Nannie and I would grab our empty “TV”  milk
cartons and run to the bus stop up the hill.
Soon the bus would get there and we would
get on. We would sit up front. Not many were
on the bus Saturday morning. We were on
our way downtown to see a Tom Mix movie.
If you had an empty “TV” milk carton, you
could get in free. Often, but not always, we
had the same bus driver. He was an old man
who, for some reason, knew that Nannie and
I were the children of Rae Antoinette Tod, the
granddaughter of W. J. Tod, the rich and fa-
mous founder of the Tod Ranch, the famous
cattle ranch just outside Maple Hill, Kansas,
about 18 miles west of Topeka where Nannie
and I grew up. Maple Hill essentially was where
the lush, rolling Flint Hills began, some, if not
the best, cattle-raising country in the world.
Nannie and I would chat with this old bus
driver as we made our way downtown. This
old man would tell us of the days when he
had worked as a young cattle hand on the
Tod Ranch. He would always talk about W. J.,
our great-grandfather. He would always tell
us what a great, kind man he was to everybody
who worked for him on his ranch. But never
once did the old bus driver mention how rich
and famous W. J. had been. He never men-
tioned that W. J. had become president of
The National Livestock Association, for ex-
ample. The old bus driver talked only about
how W. J. treated all who worked on the Tod
Ranch, even the cowhands, who the old bus
driver was once one of, with respect. I have
never forgotten what the old bus driver repeatedly
had told us about our great-grandfather, and
even as a boy, I realized then that I wanted
to be like my great-grandfather had been,
not rich and famous, but much, much more
importantly, kind and respectful to all.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS