Creeping over fields of green Remembering the
faces The moments unseen The hands that built
a dynasty The vision in their eyes Echoes in
the auction bar Beneath an endless sky This is
the bull buy Turn the bar It's a bitter January
morning in 1985, and you stand in the doorway
of your barn, watching your breath fog in the
frigid Indiana air. The weight of impossible
decisions presses against your chest like a physical
force. Feed prices have skyrocketed to levels
that would make your grandfather weep. Corn at
$3 .20 a bushel when you budgeted for $2 .40.
Your milk check barely covers half of what it
used to. And the banknote that seemed manageable
just two years ago now looms like a death sentence.
You watch as valuable bull calves, animals that
should be worth $15 ,000 each, are loaded onto
trucks bound for the slaughterhouse. Your hands
shake, not from the cold, but from the desperation
of a man who built an empire on borrowed dreams
and now watches it crumble into hamburger meat.
These aren't just cattle being loaded. they're
generations of careful breeding genetic treasures
that could have shaped the holstein breed for
decades to come but you don't know can't possibly
know that from this moment of complete financial
devastation a genetic revolution is about to
be born that one phone call one empty semen tank
one accidental mating will create a holstein
dynasty that will reshape dairies from wisconsin
to germany to japan that the cow born from this
chaos will become known simply as Black Rose,
and her descendants will still be rewriting record
books 40 years later. This is the story of how
the worst financial crisis in modern dairy history
gave birth to the most influential Holstein family
of our time. Welcome to the Bullvine Podcast.
I'm your host, and today we're taking you deep
into the barns and boardrooms of the 1980s to
witness how financial disaster desperate gambles,
and one man's vision turned genetic wreckage
into dairy gold. This is the story you need to
hear, because if you're running genetics today,
you're probably running Black Rose genetics.
To understand how we got to that desperate January
morning, you need to step back to 1979. You're
standing in your farm office, studying a tax
form that's about to change everything. Section
46 of the Internal Revenue Code has just created
something unprecedented in agriculture, an investment
tax credit for livestock that allows wealthy
outsiders to write off cattle purchases against
their personal income. You're watching something
that's never happened before in dairy history.
Investment bankers from Chicago, surgeons from
New York, lawyers from Los Angeles, people who
couldn't tell a fresh cow from a dry one, suddenly
want to own Holstein royalty. The phone calls
start coming to your farm and to farms across
the Midwest, offers that make your head spin.
You remember your father's warnings about easy
money, but the numbers are intoxicating. A cow
you might sell for $5 ,000 at the local livestock
auction suddenly has investors bidding $25 ,000,
$50 ,000, even $100 ,000. You're witnessing the
birth of what will become known as the investor
era, a speculative frenzy. that injects more
money into the Holstein market in five years
than the previous 50 combined. The mechanics
are simple and devastating. These investors make
a down payment, maybe 10 or 15 percent, then
write off the full purchase price against their
taxes immediately. They're betting that tax savings
plus future breeding fees will cover their costs.
What they don't understand, what you're beginning
to realize with growing on ease, is that cattle
aren't stocks. They eat every day, they get sick,
they die, and they need to produce income to
justify these astronomical prices. You watch
as show cow prices spiral into the stratosphere.
At the 1982 World Dairy Expo, you stand in the
sales pavilion as Romandale Reflections sells
for $1 .3 million, more than most family farms
are worth. The crowd gasps, but you feel something
closer to dread. You've been farming long enough
to know that when something seems too good to
be true, it usually is. But for now, in the early
1980s, you're riding the wave. Every dairy magazine
features stories of overnight millionaires. Farmers
who've struggled for generations are suddenly
writing checks with more zeros than they ever
imagined. The entire Holstein industry is intoxicated
by this influx of outside money. You don't know
it yet. But you're watching the creation of the
perfect storm, one that will soon consume everything
in its path. You pull into the driveway of the
Stuckey Farm in Leesburg, Indiana, and immediately
understand why investors are drawn to this place.
The barns are immaculate, the fencing perfect,
the landscaping worthy of a country club. Jack
Stuckey has built something that looks more like
a Holstein theme park than a working farm. Jack
greets you at the car, smooth as silk. with the
kind of charm that makes you want to trust him
immediately. He's not just selling cattle, he's
selling dreams. As he walks you through his facilities,
you realize you're looking at the future of the
dairy industry, or at least Jack's vision of
it. You see that cow there? Jack points to a
magnificent black star daughter standing in the
morning sunlight. She's not just livestock, she's
genetic treasure. In 10 years, every Holstein
in America will trace back to cows like her.
His voice carries the conviction of a preacher
and the enthusiasm of a salesman. It's intoxicating.
You learn Jack's story as he shows you around.
He comes from good farming stock. His parents
are the salt of the earth type who've never owed
a dollar they couldn't pay back. Hardworking,
church -going folks who view debt as a moral
failing. But Jack has bigger dreams than his
father's modest operation could ever fulfill.
I was watching these investors pay crazy money
for average cattle, Jack explains, his eyes lighting
up with the memory. And I thought, what if someone
with real knowledge, someone who actually understands
genetics, what if they played this game? That's
when I knew I could build something special.
The numbers Jack shows you are staggering. In
just three years, he's assembled a collection
of Holstein royalty that reads like a who's who
of the breed. Georgian quality. Pat EX96, Nandette
TT Speckle Red, some of the most famous show
cows in North America, all carrying the Stuckey
prefix now. His business model is brilliant in
its simplicity. He buys elite cows from established
breeders, not for cash, but on investor terms.
A third down, the balance paid over two years.
Then he marks them up dramatically and sells
them to his network of wealthy investors who
are more interested in tax write -offs than cattle
knowledge. You watch Jack work a room at the
Central National Show and understand why he's
so successful. He doesn't just know cattle, he
knows people. He can read what each investor
wants to hear. The surgeon from Dallas wants
to own something exclusive, something his country
club friends will be impressed by. The real estate
developer from Phoenix wants cattle that will
appreciate like property. Jack gives each of
them exactly the story they need. The beauty
of this system Jack confides as you watch his
string dominate the show ring, is that everyone
wins. The investors get their tax benefits, I
get to assemble the best genetics in the world,
and the breed gets better. It's the perfect business
model. By 1983, Jack is taking home premier exhibitor
banners at major shows across the country. His
name is in every dairy magazine. He's the face
of the new dairy industry. Young, ambitious,
successful. Other farmers look at him with a
mixture of admiration and envy. But as you spend
more time around Jack's operation, you start
noticing things that don't quite add up. The
pristine facilities, the massive overhead, the
constant influx of new investors needed to keep
the whole system running. You begin to understand
that Jack isn't just building a cattle empire.
He's building a financial house of cards. And
like all houses of cards, it's only stable. as
long as nothing shakes the foundation. You're
sitting in a sterile government office, watching
Jack Stuckey try to explain his business model
to a room full of IRS agents who look like they've
heard it all before. The expression on their
faces tells you everything you need to know.
The party's over. Mr. Stuckey, the lead auditor
says, his voice devoid of emotion. Can you explain
how cattle purchased for $250 ,000 and immediately
resold for $750 ,000 represents a legitimate
business transaction rather than a tax avoidance
scheme? You watch Jack's famous charm hit a wall
of government skepticism. These aren't investors
dazzled by show cattle and genetic potential.
These are accountants who deal in numbers, not
dreams. And the numbers Jack's been creating
don't pass their smell test. The problem, you
realize, is that Jack's entire business model
depends on the IRS continuing to allow these
aggressive depreciation schedules and investment
credits. His investors aren't really buying cattle.
They're buying tax deductions. When those deductions
get challenged, the whole system collapses. You
visit the Stuckey farm again six months later,
and the change is startling. The manicured perfection
is showing cracks. Equipment that needs repair
sits idle. The staff looks nervous. Jack himself
has aged years and months, the easy confidence
replaced by something approaching desperation.
The IRS is disallowing depreciation schedules
left and right, Jack explains, running his hand
through his hair. My investors are getting hit
with massive tax bills on cattle they thought
were fully written off. Some of them are demanding
their money back. The mathematics of Jack's situation
become clear as he walks you through the books.
He owes over $800 ,000 to breeders who sold him
cattle on terms. His monthly overhead, the pristine
facilities, the large staff, the show expenses,
runs $40 ,000 a month. And his primary revenue
source, wealthy investors seeking tax shelters,
has evaporated overnight. You realize you're
watching the collapse of something that seemed
invincible just months before. Phone calls from
creditors interrupt your conversation. Jack's
assistants handle increasingly hostile calls
from investors who want out of deals they no
longer understand. The worst part, Jack confides,
is that I really believed we were building something
permanent. These aren't just cattle to me. They're
the foundation for the next generation of Holstein
genetics, and now I might have to watch it all
get liquidated. By winter, You're witnessing
scenes that would have been unthinkable a year
earlier. Valuable cattle being sold at emergency
auctions for fractions of their supposed worth.
Bull calves that should be future AI sires heading
to slaughter because Jack needs immediate cash
to meet payroll. The dairy press, which once
celebrated Jack as a visionary, now whispers
about financial irregularities. Established breeders
who sold him cattle on trust are realizing they
may never see their final payments. The Schaufs,
the Browns, dozens of respected families are
suddenly holding worthless IOUs from a man they
thought they could trust. But what devastates
you most is watching generations of careful breeding
work disappear into financial chaos. These aren't
just business assets being liquidated. They're
living genetic treasures, bloodlines that took
decades to develop, now scattered to the wind
or worse. Standing in Jack's barn that winter,
watching him calculate which cattle he can afford
to feed through the season, you understand you're
witnessing something that will change the dairy
industry forever. Not because of what Jack built,
but because of how spectacularly it's falling
apart. You're sitting in a conference room at
the Holstein Association, surrounded by breed
leaders trying to make sense of what's happening
to their industry. The numbers on the whiteboard
tell a sobering story. Cattle values have dropped
60 % in 18 months. Major breeding programs are
folding weekly. The speculative bubble that lifted
all boats is now drowning everyone caught in
its wake. We're not just talking about money,
says one veteran breeder, his voice heavy with
years of experience. We're talking about genetic
resources that took generations to develop, bloodlines
that go back to the foundation of the breed,
and they're being liquidated like commodity corn.
You listen as the industry tries to diagnose
what went wrong. The Section 46 tax credits were
supposed to bring needed capital into dairy breeding.
Instead, they created a speculative frenzy that
divorced cattle values from any economic reality.
Investors who knew nothing about genetics drove
prices to astronomical levels based purely on
tax benefits. The human cost is becoming clear.
Farmers who leveraged their operations to buy
into the boom are now facing bankruptcy. Banks
that financed cattle purchases at inflated values
are sitting on worthless collateral. Insurance
companies that wrote mortality policies on million
-dollar cows are hemorrhaging money. But the
genetic cost may be even higher. You're watching
as some of the most important bloodlines in Holstein
history get scattered or destroyed. Cows that
should be the mothers of future champions are
being sold at commodity prices to commercial
dairies where their genetic potential will never
be realized. The tragedy, explains a geneticist
from the AIPL, is that superior genetics don't
care about financial markets. A cow's genetic
worth isn't determined by what someone paid for
her. It's determined by what she can produce
and transmit. But when the whole system collapses,
those genetics get lost in the wreckage. This
is where Louis Prange enters the story. You drive
up the long lane to Elm Park Farms and immediately
sense something different. Unlike Jack Stuckey's
showplace operation, this is a working farm.
Practical buildings, efficient layouts, cattle
that look healthy rather than pampered. Lewis
greets you with the measured confidence of a
man who's seen boom and bust cycles before. He's
been in the Holstein business for 30 years, long
enough to know the difference between genuine
genetic value and speculative frenzy. And right
now, he's seeing an opportunity that others are
missing. Everyone's running away from this mess,
Lewis explains as you walk through his barns.
But superior genetics don't disappear just because
the financial markets collapsed. Those bloodlines
are still there. They're just trapped in a bankruptcy
court instead of a show ring. You realize you're
talking to someone who understands that this
crisis, as devastating as it is, also represents
the buying opportunity of a lifetime. Not for
speculation, but for genuine genetic improvement.
The kind of cattle that were selling for six
figures 18 months ago can now be acquired for
reasonable prices if you know what you're looking
for and have the patience to rebuild. You return
to the Stuckey farm on a gray February morning
and barely recognize the place. The manicured
perfection of just two years ago has given way
to the grim reality of financial collapse. Equipment
sits idle for lack of maintenance money. Feed
bunkers that once held the finest rations now
contain whatever Jack can afford. The staff has
been cut to a skeleton crew. Jack meets you at
the barn, and the transformation is shocking.
The smooth -talking salesman has been replaced
by a man who looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.
His eyes hold the hollow desperation of someone
watching his life's work disintegrate. I can't
make payroll next week. Jack tells you without
preamble. The investors who haven't sued me have
stopped returning my calls. The bank wants to
call the note, and I've got $2 million worth
of cattle that won't bring $200 ,000 at auction.
You walk through barns that once housed Holstein
royalty, now filled with animals whose care is
being rationed by financial necessity. Feed is
cut to maintenance levels. Breeding programs
that should be planning the next generation are
focused on simple survival. The legal situation
is becoming a nightmare. Creditors who sold jack
cattle on terms are filing liens. Investors who
discovered their tax benefits were disallowed
are demanding refunds. Insurance companies are
investigating mortality claims. The simple business
model that seemed so elegant in 1982 has become
a tangle of competing legal claims. The worst
part, Jack says, his voice cracking, is watching
the genetics get destroyed. These aren't just
my cattle, they're the genetic heritage of the
breed, and they're being liquidated like used
equipment. You witness the desperation firsthand
when Jack makes the decision that will haunt
the industry for years. Rather than sell breeding
stock at devastating losses, he starts sending
young bulls, animals that should be future AI
sires, to slaughter for immediate cash. The sound
of those trucks leaving the farm carries away
genetic potential. that can never be recovered.
The Dairy Press, which once celebrated Jack as
a visionary, now covers his collapse with the
fascination usually reserved for natural disasters.
Headlines speak of fraud and embezzlement, though
the reality is more complex. Jack wasn't a criminal.
He was a dreamer who built a business model on
foundations of sand. You sit in bankruptcy court
as Jack's empire is officially dismantled. The
judge's gavel falls with the finality of a coffin
lid, and you understand you're witnessing the
end of an era. The Stuckey prefix, which graced
some of the most famous Holsteins in history,
will now be associated with financial collapse
rather than genetic excellence. The asset liquidation
is heartbreaking to watch. Cattle that cost hundreds
of thousands are being valued at commercial prices.
Embryos from elite matings are treated like surplus
inventory. Genetic potential that took generations
to accumulate is being dispersed like dust in
the wind. But in the back of the courtroom, you
notice Louis Prange taking notes. While everyone
else sees disaster, he sees opportunity, and
his presence suggests that this story isn't over,
it's just beginning a new chapter. You sit across
from Louis Prange in his farm office, watching
him study genetic charts and financial documents
by lamplight. The contrast with Jack Stuckey
couldn't be more stark. Where Jack was all charm
and big dreams, Louis is methodical, analytical,
focused on facts rather than fantasies. Look
at this pedigree, Louis says, pointing to a breeding
chart for Nandette TT Speckle Red. Triple threat
breeding, deep maternal line, multiple excellent
daughters. The genetics haven't changed just
because the financial markets collapsed. If anything,
the crash has made these bloodlines more valuable.
not less. You realize you're watching a master
geneticist at work. Louis has spent decades studying
Holstein pedigrees, understanding which bloodlines
consistently produce excellence and which are
just fashionable names. The investor era created
a market where financial speculation mattered
more than genetic merit. Now, with that market
collapsed, true breeding value is visible again.
The problem with the investor model, Louis explains,
was that it valued cattle like stocks instead
of genetic resources. People bought names and
show records without understanding transmission
rates or breeding compatibility. They were speculating
on reputation instead of investing in genetic
improvement. Louis shows you his analysis of
the Stuckey dispersal. Hidden among the financial
wreckage are some of the most genetically valuable
Holstein cows in North America. Cows whose breeding
records show consistent transmission of desirable
traits. Bloodlines that could form the foundation
of future genetic progress. Take Speckle Red,
he says, pulling out production records. Multiple
all -American honors, consistent high butterfat,
excellent type transmission. She's proven her
genetic worth over multiple generations. The
fact that she's tied up in bankruptcy doesn't
change her chromosomes. You understand that Lewis
sees something others are missing. The financial
collapse has created a rare opportunity to acquire
proven genetics at rational prices. But more
than that, it's created an opportunity to build
breeding programs based on genetic merit rather
than speculative value. You accompany Lewis to
his meeting with the bankruptcy trustee, watching
him negotiate not just for cattle, but for genetic
opportunity. His proposal is elegantly simple.
Lease the best cows from the Stuckey estate,
flush them to proven sires, and share the proceeds
between the estate and his breeding program.
The trustee's job is to maximize recovery for
creditors, Lewis explains afterward. These cattle
are worthless if they're just liquidated at commercial
prices. But if we can realize their genetic potential
through strategic breeding, everyone benefits.
The deal Louis structures is a masterpiece of
practical genetics and financial necessity. He
takes responsibility for all costs, feed, veterinary
care, facility maintenance. In return, he gets
control of breeding decisions and first option
on all resulting offspring. But the most important
element of the deal isn't financial, it's genetic.
Louis has identified specific matings that could
produce breakthrough individuals. Corrective
crosses that balance production with type. proven
bloodlines with complementary strengths and weaknesses.
Genetic progress happens through systematic improvement
over generations, Lewis tells you. The investor
era created a lot of noise but very little actual
advancement. Now we have the chance to make real
breeding progress with some of the best genetic
material ever assembled. You watch Lewis study
breeding charts late into the night, calculating
generation intervals, analyzing proven transmission
rates, planning matings that could influence
the breed for decades. This isn't speculation.
It's scientific breeding applied to genetic resources
that would have been impossible to acquire under
normal circumstances. And at the center of his
plans is one specific mating, Nandette TT, speckle
red to Tomar black star, a corrective cross that
could combine proven type transmission with outstanding
production genetics. a mating that could produce
something special. If only he can get the semen.
You arrive at Elm Park Farms on a crisp morning
in early March, sensing that something important
is about to happen. Louie has been planning this
mating for months, Nandette TT Speckle Red to
Tomar Blackstar. On paper, it's the kind of corrective
cross that could produce a truly exceptional
individual. Speckle brings proven type transmission,
excellent mammary systems, and the structural
correctness that made her a multiple All -American.
Blackstar contributes incredible production genetics.
His daughters consistently milk above 40 ,000
pounds with strong components. Together, they
could produce an animal that combines the best
of both bloodlines. But there's a complication.
Even in bankruptcy, Jack Stuckey retains strong
opinions about which sires should be used on
his former cattle. His preferences run toward
fashionable names rather than corrective genetics.
He wants Rosafi Citation R, or Brown Dale Commissioner,
bulls with show ring glamour but questionable
genetic complementarity for this particular mating.
You watch Lewis navigate this diplomatic challenge
with patience that comes from decades in the
breeding business. He explains pedigree analysis,
discusses transmission patterns, outlines the
genetic logic behind the Black Star Cross. But
Jack remains stubborn, clinging to breeding decisions
based on reputation rather than science. The
crucial moment comes during a phone call you
witness from Luis's office. Jack has finally
agreed to authorize the Black Star breeding,
and Luis is coordinating the semen shipment.
You can hear the relief in Luis's voice as he
confirms the details. Perfect, Jack. Just ship
me three units of Blackstar, and we'll get Speckle
flushed next week. This could be the mating that
makes both our careers. Then comes the phone
call that changes everything. Two days later,
Jack's voice on the phone carries an embarrassment
that's almost palpable. Louie, I've got a problem.
I can't send you the Blackstar semen. Louis faced
Titans with concern. What do you mean? We had
an agreement. My semen tank ran dry. The words
hang in the air like a verdict. Months of planning,
genetic analysis, and careful negotiation reduced
to the simple reality that Jack's financial crisis
has extended even to basic breeding supplies.
The temperature controller on his semen tank
failed weeks ago, and he couldn't afford repairs.
Thousands of units of premium semen, genetic
material worth hundreds of thousands of dollars,
destroyed by a maintenance issue he couldn't
fund. You watch Louis process this setback. his
mind already shifting to alternatives. This is
the moment when careful planning meets chaotic
reality, when scientific breeding runs up against
financial desperation. Well? Luis says after
a moment of consideration, I guess we go with
Blackstar after all. The irony isn't lost on
either of them. The bull Luis originally wanted
to use, the one that makes the most genetic sense
for this particular mating, becomes the default
choice. because all other options have been eliminated
by bankruptcy and neglect. You realize you're
witnessing one of those moments where accident
and preparation intersect to create possibility.
Louis has the genetic knowledge to recognize
a good mating when he sees it. Jack's financial
collapse has created the opportunity to access
genetic material that would normally be unavailable.
And now, mechanical failure has forced them toward
what was probably the optimal breeding decision
all along. Sometimes, Louis tells you as he schedules
the flush, the best breeding decisions happen
when all your other choices get eliminated. This
mating was right from the beginning. We just
took a roundabout way of getting there. As you
leave Elm Park Farms that day, you can't shake
the feeling that you've just witnessed a turning
point. Not just in the careers of Louis Prange
and Jack Stuckey, but in the genetic direction
of the Holstein breed itself. You arrive at Elm
Park Farms on a cold but promising March morning,
exactly one year after that fateful phone call
about the empty semen tank. The embryo flush
of speckle red to black star produced several
viable embryos, and today, one of them is scheduled
to be born. Lewis meets you at the barn with
the quiet satisfaction of a man who's seen his
careful planning come to fruition. The surrogate
mother, a reliable recipient cow chosen for her
maternal abilities rather than her genetics,
is showing all the signs of imminent delivery.
Genetics is ultimately about patience, Louis
reflects as you wait. You can do all the pedigree
analysis in the world, but eventually you have
to wait for nature to reveal whether your theories
were correct. The calf that emerges into the
world on this March morning doesn't look particularly
exceptional. Dark, sturdy, showing the frame
that suggests growth potential. But you're witnessing
the birth of an animal that will reshape the
Holstein breed, though none of you know it yet.
She's got her mother's refinement and what looks
like her father's scale, Lewis observes, running
his hands over the newborn calf. Good bone, nice
length, dairy character, but the real test will
be how she develops and what she transmits. You
return to visit the calf. now named Stooky Elm
Park Black Rose, periodically over the next 18
months, watching her develop into the kind of
animal that makes geneticists take notice. The
corrective breeding strategy is working exactly
as Lewis predicted. She combines her sire's production
genetics with her dam's structural correctness
in ways that seem almost too good to be true.
By the time she's old enough for her first classification,
you understand you're looking at something special.
The evaluator's score of EX96 places her among
the most structurally perfect Holsteins ever
assessed. But more impressive is her production
record, over 42 ,000 pounds of milk with strong
components, exactly what the Black Star Cross
was designed to achieve. The sale catalog describes
Lot 47 as an 18 -month -old Black Star daughter
with excellent type and strong pedigree. The
bidding starts at $2 ,000. reflecting the depressed
market values that still exist two years after
the investor crash. But you notice certain experienced
breeders paying close attention. Mark Ruth, the
Wisconsin cattle fitter, studies the heifer with
the eye of someone who's seen thousands of Holstein
females. Deep -ribbed, wide -rumped, just the
kind of frame that develops into something special,
he tells his partner Mark Van Mersbergen. The
final bid of $4 ,500 seems almost anticlimactic,
given what you know about this animal's potential.
But you're watching the intersection of depressed
markets and genuine genetic value, the kind of
opportunity that comes along once in a generation.
As Black Rose loads onto the trailer bound for
her new home in Wisconsin, you realize you're
witnessing the end of one chapter and the beginning
of another. The financial chaos that created
her opportunity to exist has also created the
opportunity for her genetic potential to be realized
by breeders who value substance over speculation.
The validation comes gradually, then all at once.
All -American honors as a junior two -year -old
and three -year -old, grand champion at the Royal
Winter Fair in 1995, production records that
consistently exceed 40 ,000 pounds with high
components, and most importantly, offspring that
not only match her excellence, but transmit it
to the next generation. You stand ringside at
the Royal Winterfair as Black Rose accepts her
grand champion banner, understanding that you're
witnessing the vindication of Louis Prange's
vision. The cow born from bankruptcy court chaos
has become a genetic icon, proving that superior
breeding decisions eventually overcome financial
turmoil. But this is just the beginning of the
story. The real measure of Black Rose's impact
won't be her individual achievements. It will
be the dynasty she establishes and the genetic
influence that flows through generations yet
to come. You visit breeding facilities across
North America and begin to understand the scope
of what Black Rose has set in motion. Her sons
are becoming influential sires in AI programs.
Her daughters are establishing new genetic lines
in leading herds. The corrective breeding decision
that Louis Prange made in desperation has created
a genetic explosion. Indian head red marker,
one of Black Rose's sons, stamps daughters with
incredible frame and capacity. You watch his
offspring dominate show rings and production
contests, though his genetic proof reveals the
complexity of breeding progress, extreme strength
coupled with utter challenges that require careful
mate selection. The Black Rose sons aren't easy
to use. explains a geneticist at Select Sires.
They give you incredible power and frame, but
you have to be smart about correcting their weaknesses.
They're specialized tools, not general -purpose
sires. But it's through her daughters that Black
Rose's most enduring influence flows. Rosedale
Leigh Ann becomes the maternal link to what will
be the most famous red and white Holstein in
history. Markwell leader Rose produces sons that
influence breeding programs internationally.
The culmination comes at the 2005 World Dairy
Expo when Lavender Ruby Redrose Red, Black Rose's
great -granddaughter, accomplishes something
that seemed impossible. She becomes the first
and only red and white Holstein ever named Supreme
Champion over all breeds at the world's most
prestigious dairy show. You stand in the arena
as the announcement echoes through the packed
Coliseum, understanding that you're witnessing
the peak moment of a genetic dynasty. that began
in bankruptcy court 15 years earlier. The bloodline
that emerged from financial chaos has achieved
the ultimate validation. But Ridge Rose's championship
represents more than individual achievement.
It demonstrates the power of systematic genetic
improvement over multiple generations. Each mating
decision, each selection choice, each breeding
strategy has contributed to this moment of triumph.
The impact spreads globally through sons like
Ladino Park Talent, who becomes Australia's most
successful sire export. His semen sells in over
40 countries, carrying Black Rose genetics to
dairy operations from New Zealand to Japan to
Germany. The genetic influence that began with
one corrective cross in Wisconsin now shapes
Holstein breeding worldwide. You visit herds
in different countries and see the same patterns
repeating. Black Rose descendants consistently
producing superior offspring, contributing to
both show ring success and commercial profitability.
The genetic resilience that Louis Prange recognized
has proven itself across diverse climates, management
systems, and breeding objectives. The scientific
validation comes through genomic analysis that
wasn't available when Black Rose was born. Modern
genetic evaluation confirms what practical breeders
observed. Her chromosomes carried combinations
of favorable alleles that consistently improved
offspring performance across multiple traits.
When we look at Black Rose's genetic profile
today, explains a researcher at the Council on
Dairy Cattle Breeding, we can see why she was
so successful as a transmitting female. She carried
rare combinations of genes that improved milk
production, structural correctness, and reproductive
efficiency simultaneously. The technology that
allows this analysis didn't exist in 1990, but
the genetic principles Louis Prange applied were
sound. Corrective breeding, systematic selection,
and long -term genetic planning produced results
that modern science can now explain and predict.
You walk through a modern dairy facility equipped
with robotic milking systems, automated feeding,
and real -time genetic monitoring. The technology
would seem like science fiction to the farmers
of 1990, but the genetic principles haven't changed.
And chances are, many of the cows you're looking
at carry Black Rose genetics in their pedigrees.
About 15 % of our herd traces back to Black Rose
bloodlines, the farm manager explains as you
tour the facilities. Not because we're chasing
pedigree fashion, but because those genetics
consistently produce the kind of cows that work
in our system. High production, good longevity,
efficient feed conversion. The modern dairy industry
faces challenges that the farmers of 1985 couldn't
have imagined. Environmental regulations, carbon
footprint concerns, precision nutrition, genomic
selection. But the fundamental need for genetically
superior cattle remains unchanged, and Black
Rose Bloodlines continue to contribute to these
solutions. You review genetic evaluations on
the farm's computer system, seeing how genomic
testing now allows breeding decisions that would
have taken decades to evaluate through traditional
progeny testing. But the top -ranking females
still trace back to genetic foundations established
during the chaos of the investor -era collapse.
The dynasty continues with animals like Lady
Rose Caught Your Eye, who represents the modern
evolution of black rose genetics. Three consecutive
World Dairy Expo Championships, offspring that
dominate group classes, genetic consistency that
rivals the original matriarch. The careful breeding
strategies that Louis Prange began have been
refined and amplified by modern technology. The
way caught your eye transmits is comparable to
the greats in red and white breeding, notes a
current industry geneticist. Her consistency
is incredible. 16 milking daughters classified
VG 87 or higher, 7 daughters with PTATs above
4 .0. Placity percent. That's the kind of genetic
reliability that defines true breeding value.
You realize that the story isn't finished. It's
still being written in barns and breeding programs
around the world. Every mating decision involving
Black Rose genetics adds another chapter to a
story that began with financial desperation and
accidental breeding choices. The tools available
to today's breeders, genomic testing, embryo
sexing, reproductive technologies, allow them
to amplify and direct genetic progress in ways
that Louis Prange could only dream about. But
the fundamental principles he applied, corrective
breeding, long -term planning, systematic improvement,
remain the foundation of successful genetic programs.
You sit in your own farm office, studying genetic
reports and planning breeding decisions for the
coming season. The tools at your disposal would
amaze the farmers of 1985. Genomic evaluations
that predict genetic merit before birth, reproductive
technologies that multiply elite genetics, market
information that flows instantaneously around
the globe. But the lessons from the Black Rose
story remain profoundly relevant. Financial speculation
can inflate values beyond reason. But genetic
worth endures. Crisis can destroy business models
while creating opportunities for those with vision
and patience. And sometimes the best decisions
emerge from having all your other choices eliminated.
You think about the farmers caught in today's
economic pressures. Feed costs at historic highs,
environmental regulations increasing compliance
costs, labor shortages forcing automation investments.
Different challenges than 1985 but the same fundamental
tension between financial reality and genetic
opportunity. The investor era taught the dairy
industry that speculative bubbles eventually
burst, but genetic progress continues across
economic cycles. The farmers who focused on breeding
merit rather than market speculation were ultimately
the ones who profited both financially and genetically.
As you review your own breeding plans, you carry
forward the insights from this story. Superior
genetics are resilient. They survive financial
crashes, market corrections, and industry transformations.
Corrective breeding principles work across generations.
And sometimes, the most important decisions are
made not in boardrooms or show rings, but in
the practical wisdom of breeders who understand
that genetic progress requires both scientific
knowledge and patient persistence. The story
of Black Rose reminds you that in agriculture,
as in life, the best outcomes often emerge from
the worst circumstances. Financial disaster bred
genetic gold because someone had the vision to
see opportunity in crisis and the knowledge to
act on it. And in barns around the world, that
legacy continues to unfold, one breeding decision
at a time. You've been listening to The Bullvine
Podcast. This episode, when financial disaster
breeds genetic gold. was produced to highlight
the enduring lessons from one of dairy history's
most impactful breeding stories. For more stories
about the genetics, economics, and people who
shape our industry, visit us at thebullvine .com.
Subscribe to the Bullvine Podcast wherever you
get your podcasts and join the conversation about
the breeding decisions that matter for your operation.
Until next time, remember, the best genetics
survive everything, including financial disasters.
This is the bullseye, turn the volume high. For
the icons of the ages, they never will die. From
the show ring, thunder to the quiet strength
they knew. Hear their stories now, coming right
on through. Oh, tell the tale. Legends live here.