humor in it. He called the farmer and explained the problem. The farmer wasn't worried about it at all. "Those cows can eat anything," he said. "It won't hurt them.

That side of the fence, that ran along the cow pasture, never did get painted. But we finished the rest of the fence that summer.