Mule Mixup

In a sulphurous meeting in Washington last week, 50 of the nation's biggest mule dealers cussed in concert as only men who have mingled with mules can cuss. They mentioned, in various uncomplimentary ways, the U.S. Government, the Department of Agriculture and the Mexican Government. But they saved their real whizbangs for a fellow dealer, Kansas City's Ferd Owen. When they had worked off their wrath, they got Texas' Representative Wingate Lucas to draft an odd bill for Congress. It would prohibit export of mules except by Government permit.

The fire behind this sulphurous cloud was caused by 1) a mixup by the Department of Agriculture and 2) a smart trick by Dealer Owen. Last May, the Department of Agriculture wired all big dealers that it wanted to buy mules for resale to Mexico. They were needed to replace oxen exterminated in Mexico's hoof-&-mouth epizootic. The dealers bought up 8,000 mules, signed contracts to buy 12,000 more. But when they went to Washington with their bids, the Department of Agriculture told them that it might not buy a single mule. It would first have to consult with Mexican officials over what it considered exorbitant prices. Cussing the delay, which would cost them 50-c- a mule a day for feed, most of the dealers went home to await further word.

Make It on Horses. But not Ferd Owen. He went right on rounding up more mules. While the Department of Agriculture hemmed & hawed, he flew down to Mexico City to see Mexican officials himself. When he went home, Owen carried a contract to sell the Mexican Government 20,000 mules at the handsome price of $115 a head. That just about eliminated everyone else.

By such fast maneuvering, slender, affable Ferd Owen, 58, has become the biggest mule and horse trader in the U.S. His natty suits, hickory cane, and diamond stickpin (shaped like a mule's head) belie his origin as the fifth of nine sons of a poor Missouri farmer. Ferd went to school for only six months. At 15, he went into business for himself as a "road trader," driving all over the Midwest in a covered wagon and swapping animals with farmers along the road. That sharpened his trader's eye; now he can tell an animal's value as soon as it takes a few steps in the auction ring.

Lose It on Zinc. When he was 18 and still on the road, Owen met Bertie Keen, who married him, taught him to read & write and joined his business as a bookkeeper. In 1922, they opened a trading barn in Kansas City's stockyards, slowly developed it into a center for a widespread trading network.

Owen does a bigger volume of trading (about 200,000 horses and mules a year) than anyone else in the U.S.

Owen's dickering urge is so strong that his wife is hardly able to get him to buy her a new saddle horse: "He's likely to sell [it] on the way home." Away from horseflesh, Owen is not so shrewd. Recently he lost around $125,000 on a zinc mine. However, he expects to make up much of the loss on his Mexican deal. Already he has shipped 1,000 mules, has another 1,000 ready to go. He figures on filling the rest of his contract long before Congress gets around to doing anything about mules.

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