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, cold
morning in 1967. Ray Brubaker, 41 years old,
a legend in the making, is walking into the office
at Lakeside Farm in Wisconsin. And he's feeling...
Well, he's feeling the justified satisfaction
of a major win. He is carrying a check for $16
,500. This is the cleared payment from a critical
bull sale in Japan, a deal that took weeks of
international travel, of negotiation. It validated
his judgment on the global Holstein stage. He's
just there to hand that money to William Haston,
the farm owner, and settle his expenses. For
14 years, Ray has been the manager at Lakeside,
systematically building this place into a national
powerhouse. a herd that could compete with any
in the world. And for 14 years, it was all defined
not by lawyers and paperwork, but by the quiet
understanding of a handshake. But the partnership
is already poisoned. Waiting in an office, sitting
beside a mentally declining William Haston, is
his new wife, Dorothy. And when Ray presents
the check, she delivers the news that shatters
that foundation of trust. completely he announces
without apology that because of what she deems
higher than expected travel expenses they will
only pay ray half of what they promised he delivered
the sale he covered the costs up front brought
back this huge windfall and now now the terms
are changing retroactively over a simple expense
account that handshake that loyalty that entire
career at lakeside It's about to end, not with
a contract negotiation, but with a statement
of non -negotiable principle. And it will all
be over in the next 60 seconds. Welcome to the
Deep Dive. Today, we are immersing ourselves
in the legendary life and career of Ray Brubacher.
And we are exploring what became known as the
Ray Brubacher Standard. I mean, this is the Holstein
Titan who proved the fastest, most effective
way to build an unshakable career. It wasn't
by chasing stability or the next dollar. It was
having the radical courage to walk away from
broken promises. We have some just incredible
source material for this deep dive, pulling from
decades of industry history, including these
really detailed excerpts from Doug Blair's interviews
in Legends of the Cattle Breeding Business. And
they really capture Ray's voice, you know, the
weight of those decisions made decades ago that
still echo today. Yeah, they do. Our mission
today is to trace this dramatic arc. I mean,
from a boy pulled out of school in grade eight
to judging livestock on four continents and to
really understand how integrity became his most
valuable, his most appreciating asset. And this
isn't just history. You know, it's a manual for
survival right now. You look at the numbers,
the USDA projects that between 2024 and 2028,
we're going to see 5 ,900 U .S. dairy farms just.
Wow. That's a 22 % contraction in the industry
in four years. 22%. So when the market is that
volatile, when the ground is shifting under everyone's
feet, and when, as Ray experienced, you know,
contracts start replacing handshakes, you need
an anchor. Ray's journey shows you that the only
thing you own that truly compounds in value is
your reputation. Okay, let's untack this. We
have to start with the stubborn root of Ray's
progress, the character trait he inherited from
his father, Abraham, or A .B. Brubaker. And that
story starts in Ontario, Canada in the early
1920s. And it doesn't start with a cow. It starts
with the cold. Right. A .B. lived in this deeply
traditional, very strict Mennonite community.
Tradition wasn't a choice. It was enforced. And
yet A .B. had this deep, almost non -rational
passion for Holstein cattle. Ray recalled his
father, even as a small boy, would walk miles
out of his way just to gaze at a neighbor's black
and white herd. But that passion for tradition
met a really painful reality one bitter Sunday
morning. A .B. was making the customary drive
to church in his horse and buggy, and that Ontario
winter was just vicious. By the time he arrived,
the extreme cold had set in, and his fingers
and his toes were physically frozen solid. And
that physical pain, that unnecessary hardship
imposed by tradition, that was the breaking point.
A .B. was many things. But he wasn't reckless.
He was intensely pragmatic. He decided that,
you know, frozen appendages were not an acceptable
price to pay for cultural compliance. So the
very next Sunday, he shows up to church driving
a car. And the immediate absolute consequence.
He was instantly kicked out of the church. Just
like that. He became an outlaw in his own community.
And you have to think about the social cost of
that decision in a tight -knit, tradition -bound
area. He chose progress and physical well -being
over social acceptance. That's so fascinating
because it reveals this crucial trait that Ray
inherited, right? The ability to fuse a deep
love for the product, the whole Steinbreed, with
this absolute non -negotiable demand for pragmatic
progress and survival. It wasn't just about the
car. It was about defining his own standards
for acceptable risk and efficiency. Exactly.
And that stubborn pragmatism defined his business
decisions when the world fell apart. We're talking
about the early 1930s, the Great Depression.
Cattle breeders were just decimated. The economy
was collapsing and they couldn't afford to market
or move their animals. So A .B. steps into that
vacuum and launches an auction business. The
risk there? Launching a high overhead business
during the worst economic downturn in modern
history. It's incredible. Why an auction house?
Because he recognized the core economic constraint.
Breeders couldn't move their cattle, whether
because local markets vanished or the cost of
shipping was prohibitive or buyers just weren't
traveling. A .B. thought, somebody better do
something about that. And he decided to centralize
the market. The sources detail that very first
sale at the Winterfair building in Gulf. It set
the stage for the family business. It wasn't
a record setter, but it was successful. It averaged
about $225 per head. But here's the absolute
perfect foreshadowing of Ray's entire career.
That top bull in AB's first Depression -era sale,
it fetched $355. And do you know where it went?
Where? To Elmwood Farms in Illinois, the very
foundation of Ray's international career. 20
years later, was literally purchased at his father's
inaugural auction during the Depression. No way.
That connection just shows you how small and
interconnected this world has always been. It
all comes back to A .B.'s decision that frozen
toes were not worth the tradition. It set the
whole trajectory. Okay, let's pivot now to Ray's
own development act, too. Education and validation.
Ray inherited the passion and the stubborn streak,
but he also inherited the consequence of growing
up in that era. A massive chip on his shoulder
about his lack of formal education. It's a moment
that defines his self -identity. You have to
picture Ray, maybe 12 or 13, on the farm in Ontario,
and he's realizing his peers are still in school.
And A .B. delivered the common reality of farm
life then. Ray, you're big enough to stay home
and work on the farm. You tell the principal
you have to stay home. His formal education ended
right there. The principal fought for him, saw
he was a sharp kid, and managed to secure just
enough time to push Ray through grade 8. And
then he was done. No high school, no diploma.
And the sources capture this as a defining, painful
humiliation. Years later, Ray is working cattle
when George Clemens visits, the secretary of
the Holstein Association. A man Ray considered
absolute royalty. And Clemens, seeing this sharp
young man, looks him in the eye and asks the
blunt question, Why aren't you in school? That
must have landed like a physical blow. Ray's
internal quote from the sources is, what the
hell do you tell him? That private shame, that
sense of being judged or seen as less than because
he lacked the piece of paper, it became absolute
rocket fuel for him. It's a profound lesson in
self -reliance, isn't it? When formal gates are
closed to you, you have to acquire an expertise
that renders those gatekeepers irrelevant. Ray's
real education happened at 4 a .m. in the barn.
He learned to see structural integrity, mammary
system development, the health metrics that matter
not in a textbook, but three lactations down
the line. That's the depth of expertise you just
can't get in a classroom. And he proved that
expertise with a cow that was, on paper, disqualified
from greatness. Ormsby, Dutchland. Posh May.
A phenomenal animal that Ray and his brother
Mike brought for $1 ,025. But they ran immediately
into a crisis. Their farm suffered a brucellosis
outbreak. Brucellosis, often called Bang's disease,
it causes abortions and reproductive issues in
cattle. And while Posh may remain productive,
she was forever classified as a Bang's reactor.
So why does that classification matter so much?
Because of federal show regulations. Being a
bangs reactor meant she would always test positive
on required blood work. It barred her from entry
into almost all major federally regulated livestock
exhibitions across North America. So she was
a champion trapped by paperwork. Exactly. So
Ray's great cow, his vindication, was ineligible
to compete. And this is where the audacity comes
in. They found an exception. A friend leveraging
connections arranged a clean blood test specifically
for one event, the Gulf Championship show. It
was a massive risk, blurring the line of what
was strictly allowed, all for a single day of
competition. Ray led her into that ring. It was
the only show she ever attended. Judge Clarence
Goodhue studied the cattle, and when the dust
settled, Ray and Posh May won Senior Champion
and Grand Champion. They took one perfect photo
from that one perfect day, her entire competitive
resume, and they entered her into the most prestigious
evaluation contests on the continent, the 1946
All -Canadian and All -America Contests. And
think about the conviction required to do that.
You are submitting a photo of a cow that your
rival saw only once, challenging the elite animals
that had dominated the entire circuit all year
long. It's an act of supreme confidence in your
own eye. And the triumph was complete. Ormsby
Dutchland Posh May was named both an All -American
and an All -Canadian four -year -old. The cow
with no show record beat the elite of the continent.
And what was confirmed for Ray in that moment
was that his personal judgment, his ability to
see what mattered, was superior to the gatekeepers
in the pedigrees. That single win was his diploma.
It was his validation, and it was the fuel that
propelled him into the next phase of his career.
And that confidence took him south of the border,
right back to that farm connected to his father's
first auction, Elmwood Farms. Act III opens in
the early 1950s in Michigan, and Ray is about
to meet the most eccentric mentor he would ever
have. Bob Rasmussen. Rasmussen was a study in
contradictions. Ray recalled he had sold the
National Tea Company to A &P for $20 million,
an immense amount of wealth in that era. Yet
he was totally unconcerned with appearance. He
was constantly changing whys and often dressed
like he just stumbled out of bed. But when it
came to cattle... Brilliant. A visionary breeder.
He spotted Ray at a sale, saw the capability,
and offered him a huge opportunity. Take his
show string to the major state fairs across the
Midwest. This was a life -changing chance, but
there was a hurdle. Ray was Canadian and with
a young family, he needed a green card and he
needed it fast if he was going to accept this
multi -state commitment. Rasmussen's handling
of this is legendary. He didn't say, let's call
an attorney. He simply told Ray to write down
his number and said he talked to the governor
about what they could do. And he did. Ray had
that green card in hand within a month. That's
the kind of political and social capital that
Rasmussen wielded. But the defining lesson Ray
learned from Rasmussen didn't involve politics
or money. It involved luggage. They were packing
for the long drive to Lincoln, Nebraska. Ray
has his traditional proper leather suitcase.
Rasmussen throws a crumpled, plain brown paper
bag into the back seat. The paper bag philosophy,
right? And what was inside? A toothbrush, toothpaste,
clean underwear, and a few pairs of socks. That
was it. It's the ultimate statement, isn't it?
Rasmussen was a millionaire, traveling across
the country to showcase world -class cattle.
He didn't need the trappings of wealth to define
him. He was teaching Ray that your reputation
and your results are the only currency you need.
Travel light because your expertise is your heaviest,
most important asset. That's a powerful lesson
to receive early on. And the nickname Ray earned
that first summer perfectly encapsulated this
spirit. After their first big success at Mooseheart,
Mike Stewart, the leading figure, asked Rasmussen
who the kid leading their cattle was. Yeah. And
Rasmussen replied simply, oh, he is some hotshot
Canadian kid. And that name stuck. He was the
young outsider proving himself purely through
results. But Rasmussen, despite his brilliance,
wasn't infallible. And Act IV details the lesson
Ray learned about commitment and visibility,
the lesson of showing up. This story is so crucial
because it shows even the most successful visionary
people can sometimes outsmart themselves. They
had a two -year -old heifer named Phobes Weber
Burke, and she was crushing the competition.
That summer, she'd won first place at Mooseheart,
Springfield, Milwaukee, Des Moines, and Lincoln.
She was dominant. A lock for the biggest show
on the circuit, Waterloo. But as they loaded
the cattle for the final decisive show, Rasmussen
decided to pull her from the string. What was
the logic there? He was getting tactical. Rasmussen
thought she was getting a little stale, slightly
over -conditioned from the summer tour, and he
wanted to rest her to level her udder for the
following year. He reasoned that Judge Kildee,
who had seen her dominate all summer, knew she
was the best, so they didn't need to risk her
in Waterloo. And Ray saw the flaw immediately.
He told Rasmussen, Bob, she won't get a vote.
He was warning him that excellence that is unseen
cannot be rewarded. But Rasmussen was firm. Phobes
Weberberg stayed home. And Ray remembered standing
next to Bob at Waterloo, watching Judge Kildee
scrutinize the two -year -old class. Ray said
he could physically see Kildee's eyes searching
the ring, clearly looking for something, someone
who wasn't there. The champion cow was missing
from the moment of decision. The aftermath validated
Ray completely. She was nominated for All -American,
giving her incredible record that season. But
when the votes came in, zero. Not a single vote.
Not one. The consensus was, if you don't show
up at the grand final, you can't win the overall
prize. And Ray reminded Rasmussen of the prediction.
Rasmussen, in his characteristic simplicity,
just replied, okay, oh well, my mistake. The
modern parallel here is so profound. How often
do people, even brilliant business operators,
get too clever? They try to optimize their calendar,
preserve their capital, or hold back their best
work for the perfect future moment. And that
lesson, that commitment, must be absolute, leads
directly to the first major inflection point
in Ray's career. Act 5. The first walk away.
Ray applied that principle of non -negotiable
commitment to his own employment. After his successful
run with Rasmussen, Ray took a manager position
in Ohio for a man named John Mardig. Mardig was
wealthy, described as a hobbyist who treated
his farm like a toy. He liked the prestige of
having Ray, but he didn't respect Ray's professional
commitments. The breaking point wasn't over salary
or facilities. It was over integrity. Ray had
given his word to the local community, the organizer
of a county fair, that he would bring Mardig
Farms cattle to show. But when the time came,
Mardig refused. Mardig suddenly got nervous about
biosecurity fears about bugs and brucellosis,
and he forbade Ray from taking the cattle. Ray
had already given his word. Mardig broke the
promise. Ray's response was immediate and absolute.
He quit on the spot over a county fair commitment.
He did agree to stay until Mardik found a replacement.
Because Ray was a professional, but the principle
was non -negotiable. He walked away from steady,
high -profile employment because his boss reneged
on a handshake promise to a third party. Why?
Because Ray knew that if you break your word,
you can't look yourself in the mirror. That self
-respect was paramount. And this is where reputation
starts paying dividends. Word travels incredibly
fast in this tight industry. Ray's Wisconsin
friends from the Elmwood Circuit, the giants
like Alan Hetz, Gene Nelson, and Nels Rader,
they started calling immediately. They knew a
principled man was now available, and they wanted
him back. Finally, Nels Rader just got fed up
with Ray's caution, handed him his car keys,
and essentially said, go talk to the man. William
A. Haston needs a manager for Lakeside near Elkhart
Lake. So Ray drives up there for the interview
with Hasen, and this meeting defined the next
14 years of his life. And it was characterized
by two defining high -stakes moments. The first
was immediate and cultural. Ray pronounced his
name the way he always had in Ontario, Brubaker.
Hasen, the proud fourth -generation Austrian
industrialist, stops him cold. He corrects him
using Sebastian Bach as an example, making it
clear. Respect the heritage, pronounce it Brubaker,
or this interview is over. It was a test of compliance
and respect, and Ray passed by accepting the
correction immediately. The second moment was
Ray's test. Learning from the Martig experience,
Ray knew he needed absolute autonomy. So he challenged
Hazen directly. Leaning into that stubborn Brubacher
pragmatism, he said, If I come up here, who's
going to manage this farm? You or me? That's
a career -ending question in a job interview
if you ask the wrong person. It is. But Hazen's
answer sealed the deal. He pointed out his global
network, the factories, the operations in Australia,
England, Austria, and his main factory in Sheboygan.
He told Ray, plainly, if he were going to manage
the farm, he wouldn't need to hire anyone. That
answer signaled the trust, the autonomy, and
the accountability Ray required. Haston was giving
Ray the keys and telling him, your results are
the only thing that matters. Ray moved his family
to Wisconsin in late 1953. With full autonomy
secured, Ray got to work building a powerhouse,
which brings us to Act 6. He inherited a good
base, but it needed serious repair. He described
the lakeside herd initially as a good basic herd
in need of repair. Only one excellent cow and
11 very good. And this is where Ray's technical
genius really comes in. It wasn't just his eye.
It was his humility to listen to the right advice.
Eli Snutson, a respected breeder, advised him
not to chase the latest fads, but to buy dare
over sensation, and crucially, to build your
own pedigree. Create value through strategic
breeding, don't just buy it off the shelf. He
also invested wisely, acquiring Whirlhill Q -Rag
Apple Aerial for $3 ,300. An animal who went
on to make six separate 1 ,000 -pound records
at Lakeside, a massive achievement for production
that drove profitability. But the strategy that
truly defined Ray's commitment, was the personal
investment in a crucial breeding decision. He
wanted to breed his cow, Athlone Admiral Grace,
to the celebrated Canadian sire spring farm,
Fond Hope. The logistics were insane. To ensure
the highest quality, Ray drove 150 miles to Chicago's
Midway Airport at midnight to pick up a container
of fresh semen flown in from Ontario. He drove
150 miles back, arriving exhausted in the pre
-dawn hours, and bred the cow himself. That's
a 300 -mile round -trip physical exertion for
one breeding decision. That level of personal
commitment separates the hobbyist from the professional.
Ray didn't delegate that task. He didn't wait
for a convenient day. He trusted his judgment
on that genetic combination, and he was willing
to expend the physical, agonizing effort in the
middle of the night to execute it perfectly.
And that midnight drive paid off years later
with the birth of the bull calf, Haston Fond
Hope. Hi, Hope. High Hope went on to sire the
all -American Hayson Fontoni, cementing the Lakeside
pedigree they had built rather than bought. This
commitment brought Lakeside to the absolute pinnacle
of the industry. Between 1963 and 1966, they
were just unstoppable. They won premier breeder
at Waterloo in 1963. And for those unfamiliar
with the context, Romandale was essentially the
New York Yankees of Holstein breeding at the
time. To win premier breeder, an award based
on the quality and depth of your entire string
at the biggest show, beating Romandale, was a
massive statement about the quality Ray had built.
It was huge. And that year, Ray himself won the
prestigious... peer -voted Klusendorf Award in
1964, recognizing him as the outstanding showman
and manager of the year. He was now recognized
as one of the Big Three in Wisconsin, alongside
Hetz and Nelson, the very friends who convinced
him to take the job. Ray reflected on this later,
saying, Imagine me, a little snot -nosed kid,
part of the Big Three. Are you guys nuts? Everything
was working. He had the prestige, the autonomy,
the results. Which brings us, inevitably, back
to the precipice of betrayal. We return to Act
7, the final betrayal and triumphant exit. Ray
had built his success entirely on the principle
that trust was absolute, and now that foundation
was about to crumble. The setup was the all -Japan
show delegation. Hason, who had grown increasingly
detached from the farm, verbally agreed to cover
all of Ray's travel expenses, provided Ray successfully
brokered a bull sale. And Ray delivered. He closed
the deal for $16 ,500. He walks into the office
to present the check and settle up, but the atmosphere
is tense. Haston's health and mental clarity
were declining, he was drinking more, and his
new wife, Dorothy, was asserting complete control
over the finances, viewing Ray's expense reports
with suspicion. The confrontation was immediate.
Dorothy announces they will only reimburse half
of his expenses, citing the higher -than -expected
costs. Ray's position was simple. He reminded
them that for 14 years they had never needed
anything on paper. He had executed the sale,
brought back the check, and honored his end of
the verbal bargain. And this wasn't a dispute
about profitability. Ray had just brought in
$16 ,500. This was a dispute about the foundational
principle of their partnership. When Ray asked
Hasen to confirm the new, broken terms, Hasen,
under Dorothy's influence, confirmed them. Ray
didn't argue further. He resigned on the spot,
stating simply that he was retiring from his
position. The job, the prestige, the premier
breeder status, it all evaporated in 60 seconds
over what amounted to about an $8 ,000 difference
in travel reimbursement. Ray's immediate decision
was rooted in the understanding that Dorothy
wasn't just saving money. She was explicitly
breaking the trust he had built his entire adult
life on. If they could retroactively change the
terms of an agreement on an $8 ,000 expense,
what guarantee did Ray have that they wouldn't
compromise him on future deals with buyers or
breeders? His reputation was worth far more than
the lakeside salary. Interestingly, Hasen, maybe
seeing the gravity of the situation despite his
fog, asked Ray to organize a dispersal sale of
the herd before he left. He was worried that
the next manager wouldn't appreciate the quality
Ray had built, and Ray agreed to manage his own
exit. This exit was Ray's ultimate mic drop.
He hired Dave Bachman, secured Harry Strohmeyer
to take the iconic black and white photos, and
orchestrated the massive sale that followed.
He wasn't just selling cows. He was presenting
the culmination of 14 years of expertise. The
result was stunning. The lakeside dispersal averaged
over $3 ,000 per head, setting the record for
the highest averaging sale of the year. The top
cow. A daughter of World Hill Q Rag Apple Ariel
sold for $25 ,000. Carnation Farm bought a bull
taff for $24 ,000. He walked away from the business
that compromised his integrity only after proving
the immense financial value of the integrity
he was taking with him. A day or two after the
sale, Dave Bachman handed Ray a final check for
$9 ,400, his sales commission from the dispersal.
Dave begged him to stay, suggested they form
the three Bs, Bachman, Bartell, and Brubacher,
to create a permanent sales powerhouse. But Ray
was done working for someone else's broken word.
He was 41, armed with cash and an unparalleled
reputation, and he was going home to Canada.
So let's just analyze the immediate return on
investment here. Ray quit over an $8 ,000 dispute,
plus his lost future salary. The immediate cash
payoff was the $9 ,400 dispersal commission.
But the true incalculable value was the cemented
reputation that followed him back across the
border. Every major breeder in North America
now knew that Ray Brubaker, having proven his
financial worth, prioritized principle over profit
every single time. And that made him the most
trustworthy man in the business. That reputation
was the capital he needed for Act VIII, the new
beginning. Ray returns to Canada at 41, ready
to build his own business with his brother Mike.
But Ray had learned his lesson about working
in inadequate facilities. His condition for returning
to the family auction business was non -negotiable.
They needed a modern, dedicated facility, not
the little matchbox over at Bridgeport. Mike,
the steady, cautious counterbalance to Ray's
ambition, he agreed in principle. They found
a 150 -acre property near Gulf. The tension was
immediate. The owners told them the for sale
signs were coming down tomorrow. This required
classic Brubacher urgency. They bought the farm
for $60 ,000 before midnight, securing the location
for their vision. Ray immediately started drawing
plans nightly for the modern sale barn he envisioned.
But Mike, worried about the global economic picture
in early 1968, got serious cold feet. He approached
Ray and said they shouldn't proceed with the
construction. He feared a depression and the
cost was too high. This is a critical leadership
moment, defining the future of the family business.
Ray's reply to his cautious brother. They were
a little too late. The crew was laying bricks
on the foundation that very morning. Ray didn't
ask for permission. He exercised the autonomy
he had fought for, securing the foundational
investment before the conversation could paralyze
the progress. And this duality is fascinating,
isn't it? Mike never fully embraced the barn.
Ray joked he never even knew where the light
switches were. But Mike allowed Ray the authority
to build that non -negotiable foundation. That
succession humility preserved three generations
of the business. Mike maintained the steady financial
rudder while Ray drove the high stakes growth.
And their business philosophy, forged in the
fires of Ray's portrayals, was simple. Protect
the consigner. They knew that in an auction environment,
trust in the auctioneer's honesty was everything.
The famous story illustrating this is the Cecil
Snodden story. It was a brutal February sale.
The weather was terrible, the market was ice
cold, and nobody was bidding responsibly. Cecil
needed those cows to bring a respectable price
or his business would suffer. So Ray didn't stick
to the minimum bid rule. He stepped in. He bought
three of Cecil's cows himself, personally, to
stabilize the price and protect his friend and
consigner. He took the risk, investing $1 ,600
of his own money. Six weeks later, the market
rebounded strongly. Ray resold the cows at a
substantial profit. One cow had even calved twins,
adding massive value. He realized several thousand
dollars over his investment. Here's the kicker,
though. The part that defines the Brubaker standard
long after he made his name. Ray told Mike they
should send Cecil a check for some of the profit.
And Mike said no, arguing that Ray had taken
the risk and the profit was rightfully his. Ray
reflected on this decision 30 years later. He
estimated the profit they kept, but should have
shared, was only around $500. And he said that
failure to share haunted him. That quote perfectly
encapsulates the weight of true integrity. That's
the kind of thing that wakes you up at 2 a .m.
when you're 70. Not the deals you lost, but the
ones where you could have been better. Integrity
holds you accountable not just for your mistakes,
but for your moral opportunities. When you protect
partners during volatility, you are building
an account of loyalty that is priceless. And
that uncompromising commitment to quality and
fairness led Ray to the pinnacle of judging Act
IX. He was sought after globally because his
reputation was pristine. He was known for his
almost unbelievable physical stamina and clarity
of vision in the ring. He judged the Wisconsin
State Fair Junior Show, a marathon of 720 head
of cattle in one single day. The source material
describes the physical toll vividly. By noon,
his voice was hoarse. By three, his legs were
cramping. That night, his body hit absolute zero.
He actually had to pull over and throw up, not
from sickness, but from physical exhaustion.
He was pushing past the limits of what a human
body could endure while maintaining that razor
-sharp focus. But his eye, the one he developed
by necessity after grade 8, never failed him.
The moment that defines his career as a judge
happened at the Kansas State Fair when he was
judging the older cows. He'd heard the buzz about
an Ohio cow, Harbor Crest Rose Millie, but the
Wisconsin guys had warned him, save your money.
When Millie entered the ring, Ray's internal
debate ended instantly. He had that unique clarity
of vision, his vivid memory. She almost took
my breath away. There was half a carload between
her and the second place cow. He immediately
placed her grand champion. And the vindication
was staggering. She won champion everywhere they
took her that year, except when she frustratingly
came into heat at Waterloo. And when the All
-American votes were tallied that year, Millie
received 18 first place votes. Her closest competitor,
Snowboots, received just two. That level of overwhelming
consensus validated Ray's ability to spot a once
-in -a -generation animal. That clarity of judgment
and unshakable character garnered international
trust. The ultimate accolade for Ray was that
he was the only man of his generation to judge
all four royal shows connected to the British
monarchy, Toronto, Sydney, Edinburgh, and the
Royal Show in England. That signifies global
confidence in his expertise and, more importantly,
his impartiality. So we've tracked the entire
journey, AB's frozen toes, the humiliation of
grade eight, the paper bag philosophy, the midnight
hustle, and the two major walkaways. What does
this life built on walking away from profit when
trust was compromised mean for us right now in
this era of volatility? This brings us to the
lesson segment, the integrity audit. In an industry
watching yearly 6 ,000 operations vanish, Ray's
principles are not just historical anecdotes,
they are a survival strategy. Reputation is,
factually, the only non -depreciating asset you
possess. And the data supports this absolutely.
Businesses, whether farms, suppliers, or auction
houses that operate with high trust equity, measured
by transparency and consistently honoring commitments,
show 3 .2 times higher survival rates during
crises like the one the dairy industry is facing
right now. We've distilled Ray's approach into
four actionable tests for you to audit your own
operation. Okay, test number one, the verbal
agreement test. Ray's standard was simple. A
verbal commitment is legally binding. He quit
Martig Farms over a promise to show cows at a
local county fair. So the audit question is this.
In the last 12 months, how many times did you
break a verbal promise to a supplier, a buyer,
or an employee, even if it was convenient or
slightly cheaper to do so? Think about the cost
of that flexibility. When Ray walked away from
Martig, he incurred a short -term loss, but he
instantly advertised his principle. That decision
was his fastest route to the lakeside opportunity.
Are your small concessions on verbal agreements
costing you the big future opportunities? Test
two, the soft market protection test. Ray's standard
was to step in and protect his partner's positions
when the market turned against them, even if
it meant personal short -term financial risk
-like, buying Cecil Snodden's cows during that
brutal February sale to stabilize the price.
So, the audit question. The last time your supplier,
buyer, or employee needed flexibility or the
market turned soft against them, did you protect
their position or did you optimize your position
and squeeze the best deal for yourself? Remember
Ray's lifelong regret over the $500 he didn't
share with Snodden. That regret shows the internal
cost of transactional behavior. When you protect
partners during a down cycle, you are making
an investment that guarantees loyalty that will
protect your business for decades when you need
it most. That's why Ray's business grew. He was
viewed as a life raft. Test 3. The Walking Away
Test. Ray's standard. Walk away from profitable,
high -status relationships when integrity is
fundamentally compromised. He walked away from
Lakeside, a premier breeder operation over an
$8 ,000 expense dispute. So the audit question.
Are you currently staying in any business relationship
with a supplier, a partner, or a client that
violates your core trust simply because the relationship
is currently convenient or profitable? This is
the hardest test. Most people rationalize compromise,
saying they need the stability. Ray walked away
twice, and both times, he wasn't sacrificing
his career. He was advertising his principle.
Consignors knew he wouldn't compromise their
sales because he wouldn't compromise himself.
Your willingness to draw that line in the sand
is the biggest signal you send to your best potential
partners. And finally, test four, the succession
humility test. Raise standard. Value the stability
and future of the business over your own control.
He demanded the modern barn, but he didn't demand
total operational control, allowing Mike to maintain
his cautious financial role. The audit question.
If you are the senior generation passing the
torch, are you demanding control of every minor
decision until you die? Or are you allowing the
next generation one non -negotiable expensive
change, their equivalent of Ray's new modern
barn, which allows them to build their own foundation
and establish their authority? We watch thousands
of operations fail not just due to market forces,
but due to internal ego and succession battles.
Mike Brubaker's flexibility, his trust in Ray's
vision for the barn preserved three generations
of the business. You must allow the next generation
the authority to build the foundation they believe
is non -negotiable for their era of survival.
This audit is a tool for survival. You are either
building trust equity that will see you through
the 22 % contraction or you are accumulating
a trust deficit that the coming market consolidation
will absolutely expose. We return now to the
quiet truth of Ray's story. His legacy wasn't
built in the judging ring or the massive sale
toppers. It was built in the small, human moments
of non -negotiable character. The refusal to
back down on a county fair promise. The agonizing
30 -year regret over $500 he failed to share.
Ray proved, definitively, that a grade 8 education
couldn't teach the lessons that frozen toes and
broken handshakes could. Your word is the only
thing that appreciates, while all other assets.
the barn, the machinery, the short -term profits,
totally depreciate. His entire career was built
in those decisive moments. The moments when everyone
expected him to stay because it was profitable,
but principle demanded he walk away. And the
moments when the market would have let him off
the hook, but integrity demanded he step in and
protect his partners. Three generations of Brubackers
built a name that still echoes in show rings
and auction barns today. Because Ray Brubacker
set that non -negotiable standard. All right,
if you're driving to the feed store right now
thinking about your next business decision, here's
what Ray Brubaker wants you to remember about
building something that lasts. First, break your
word, I walk. Ray quit two elite positions over
handshake violations. How you respond to betrayal
is your reputation, and that reputation is your
most critical business advertisement. Second,
reputation is your only appreciating asset. Barnes
depreciate. Genetics get outdated. But trust.
once earned through repeated acts of principle,
compounds, and is recession -proof. And third,
bad markets build lifetime loyalty. The relationships
you protect during soft markets, like the difficult
decision with Cecil Snodden, will guarantee you
unparalleled loyalty and security for decades
to come. This has been The Deep Dive. For more
untold stories and profiles from the people who
built this breed and to find the standards of
the industry, head to www .thebullvine .com.
Subscribe wherever you listen so you don't miss
our next Deep Dive. We'll be teasing out the
legend of the bull that was too cheap to breed,
and why that decision changed the face of artificial
insemination worldwide. See you then. This is
the bull ride, 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. now coming right on through. Oh, tell the
tale, tell the tale. The Beaumont legends live
here.