By MELISSA HART
Truth in the Trenches 

It was the fall of 2007 and the Burton-Fellers Top Ten Breeders Invitational Sale was to be held at Michigan State University. Burton-Fellers, LLC was a dairy sales management company owned by two Kansas natives named Dallas Burton and Ed Fellers.

I was asked to write a feature story about the sale, and so I asked my husband, "Who should I call for the interview? Dallas Burton or Ed Fellers?"

His immediate response was, "Call Dallas – whenever I worked their sales, he was always the talkative one of the two."

I didn’t want to call. It scared me to death to think I was going to have to sound smart on the phone and try to ask questions that made sense to such a big man in the industry. Dallas Burton was an icon, everyone knew him, admired him and wanted to consign an animal to one of his innovative sales.

So, I put it off as long as I could until I mustered up the courage and called his number. When he answered I told him what I needed and he said he would love to talk but he was having lunch with his mother, and could he call me back later?

Sure. No problem. I hung up and breathed a sigh of relief that I could put off the inevitable for a little bit longer. But then I began to think about this icon who was taking his mother to lunch, making her the priority in front of his business. Little did I know that was the quintessential Dallas Burton.

When he called me back, I interviewed him and was relieved when it was over. When I told him I was done with my questions, he said, "Okay, now let me hear about you; tell me about you and your family." And that was the beginning of a friendship that would impact not only my career but my family.

While I’ve only known Dallas for a few years, I have experienced the same kindness and generosity as those he’s known all his life. He loved people and wanted people to love him.

He was not only a colleague, he was a family friend. He had known my husband for years but had also gotten to know my children and my mom, and many of our conversations ended up with him asking, "How is Grandmaw gettin’ along?"

When college basketball season rolled around, he had several conversations with my youngest, which was basically trash talk about who was better – Kansas or Michigan State. And it was normal to get a call in the middle of a game with him asking to talk to Jake so they could hash it over.

I trusted Dallas with my oldest son when he went to World Dairy Expo in Madison, Wis., to work his first sale, the Planet Holstein Sale. I told him to watch over my precious boy and not to let him get mixed up with all that drinking and womanizing, and he would just laugh and say, "You gotta let go of ‘em sometime, Mother."

Two weeks ago he called as I was traveling home from Harrisburg, Pa., and was asking about a heifer that sold in the Eastern Elite Sale. As we began to talk, our call got dropped as I went under a tunnel in the mountains of Pennsylvania. I didn’t call him back.

The next day I received a phone call giving me the tragic news of his death, and that evening I found myself typing his death notice: "Dallas Burton Passes Unexpectedly."

At that moment I paused and realized this colleague and friend was really gone.

There would be no more phone calls on his way to pick up the mail, no more dumb jokes, no more crazy ideas – no more Dallas.

Since then there have been moments of stunning reality and much prayer for his entire family.

I hate death. I hate the grief walk. I hate this path for anyone. It’s ugly, difficult, seemingly unending and cruel at times.

But Dallas Burton’s life is worth every tear of grief that will be shed across this industry over the next few weeks and months.

Let’s use this as a wake-up call to tell our friends and loved ones just how much they mean to us.

It’s more important to give your spouse a hug before they walk out the door than to make a point. It’s more important to remind your children of how much you love them than to nag them about their grades.

But the most important question is this: Are your heavenly bags packed?

The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of Farm World. Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.