Hey, guys, it's Mike Rowe, and this is the way I heard it, the only podcast for The Curious Mind with a short attention span. This is episode number one, 63, and it's called. He was not inclined to judge. He was not inclined to judge. Who is the he? Well, that's up for you to figure out. That's what makes it a mystery. And why wasn't he inclined to judge? You might wonder. Well, I wonder the same thing myself, especially after reading the headlines of the day and living through this most unusual time.

We find ourselves in a time when many people are, in fact inclined to judge and give in to their inclination. It's a very Juggy time to be alive, don't you think? Lots of judgments flying through the air from lots of people with deeply held beliefs and feelings. That's OK. No problem with that. There do seem, however, to be an awful lot of topics that are inspiring all of this judging. And of course, unlike any other time in history, we now have at our disposal any number of tools that allow us to share our judgments with the masses.

And and so we do, again, nothing wrong with it. It just seemed an apropos time to share the true story of a gentleman who understood the virtues of biting his lip, holding his tongue, a man who was not inclined to judge and benefited from that disinclination along with millions of others.

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And this, of course, is the way I heard it. More specifically, the true story of a man who was not inclined to judge.

Harry's daughter was 20 years old when Bill came to visit her at the family ranch. Bill was not the first bachelor who hoped to win her father's approval, but he was perhaps the most eligible, handsome, brilliant and very much his own man.

Bill believe that Harry's daughter would make an excellent wife and planned on proposing after he graduated from Stanford. All he had to do now was convince Harry that he was a good match for his little girl, a challenge that would require him to swallow a mouthful of bull testicles.

To be clear, the testicles in question were no longer attached to their rightful owner, Harry had removed them moments earlier with something called the emasculates. A terrifying tool perfectly named for its intended purpose. Good Lord, said Bill. Is it that painful? I suspect it is, said Harry.

But it's over right quick and it's for the best. Harry tossed the severed testicles toward his daughter, who caught them in midair and dropped them into an orange bucket. Bill was not inclined to judge, but the emasculates was a lot to digest, as was the site of Harry's daughter happily assisting her father for the best, he said.

How can this be for the best? Well, for starters, said Harry, it cures aggression.

Bulls, stallions, bores and rams are a lot easier to control when you turn them into steers, geldings, hogs and barrows. Harry continued to talk while his daughter led another bull into the restraining gate.

It's also a question of trust, said Harry.

You can't turn your back on a bull. No, what I'm saying, Bill. Bill thought he knew exactly what Harry was saying and tried to act casual when another pair of perfectly good testicles were cut from their home and tossed into the orange bucket again, Bill was not inclined to judge, but his visit to the family ranch was starting to feel like cruel and unusual punishment.

Earlier that morning, he'd observed the branding and dehorning process, which had left him shaken. But neither of those procedures had prepared him for the sight of his future wife tugging on bull scrotums so Daddy could swoop in with the emasculates and turn them into steers. I mean, really, how much weirder could this day get?

As if to answer that very question, Harry pulled an ice pick from his tool belt and harpooned several testicles from the orange bucket. Come over here, Bill, I got a treat for you, Bill considered running back to California, but against his better judgment, followed Harry over to the branding station where the impaled testicles were slowly turned over a flame chestnut's, if you will, roasting on an open fire.

Some people call them Rocky Mountain oysters, said Harry. They like him deep fried, covered with batter and seasoning.

Me. I like him just like this.

Hot off the fire. I call him Shishko Balls. Care to join me?

With that, Harry slid a testicle off the ice pick with his teeth and offered the rest to Bill, who considered the moment carefully, he was not a man inclined to judge, but Harry clearly was. And now a verdict would be determined by Bill's reaction. Harry's daughter watched with a hopeful smile, this was the part where other boyfriends had blanched, some had vomited, one to her father's everlasting delight, had fainted. She hoped Bill was made of sterner stuff and happily, he was stepping forward with resolve.

Bill took the ice pick from Harry and slurped off the remaining testicles, all of them.

Alas, in his zeal to prove himself worthy bills, reach may have exceeded his grasp for the shishko Balls did not go down without a fight.

They were hot and rubbery like calamari and resisted his best efforts to chew them into something he could swallow. He eventually got them down, but not before spitting a portion back into his hand and giving them a second pass as Harry's daughter applauded enthusiastically.

Well done, Bill. Well done.

Harry nodded his approval and extended a gnarled and sunburned hand. Welcome to the lazy B Bill. You come on back any time. Bill was appalled, but not inclined to judge and pleased to have passed the strangest test he'd ever taken. He looked forward to starting a life with Harry's daughter and proposed later that summer, at which point the young couple began their remarkable journey.

A long journey, as it turned out, that would see them grow old together, make history together and live happily ever after, which was actually quite an accomplishment considering the fact that Harry's daughter married another man. Unfortunately, Bill waited too long to pop the question, and while he waited, another classmate from Stanford, equally smitten with the pretty young cowgirl, paid a visit to the lazy B.

His name was John, and he, too, had a ball with Harry before sweeping his daughter off her feet. Bill was heartbroken, but not inclined to judge or for that matter, hold a grudge.

In fact, over the next few decades, the two stayed in touch even after they each started families of their own.

Maybe that's why 30 years after his epicurean adventure at the Lazy B, another cowboy pulled Bill aside and asked the rather personal question.

Tell me something, Bill. That old girlfriend of yours, you think she'd be intimidated working in a room full of men?

Bill tried not to laugh as he recalled the way Harry's daughter had tugged on the scrotums of all those bulls, prepping them for the emasculates, he recalled the orange bucket she carried around, filled with all those severed testicles and the way she applauded when he swallowed a mouthful of her father's shishko balls.

Sir, said Bill, this woman is perfectly qualified for the task at hand.

She's fair, she's decisive. And trust me, she is in no way intimidated by the presence of testosterone.

And so in nineteen eighty one, a cowboy named Ronald Reagan did something no other president had done before he nominated a candidate without testicles, a genuine cowgirl who shattered the glass ceiling of the ultimate boys club when she took her rightful place among eight old bulls, one of whom just happened to be Bill, the old boyfriend who came to her daddy's ranch to be weighed and measured all those years ago, the same old boyfriend who was not inclined to judge, even though he became famous for doing so.

Chief Justice William Rehnquist, who once proposed to Harry Day's only daughter, Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor, two sweethearts who didn't make it as husband and wife but grow old together anyway, working side by side on America's highest court, where they were careful to never bite off more than they could chew.

Anyway, that's the way I heard it.