This weekend I had the pleasure (?) of attending a service celebrating the life of a woman, Linda Pierpont, who passed away recently, but I never knew.  Why, you ask, would you attend a service, in a somewhat remote part of Maine, hours away, in a church service in which I knew not a soul?

Clearly Linda was a woman who had made a positive impact in many peoples’ lives, as it readily became apparent in listening to stories about her at this service.  Accomplished, educated, and a giver with a huge heart.  But still, unknown to me.

She was the daughter of a couple of my parent’s friends, Niles and Doris Pierpont, who for years celebrated New Years at my folks’ house along with my aunt and uncle.  Niles and my father had been friends for years.  Even as a young child New Years Eve was one of my favorite events of the year, because it was filled with laughter, even though at my age I could only participate at the edges of the circle.

My father would grill up New York strip steaks in our basement on a Hibachi set into a fireplace.  And I will admit that the proceedings were lubricated in part by Flintlocks, a traditional family cocktail served at the holidays.  Not served to me, by the way, until much later in life.

Some of you may be aware that my first name is Niles.  I don’t believe there is any connection here as I have been told my name came from my uncle, Niles Bond.  But who knows.  Both of my parents, as well as Niles and Doris Pierpont, have long since passed away.  To this day, Niles Pierpont and Niles Bond are the only Niles I have ever met.

But why is this a tale of bull?  Apparently, Linda, amongst her many skills and experiences, was a writer at heart.  Who doesn’t love a good story?  And while I never met Linda, I will say that Niles Pierpont is still to this day one of the funniest people I have had the pleasure of meeting.  He could pull off being the prime minister of some country or a world-renowned heart surgeon at the blink of an eye.  In Linda’s case I believe the apple did not fall far from the tree.

Which brings us back to this tale of bull.  During the service for Linda, one of her friends read a letter that Linda had written about a very funny experience, and it seemed to me that this story needed to be shared, which follows below.

Linda, I did not know you, but I wish I had.

A TRUE TALE OF BULL – by Linda Pierpont

One fine July day in the late 40s or early 50s Uncle Fred took us on the Tamerlane the grand distance of one nautical mile from Round Pond to Loud’s Island for a picnic.  “Us” included Rene and Frank; Flon and Fred and Eric; Doris, Niles, Brooks, and Linda; Gert and Jack Tracy, and some of the Goldsmiths.  We towed 2 smaller boats to ferry us ashore, the Tamerlane’s canvas dinghy and Frank’s heavy wooden rowboat.  At the beach where we always picnicked there was a crude sign posted on a tree that said: “Bull in pasture.  Land at own risk.”  Assuming the bull was properly tethered, we disembarked and set up for the picnic. Niles decided to go up on a little bluff behind the picnic area to survey the scene.  What he saw was Ferdinand coming through the tall grass at a rapid pace headed straight toward the picnic site. Niles sprinted back yelling to everyone to run for the ocean because bulls, like cats, are not supposed to like water.  Don’t believe it. This one did.  Rene ran into the water and climbed atop a large rock still carrying the coffee pot in one hand which she had been about to heat on the camp stove. The llittle ones needed help getting onto the big rocks so Niles bent over to pick up Brooks but in doing so dunked his Zeiss Icon into the salt water.  Not good for cameras, let alone film. So there are no photos to prove this tale but survivors still abound.  Jack Tracy, ever fearless and intrepid, crept close to the beach where the bull was cavorting with our picnic and shouted, “Go home, bull, go home.”  But the bull ignored him and continued eating our cheese sandwiches.

We felt pretty exposed and pretty stupid sitting on rocks in the water while a bull ate our picnic.  So after a while we made our way to the dense woods to the right of the pasture.  We figured we’d be safe in the thick underbrush which the bull couldn’t get through.  Neither could we very well, but at least people going by in boats couldn’t see us.  The men put their heads together and came up with a brilliant strategic plan.  Eric, who was young and agile, would circle back through the woods and come out on the other side of the bull doing whatever he could to distract it while Niles and Fred gathered the remains of the picnic and pulled the boats back into the water, the tide by now having receded some fifty feet from the boats. Even without a red cape Eric was remarkably successful in distracting the bull and had to dive into the water several times when bull charged him.  But Eric could swim and the bull couldn’t.  So while this unrehearsed pas de deux was taking place between Eric and Ferdinand, the rest of us got into the boats and escaped to the Tamerlane. Eric swam back.

On the short return trip Niles happened to glance aft and noticed something strange about the dinghy. He asked Fred: “Does your tender always ride so low in the water?”  Fred took one look and expostulated: “Christ! It’s sinking.” So back into the water went Eric, this time to rescue the dinghy which was on its way to the bottom of Round Pond harbor. A few weeks after this high adventure, Niles happened upon a post card of Ferdinand the Bull which he sent, anonymously, to Jack Tracy after first composing a poem for Jack.  The poem began something like this: “Come play with me on my lovely isle, And I’ll show you some games to test your wiles.”   Jack was cool toward Niles for some time after receipt of this sonnet.  The real Ferdinand was taken off isle after some locals got chased into the water while clamming.  Most Mainers can’t swim and won’t put up with this kind of bull.

The moral of the story is this: Cows may come and cows may go, but the bull in this place goes on forever.