Arena Tracks: A Priest and a Pony

The three pillars of a small town are the school, the town watering hole and the church.  Often, there are multiples of the last two in a variety of types and denominations.  While the town bar owners may step into a certain type of leadership role, it is the heads of the churches who are there when we are born, get married and, sadly, pass on to the next stage of life.  During the “dash” of our lives, they lead in other ways.  Father Burian was the Catholic Priest when I was an elementary student in Clark, South Dakota.  While we weren’t Catholic, Father Burian often caught rides with us to basketball and football games.  He had a deep love of sport and community and was capable of handling my Dad’s off color jokes, which is saying something about the man.  A few miles west in Redfield, South Dakota, and a few years before Father Burian took the pulpit, Father Quinn was the priest of Saint Bernard’s Catholic Church.  Father Quinn, also a community fixture, went to his share of High School basketball games, but Father Quinn’s real passion was horses.

Father Quinn was born in Bridgewater, South Dakota, and after graduation attended school at Columbus College and seminary in St. Paul where he was ordained by Bishop Mahoney in 1933.  He was assigned to St. Bernard’s parish from 1949-1954.  Having loved his time in Redfield, he also chose to be buried there.  Mary Lou (Cleberg) Schwartz, the St. Bernard’s historian, was not yet in school when Father Quinn was in residence, but she remembers him and his love of horses fondly, noting that he did have several horses farmed out among the folks of Redfield.  Some were kept by Gail and Frank Weise, neighbors to the Cleberg family so Mary Lou saw him with his horses often.

Another family, the McLains, lived outside of Athol, South Dakota.  Father Quinn agreed to train horses for the family in exchange for boarding his own horses.  The McLains had a young daughter, Virginia, but the family called her Midge.  Midge hung on the fence when Father Quinn would come work with the horses.  Midge started asking questions as every young horse-crazy girl does, and soon was riding horses with Father Quinn.  Seeing the talent and “want to” in Midge, he taught her to trick ride, something she did at nearly every county fair and rodeo in the area.  Midge so identified with the skills she learned from Father Quinn that she made sure they were mentioned in her obituary.

A favorite story about Father Quinn came from my best friend Nikki’s father, Skip Williams.  In the 1950s, Skip was a young cowboy looking for a pony.  Turned out Father Quinn had just the one – a mare named Beauty that was a perfect match for five year old Skip.  Albert, Skip’s father, suggested they meet at the farm where the pony was boarded.  Father Quinn countered, suggesting they meet at the parish.  When the Williams’ arrived, there were people trickling into the church.  Skip remembers it was spring and they most likely arrived during one of the Holidays of Easter.  The Williams’ offered to come at a different time but Father Quinn waved them off.  Today would work just fine.  When asked about the parishioners, Father Quinn replied, “They’ll wait.”  So the trio went to try the pony, which the Williams’ bought, partially because they felt sorry for the folks in the pews for what was closing in on an hour.  Father Quinn wasn’t done yet.  He wanted to show Albert and Skip more of his horses, so off they went to Athol, some 15 miles away, while the parishioners continued to wait, thumbing through the hymnals and checking their watches.  Albert and Skip finally got Father Quinn back to the church right at two hours late for the service.  He hopped out of the pickup, dusted off his pants as he jogged up the steps, took to the altar and performed the service.  No one had gone home.  Rumor has it, no one was even surprised.  The man liked horses and, given the chance, was going to talk about them for as long as he could keep a captive audience.  Skip said, “He was the type of guy that even if he kept you waiting for two hours, you still loved him when he finally showed up.”  Wondering about the details of the story, I asked Mary Lou about it.  She confirmed it.  “Oh yes.  That happened.  I remember it as a young girl.” No annoyance.  No animosity.  Just a statement of fact about life with a guy who really loved horses.

As readers of the Tri-State Livestock News, we all know good horses are tough to resist and when folks have a chance to talk about them, they will.  It’s just comforting to know the good Lord understands, even if you keep him and 100 of his followers waiting.