The Origins of the Term B.S.

The Origins of the Term B.S.

A reminiscence on Father’s Day 2015

My Dad, Kermit passed away in 1974 from liver failure. He would have been a few months short of 101 on this Father’s Day.

Mom and Dad on 25th Anniversary

From Top: Dad (Kermit), Millard, Elna, Carter

My Dad as Baby ca. 1915

With many faults and strengths; he was not the greatest father that ever lived, but still not the worst.

Dad was a big strong man, six foot, 250 pounds, with enormous hands. Mom told me that once, before my time, he and my mother were driving in a Model A Ford and had a flat tire. Finding they had a spare tire but no jack, my dad lifted the car at the rear while my mother removed the wheel and replaced it with the spare. Then there was a legendary bar fight in Worthing South Dakota when two men trying to restrain him, one on each arm, were flung backwards as he pursued someone who had angered him. That provocateur fled out the back door not to be seen at that bar for some time.

As far as I know, my father never physically or verbally abused anyone in our family. There was sometimes a slap or a spanking when a child misbehaved, but that task was always performed by my mother. I did however observe one time where my dad was abusive.

In south Lincoln County South Dakota in the 1950’s nearly every farm had one or more milk cows. In order for the milk cows to produce milk, the cow had to periodically get pregnant and give birth to a calf. In those days, before artificial insemination was prevalent, this process would require the presence of a bull. Not every farm kept a bull, since it used farm resources, pasture, hay, etc. but contributed only one thing and that only happened once in a while. If you did not have a bull when needed, you could usually borrow one from your neighbor. Then you may end up pasturing that bull until another farmer needed it.

A Bull

On this occasion, my dad’s bull had been residing at a neighbor’s farm with ten or twenty cows, but was needed at home to do his bullish duties. My dad had an old Model A Ford that he used around the farm much like farmers today use gators and four-wheelers. There was a canvas tarp across the seat to protect our posteriors from springs protruding through the upholstery. A hole in the floorboard allowed passengers to watch the road pass by.

1930 Model A Ford (similar to my dad's)

He grabbed me and we drove in the old Ford a couple miles to and into the pasture to get the bull. My job was to open the gates through which we needed to herd the bull and block the open gates and driveways until we got home. When we approached each opening, Dad would slow the Ford and I would get out and run ahead.

As we got farther from the pasture and his cow harem, the bull became less and less willing to continue. Dad honked the Model A’s oogah horn and nudged the bull with the bumper all the while yelling curses in Norwegian at the bull. The bull then decided to double back through the ditch. Dad threw the Model A in reverse and sped backwards past the bull then into the ditch with me holding on for dear life. As the nudges became more and more forceful, the bull stopped in the middle of the road, turned around, snorted and scratched at the gravel with his a hoof. The Model A honked “oogah, oogah”, Dad shouted Norwegian curses and “wham” the radiator grill connected with the bull’s head. That was when the bullsh*t started.

There is a biological phenomenon called the fight or flight response. Evacuation of the bowels and bladder among other related things often happen when an animal feels threatened. As the Model A continued to nudge the bull, the bull continued to defecate splattering the front fenders and windshield with runny B.S. When we reached the home yard the bull manure was dripping from the front of the Model A along with profuse radiator leakage.

There are a lot of etymological explanations for the term bullsh*t. To me, the word simply describes the behavior of an actual bull trying his best to appear fierce and belligerent while his profuse excrement exposes his fear.

Nowadays every nudge of that Model A’s bumper would probably be considered animal abuse eligible for a hefty fine or if the bull was injured it might even be a felony. Back then, at least in south Lincoln County, it was just bull herding.

I know that as much as I wished to be, I probably was/am not the greatest Dad in the world; I'll never know. But, I can say with 100% certainty, that I have never abused a bull.