The year was 1947.
Jess Combs and Frank Eanes were veterans of the War in Europe, home now to Alabama and Georgia where before the War they had apprenticed under their fathers to become pointing dog field trial trainer-handlers.
Their fathers had now left the circuit for shooting plantation management jobs, turning their trial strings over to their sons.
The strings of the sons were remnants of what they had been, but each son had one loyal sponsor-dog owner, passed down by his father. This they knew was the key to a chance for success.
Though the fathers had been fierce rivals through the 1930s and 40s, their rivalry had been tempered by a certain unstated loyalty born of shared struggle, a struggle to earn enough to stay in the game, a struggle shared by all for-the-public trainer-handlers through the decades. The game could be cruel, especially through the Depression and War years when veterinary science had yet to find effective vaccines for distemper and other common canine illnesses and money was short everywhere.
Jess Combs’ inherited owner was Everett Bagnell, a Birmingham banker. Frank Eanes’ was Charles Waters, an Atlanta stock broker. They had known the sons since their teen years.
For Bagnell, Jess had a promising first year son of a Champion campaigned by his father for the banker through the War years. For Waters, Frank had a first year daughter of a Champion his father had campaigned for the broker. Just before the sons were ready to depart for the prairies for summer training, tragedy struck. Charles Waters died suddenly of a heart attack.
A week later, Jess got a call from his owner Bagnell.
“I have bought Charles Waters’ bitch from his widow and will bring her to you this weekend so you can take her to the prairies.”
Jess was stunned, then mortified. He did not sleep that night. When banking hours arrived next morning he called Bagnell at his office.
“Mr. Bagnell, I cannot accept the bitch for my string. You should leave her with Frank. He developed her, knows her quirks, will do a good job with her for you.”
Bagnell was angered by Jess’s message which he took as ingratitude and a lack of loyalty to him.
“If you feel that way, I will move all my dogs to Frank. I do not have time to visit two handlers, and you know I keep trial dogs so I can ride and watch them in workouts.”
Jess knew this reaction was a possibility. He was ready for it.
“I understand, Mr. Bagnell. I will deliver your dogs to Frank this weekend so he will have them to take north — he is leaving Monday. Please understand, I am not ungrateful for your offer.
“Frank and I shared the inside of a tank at the Battle of Bastogne under General Patton. Frank saved my life when a fragment of an 88 shell hit my side of the tank and wounded me. He pulled me out as the tank burned.”
A brief silence followed. Then Bagnell said,
“I’ve changed my mind. I will leave the bitch with Frank and my other dogs with you.”
Then Jess heard Bagnell’s phone receiver hit its cradle with a loud click.