The Good Doctor
Why do the good people in the
world sometimes have to go through the toughest times? It seems that sometimes
the not so good, actually have it pretty good.
Makes me scratch my head and wonder.
Rocky Denard texted me this
morning while I was sitting by myself in the Atlanta airport and told me one of
our good friends was having a rough go at it with cancer. As we texted back and
forth for about 10 minutes, a million memories of Stephenville, Texas and our
college days, flooded back to me. I had to bite my lip to keep my eyes from
welling up.
Brandon Manning called me a
few weeks ago to tell me that Dr. Don Henneke had some pretty wicked cancer
(excellent descriptive word from Rocky) to deal with. I was shocked and in
disbelief, but I took it in stride. I suppose Rocky’s message hit me a little
harder, no offense to Brandon, but I guess the brevity of it all finally hit
me. Rocky told me he had visited Doc and he described a man that was a shell of
his former self.
All of us met Dr. Henneke
somewhere around 1986 or 1987 while attending Tarleton State University in Stephenville,
Texas. “All of us” were a tight-knit group of guys, mainly Ag majors I ran with,
trying to find our way in the world. Dr. Henneke, I never could call him Don
even though I wanted to, was an equine studies professor who came from the real
world. He grew up in the cattle and horse world of Oklahoma and through the
years, gathered his BS, MS and PhD from Oklahoma State, LSU and Texas A&M.
He had real world, practical knowledge, plus an overwhelming intelligence that
he hid from most people. Big and hulking, he had a personality that was
intimidating to say the least. He didn’t say much unless he had something that
needed to be said, but his words stuck to you like glue. I don’t think I ever
had a better teacher. He had a way of putting ideas and information into an
“agricultural perspective” that has stayed with me all these years. He used
this gift when he was describing a set of mare pens we were repairing. I was
learning to weld and my grasp of the art was pretty pathetic. The welds were
not neat and straight, but better described as “gorilla welding”. In other
words, huge globs of metal and flux that got the job done, but I was using one
welding rod per every 2-3 inches. He was inspecting my welding and I meekly
told him that I was not very proud of my work. He took a drag off his
cigarette, closed one eye so that the drifting smoke would not burn his eye,
and encouragingly said, “That’ll work fine. It’s the functionality of it that
really matters.”
The first spring that “all of
us” took Equine Repro, we spent every weekday afternoon and most Saturday or
Sunday mornings, at the Horse Center on the Tarleton college farm. The first
time we saw Dr. Henneke palpated a mare, he shocked us all by lubing up his
bare arm and inserting it up to the shoulder into the mare’s rectum. The
palpation act was not shocking, most of us had seen that before. It was the
lack of an OB sleeve that threw us. Palpating a mare is where you feel the mare’s
ovaries and determine if she is ready to breed or if she is pregnant. Normal
practice except that most people use a plastic OB sleeve to keep their arm
clean. Not the Doc. We all kind of raised our eyebrows and looked at each other
with a “What the hell?” gesture. After he had palpated the group of mares we
had gathered, he went into the barn’s lab and scrubbed his arms and fingernails
thoroughly (thank goodness he had good hygiene) and we had to ask the question
most of you are thinking now. We said to
him, “Doc, why don’t you use a sleeve to preg test these mares?” He replied in
his usual, matter of fact way, “When you use a sleeve, your sense of feel is
diminished by a layer of plastic. I just have a better, more accurate touch
without the sleeve. Plus, once you go sleeveless, you’ll never go back.” We would have took Doc more serious, but Steve
Adams then made the comment “I bet you have to keep your arms shaved, don’t you
Doc? Probably helps keep those little shit balls from rolling up on your arm.”
I loved to hear Dr. Henneke’s
stories from the days when he was our age. He was managing a breeding farm in
Oklahoma and was showing a breeding stud to some potential clients. Breeding
studs can be pretty cagey and mean at times, but this one was at the top of the
list. He knew this going in to the pen, but Doc said he let his guard down and
let the horse get out of his view for a half second. Before he could react, the
stud lunged at him with teeth bared and chomped down on his chest. Luckily it
was wintertime and Doc had on a blue-jean jacket and vest, plus a long
underwear top and a jean shirt. Doc hollered at the horse in his usual way (he
called it his “dog and children” voice) and fought off the old stud horse. Even
with all the clothes he was wearing the horse bit through all those layers of
clothes and ripped a chunk out of his upper chest that took 6 stiches to close.
After he healed up, he installed an electric hot wire around the top of the stud
pens to keep the stud horses from fighting with each other, plus to protect
people that might get to close to the pens. He had the pens wired up for a few
weeks and another client wanted to see the same horse that had bit Doc. He was
a little more cautious this time and sure enough, the old stud thought he would
have seconds at Dr Henneke’s expense. Doc explained that he maneuvered himself
closer and closer to the new hot wire and with eyes in the back of his head
waited for the horse to make his move. As the stud started to lunge, Doc said
he rammed his fist in the horse’s mouth and grabbed the horse’s tongue. With
the other hand, Doc reached up and grabbed the hot wire. Most people would have
to really plan this revenge carefully, but Doc’s mind worked a little more
different than ours. The jolt of electricity ran from the wire, through Doc’s
outreached arm, through his body and hit that sumbitchin’ stud like a ton of
lead. Doc said he held on for as long as he could and the stud’s eyes were as
big as bowling balls. The horse pulled back and shook his head, did a few jump
kicks, farted and ran to the other side of the pen. We were like little kids
sittin’ around the campfire telling ghost stories. “How did you not get shocked?
we asked. Doc then went on to explain electricity to us and how the stud was
grounded and the electricity did not even faze him, only the horse. Doc had
reverted to “boring, over-educated Doc” and the shock of it all faded. We looked
around at each other and rolled our eyes. But still, you have to admit, true or
false, it’s a good story.
Doc had a way of expressing
himself with no regard to who was in the room. One time we had a mare that was
having difficulty becoming pregnant. Doc
thought we had missed her estrous cycle (again) and he explained to us the art
of “teasing” mares. You take a stud horse from mare to mare, mindful that the
mare is safe from bites or kicks from the stud horse, and watch how she reacts
to the stud. If she is ready for breeding and her estrous cycle is in the
correct phase, she generally is permissive to the stud and lets you know. Some
mares are very coy and you have to be experienced to catch these little
mannerisms. Doc proceeded to explain to our mixed gender class, “Sometimes
these mares do all but flip over on their backs to show they are in estrus. But
there are those few that will be wearing a low hemmed skirt with the collar
buttoned all the way to the top. They play hard to get and won’t let on that
they’re in a romantic way, so you have to look for subtle reminders if you want
to get them.” Everyone in the classroom, both male and female started nervously
looking down at the ground or up at the ceiling after his comments. Doc just shuffled his papers and went on to
the next part of the lecture. Gloria Steinem would have had a field day with
those comments.
I was the student manager of
the Tarleton Horse Center when I was a junior and I got to know Dr. Henneke
very well. We went to several Cutting Horse events at Will Rogers Coliseum in
Ft Worth and also went to a couple of horse sales. He never had a whole lot to
say to me and he was a little gruff at times, but I soaked up everything I
could when I was around him. He taught us to think situations out and use our
common sense, but not to forget that science was behind literally everything
that happened each day. No other teacher or mentor has ever explained things in
that matter. The other students at school, who did not take any classes from him,
could never understand why we liked Doc so much. He did his own thing and
danced to his own beat. I think that even some of the other professors at
Tarleton did not quite know what to think of him. He smoked and smelled of BO
and horse dung, but could beat them all with half his brain tied behind his
back. I think they all secretly wanted to be just like he him.
The last time I saw Dr.
Henneke was about 5 years ago while I was doing my California to Texas commute.
I was on one of my two-week trips in Texas and at the time, Stephenville was
where I wanted to land once we were re-located. Grat Williams and Brandon were
living there and I thought that was where we would set down stakes. I knew Doc
drank coffee every morning at the Whataburger in town and I timed my day so
that I could catch him there. After about 15 minutes or so, he pulled in with
coffee cup in hand. He saw me, gave no expression with his droopy mustache and
sad eyes, and walked over to my table to join me. It had been at least 15 years
since I had seen him and I always felt like he was disappointed when I left the
horse industry to become a salesman. We talked for a good thirty minutes and I
told him I was looking for a home in the area. To my surprise, he told me there
was a place for sale right down the road from him and I should go check it out.
He then told me to stop by the horse center next time I was in town and visit
for a bit. There was horse sale benefitting the Tarleton Horse Program and
maybe I wanted to help out with the students. I thanked him for the visit and
drove off. I never went back to the horse center and I never saw Doc again.
Doc passed away last night. Grat,
Brandon and John Jefferies contacted me first thing this morning. I wrote this yesterday when Doc was still with us. It really sucks to have to go back and amend this. I wish I were
back in Stephenville to pay tribute to this great man. This is the second
friend/acquaintance of mine to be struck by cancer at too early of an age. Dean
Lane was the first and I hoped he would be the last, but cancer shows no
remorse or prejudice. Cancer is a
machine and as Doc probably would say, “has great functionality”. Doc lived a great life in a great industry.
He has more friends than he ever realized he had, plus a great family and 2
great kids. Everybody has to die and we all realize that. I just wish that the
good people out there were given more time and were able to stick around
longer.
We’re going to miss you Don.
