Douglas Lees photo
Hounds were screaming, and the huntsman was cooking. A cattle guard loomed ahead—a coop to the left and a gate to the right. The huntsman veered left.
“Melvin,” someone yelled, “the gate’s on the right!”
“Melvin just kept kicking on, right over the coop,” recalled Joe Conner, shaking his head and grinning in wonder.
Conner, who has whipped-in to Melvin for years at Bath County (VA), didn’t resurrect that story out of a distant past. It had happened only weeks before Melvin Poe’s ninetieth birthday celebration.
A month or so earlier, I had recognized the same notes of awe and wonder as I stood chatting with Brian Smith, my farrier, about Melvin’s upcoming ninetieth birthday.
“I was just down at Melvin’s shoeing horses,” he said, “and man, he climbs up on his horse smoother than I do!”
Saturday night, August 28, friends and family gathered at the Marriott Ranch in Hume, Virginia, just down the road from Melvin’s and Peggy’s farm, to celebrate his ninetieth birthday and to honor his achievements.
Much has been written and recounted about Melvin Poe, one of the greatest American huntsmen of our time, but aside from his brilliance with hounds and his amazing longevity carrying the horn, the thing that struck me as I watched hundreds of his friends and admirers offer their heartfelt best wishes was the universal and unanimous good will this man has earned from his peers, his first-flighters, his second- and third-flighters, indeed, anyone who has ever come in contact with him. If the measure of a man is how widely he is loved and respected, Melvin Poe is the man.
Melvin and his Hounds
Douglas Lees photo
Melvin grew up in the Virginia countryside. He was the boy to whom his friends turned to identify trees, birds, and animal tracks. His father, brother, uncles, and friends were all enthusiastic hound breeders and hunters.
Melvin retired in 1991 after more than forty years as a professional huntsman, the last twenty-seven years as huntsman for the famed Orange County Hunt in Virginia. His pack of red ring-necked American hounds was one of the premier packs, and a day in their superb hunting country south of Middleburg was highly sought after by visiting sportsmen and women from both sides of the Atlantic. Yes, I remember the great runs when visiting the Orange County, but what stands out most in my mind is how Melvin’s hounds adored him.
We’ve all seen huntsmen hustle their hounds back onto the hound truck after a hunt, the theory being: capture them while they’re still here. Not so, Melvin. After hunts at the Orange County, he just allowed hounds to hang out. They weren’t about to leave; they were where they wanted to be—with him. The door to the hound truck always remained open while Melvin offered his homemade wine to the foxhunters. Some hounds would climb in; others would lie on the ramp or at his feet outside. They were relaxed and happy, and, if they weren’t snoozing, their eyes followed his every move in complete adoration. That wasn’t training. No one, not even Melvin, can train hounds to do that. That connection is made from somewhere deep inside.
The Real Thing!
Thoroughbred breeder Bill Backer (the retired advertising executive who convinced the world that Coke is “The Real Thing”) recalled the evening in 1964 when Eve Fout recommended to the Orange County Hunt Committee that Melvin Poe be hired as huntsman.
“I figured if he was good enough for Eve, that was good enough for me, so I voted in favor,” Backer recalled.
Melvin carried the horn at Orange County for twenty-seven years from that time. On this evening, the occasion of Melvin’s ninetieth birthday celebration, Bill Backer took the microphone and read a poem he wrote in Melvin’s honor:
When Melvin Carried the Horn
It’s time to recall, to remember back when
We hacked to the meet. We were younger back then.
Melvin would be there with cheery, “Hello.”
While his famous red ring necks barked, “C’mon, let’s go.”
Spirits were high as unharvested corn
When Melvin Carried the Horn.
It was a cow horn. The kind that went back
To the days when George Washington hunted his pack.
When houses were less and spaces were more,
And the countryside knew what the country was for.
It was Gabriel blowing from top-of-the-morn
When Melvin Carried the Horn.
Good scent or bad scent. Great runs or none.
The difference was Melvin. He made it all fun.
Our resident maestro, such was his fame…
From foxhunting countries the foxhunters came.
From Unionville, Millbrook, Galway and Quorn…
When Melvin Carried the Horn.
He’s ninety today, and he’s changed what he blows…
Is it better in brass? Only Bath County knows.
We’ll still blow his horn and brag of the times
He’d cast the whole pack and pick up the line.
We’ll boast to new huntsmen, to pups not yet born…
Of days When Melvin Carried the Horn.
A Surprise Announcement
In addition to the good wishes and congratulations of his guests on this beautiful late summer evening in the foothills of the Blue Ridge, a surprise announcement was made by Sherman Haight, chairman of the Selection Committee of the Huntsmen’s Room at the Museum of Hounds and Hunting at Morven Park. Joined by Marion Maggiolo, co-chairman of the Museum Advisory Committee, Haight announced that both Melvin and his brother Albert (renowned former huntsman for both the Piedmont Fox Hounds and the Middleburg Hunt) had been selected for induction into the Huntsman’s Room at the Museum in May, 2011 on the occasion of the next Virginia Foxhound Show.
I shall certainly look forward to Melvin’s and Albert’s induction ceremony at the Virginia Foxhound Show next year. As the presenters extol his skill with hounds and his natural sense of venery, I hope they will take a moment to recognize him for his humanity and generosity as well.
A couple of years ago, at the Virginia Foxhound Show, a young lady was waiting in line—a long line, all the way outside the building—when a soft-spoken, older man started a casual conversation. Where are you from? What hunt? Did you bring hounds to the show? How are they bred? What is your country like? He was interested in all she had to tell him about her hounds and her hunt. Then he strolled off.
“Do you know who you were talking to?” gushed a friend nearby.
“Have no idea.”
“That was Melvin Poe!”
Just this year at the Virginia Foxhound Show. I was standing near the American Foxhound ring when I noticed Melvin, down on his knees, with a red ring neck foxhound belonging to the Misty Morning Hounds (FL). The hound had not yet entered the ring, and Melvin was giving a clinic for the benefit of the handlers on how to stand up a hound for the judge.
Thank you, Melvin, for the great sport at Orange County, the magical moments at Bath County, and for your humanity and generosity. Happy Birthday, Melvin, and please continue to teach and inspire us.
September 2, 2010
1976 Orange County meet at George Ohrstrom’s Whitewood. In scarlet: Morton “Cappy” Smith, MFH (left) and Melvin (right). Mr. Ohrstrom is in the center of the picture wearing a derby. Rhode Island Governor Bruce Sundlin is in the top hat.
Douglas Lees photo
