George Horace Lorimer,
Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son…
(1902)
“ We've got an old steer out at the packinghouse that stands around at the foot of the runway leading up to the killing pens, looking for all the world like one of the village fathers sitting on the cracker box before the grocery—sort of sad-eyed, dreamy old cuss—always has two or three straws from his cud sticking out of the corner of his mouth. ”
