Bud

In 1998, Barbara and I sold our photography business, bought an RV, leased our house out for a year (we took down our pics and personal stuff, moved our clothes up into the attic, locked it up, leased the house furnished as is, and walked out.)

We had bought several rental properties while working, so I looked for a property manager to look after them while we were on the road.

Bud Reeder had a large realty business in town, and managed hundreds of rental units also, so he seemed to be the logical choice

.

I had managed them myself up to that point, and I never really enjoyed that job. Seems every time I had listened to a hard luck story from a renter, and responded with a kind heart, I eventually go burned. Every single time.  One of my last acts as my own property manager was to rent an apartment to a  foreign  framing crew which would be working in town a few months. A month or two down the road in our travels, we got an early morning call on our emergency phone. It was from our son in law, Mickey, who was then a paramedic. Seems he was the first responder to that rented apartment. A couple of the guys had gotten into a fight over a woman, it spilling out into the back yard. One picked up a concrete block and bashed the other man’s head in. Like I said. I never enjoyed managing rental property.

When we returned at the end of that year of travel, we decided to leave them all in Bud’s hands. Let him deal with all those problems. He was doing a good job. If it ain’t broken, don’ try to fix it. Besides, Barbara and I still had a lot of world out there to see.

Bud’s grandfather, Lon Reeder, brought his family to Arkadelphia from Colorado in the 1800’s and built a farming and ranching operation where Turtle Point golf course is today. It later expanded out toward Old Military Road and farther.

Bud’s father, Frank W, became a rodeo cowboy, participating in roping and bull dogging competitions in such places as Madison Square Garden in New York City, and at the World’s Fair in Chicago. Many old western antiques still on display at the Burger Barn and Western Sizzlin’ in Arkadelphia belongs to the Reeder family.

Bud’s mother passed away when he was five, and he and his siblings were mostly raised by his grandmother. His means of transportation as he grew up was a Mexican burro.

Lon built a small, one room slaughter and packing house In 1930. In 1934,  Brucellosis was rampant in Arkansas cattle. To help control it, the government helped Frank W. build a much larger slaughter  house on Country Club Road. Herds of cattle were brought in, and each animal was tested. Those showing no signs of the disease were run through a dipping vat, to control parasites, and taken back back to their farm. Many cattle were slaughtered and buried. This was the beginning of the major push to rid our country of brucellosis, which took 76 years to do. It is still common in some other countries. Handling infected animals can cause Undulant fever in humans, though not after it’s cooked. In 1934, the percentage of tested cattle affected was 11.5%. As of December 31 of 2000, no cattle herd in the United States, for the first time, was found to be affected.  It was a long hard struggle, and the Reeder family were some of the pioneers.

The hides were salted, rolled up, and put in 55 gallon drums for a while, then spread out to dry flat. They were then sold to make leather. Before refrigeration, animals were slaughtered on demand and hauled to stores.

John Wesley Davis raised his family nearby, in a house with plank walls covered with newspapers. John Wesley worked at the plant for many years, then gradually trained his family of large, strong boys, Dooster, Gyp, Man, and Sonny as butchers.

Man was employed at the plant throughout his working life. At 22, he married Gloria Smith, 20. They had a son, Randy, and a daughter, Teresa. Man was once busy butchering a beef when a government inspector came in. The inspector soon came into the office, telling Bud, “These men can’t touch that meat with bare hands. They have to wear gloves.” Bud said, “You go tell them that.” The inspector went out into the plant, then soon returned, headed out the door in a hurry, saying, “That man can do whatever he wants.” Bud later asked Man what happened. “Well,”  Man Replied, “He came back there, right behind my shoulder, telling me I had to put on gloves. I just turned around and looked at him, forgetting that the bloody knife was still in my hand. I told him gloves slowed me down too much, I was being paid by the number of beeves I butchered. The next thing I knew, he left in a hurry.” Sadly, Man died in a motorcycle accident at 32. Barbara hired Gloria to work for her a few years later.  We all soon realized she was about the hardest working, most dependable and honest ladies we have ever known. 20+ years later, we still see a lot of “Glo,”, and she is now one of our dearest friends.

Bud started working in the plant when he was still in high school on a half day basis. Later, he married Ella Ruth, a very classy lady. She became the plant bookkeeper, and they ran that plant as a team for many years. They have currently been married for 59 years. They have two son, John and Wes. Ten years later, they adopted Carol, 5 days old, in Dallas.

Bud once had a major shortage of bulls. He called his supplier in Paris, Texas, who told him he had plenty, but due to a major truck driver strike, he had no way to get them to Arkansas. Bud jumped in his truck, drove to Paris. When he arrived, he was surrounded by angry truckers. One bold man pulled his cab door open, only to find himself staring into the business end of Bud’s double barrel shotgun lying across his lap, both hammers pulled back. The man backed up a few steps, now in a position where he would be impossible to miss. Bud introduced himself. “This is a Reeder truck, those are Reeder bulls in there, I’m Bud Reeder, and those bulls are going to Arkansas.” With no more trouble from the truckers, he hauled his bulls to Arkansas.

Bud got in the real estate business more or less by accident, when somebody asked him to sell his houses. He got his papers in 1973.  In 1980, son Wes designed a building for his business, and Harold Nix built it. Bud soon began managing properties, again by accident, when somebody asked him to look out for their three mobile homes. That business grew to around 400 units.

When I first got to know Bud, he always carried a sawed off shotgun around, displayed in the window of his automobile.  If the local police ever felt they needed a little extra firepower, they dropped by and borrowed that sawed off shotgun.  That was during a time when many loud and rowdy parties were held in his rental properties. Bud was called out late at night, maybe a couple of times a week, when the tenants got too wild. While the police could be held at bay if the tenants demanded a search warrant, the property manager can legally enter at any time, so they often called in Bud. Bud seems to be just enough of a cowboy that he relishes those occasions. While he’s never had to fire a gun to protect himself or others, nobody ever doubted that he would, or could, if necessary. His current weapon of choice is a custom made, .410 gauge shotgun pistol, revolver type. The first chambers are loaded with bird shot.

At 79, Bud still is on the job, and does not discourage his tough guy image, knowing that that next wild party may bust loose at any time. But actually, those of us who are around him a lot know the real Bud. He always looks after the needs of his owner’s properties, on call 24 hours a day. If a renter is going to get mad at someone, Bud wants it to be at him, not the owner. Good cop, bad cop. He negotiates good prices with repair men, and passes that savings on. Bud is very civic minded, and willing to help all those around him at any time. I would guess that nobody in Arkadelphia has gone to more funerals than Bud Reeder, whether he really knows the family or not. He’s always there to show respect. I read something on facebook today that made me immediately think of Bud Reeder. I think it speaks of Bud better than anyone I know.

     “ On a cold April night three years ago, my father died a quiet death from cancer. His funeral was on a Wednesday, middle of the work week. I had been numb for days when, for some reason, during the funeral, I turned and looked back at the folks in the church. The memory of it still takes my breath away. The most human, powerful and humbling thing I’ve ever seen was a church at 3:00 on a Wednesday full of inconvenienced people who believe in going to the funeral.”    – by Dierdre Sullivan

Bud never travels, fishes, or does anything else much except playing with his tractors and dozers. He’s in that business, ready to go, any morning at 6:30. When I started gathering info for this story, I went down to his office at 6:30 AM on Labor Day. I didn’t call ahead. I knew he would be there.

Ever the loyal wife, Ella Ruth Is there pretty well every day too. Just in case Bud forgets something.  Ella Ruth just loves hearing about our travels.  Some time back she won a free vacation. I know she would have loved to go. But Bud’s not about to leave that business, and she’s not about to leave Bud alone. It went to waste, as far as she was concerned.

A few years ago, Bud and Ella Ruth threw a big New Year’s party. Barbara and I went, and, since they are leading citizens, I expected to see the elite crowd there. But no. Many people invited was a widow or a widower, or otherwise alone in life.

If our government ever decides to throw a big war, fought only by old men over 70, I guess I’ll go if I’m needed.  (Come to think of it, maybe that’s not such a bad idea. We’ve got a lot less to lose.)  But I really won’t feel very good about it, unless, maybe, Bud’s the man I follow into battle.