Peter Close makes up in enthusiasm for any lack in experience as he tries for tractor-pulling immortality. Five minutes’ practice on the big rig and years of experience on a riding mower, though, were not enough to carry him to victory over Father Dan Rupp, whose own father is a collector of antique tractors. Photos by Joseph Gresser
BARTON — The sky over Roaring Brook Park was grim and gray Sunday afternoon. It was perfect weather for a grudge match.
The park was throbbing with the vibration of heavy tractor engines as a determined man in a gray T-shirt and a Harley Davison cap surveyed the scene.
“If I have to scratch paint with him, so help me, I will,” said Peter Close, who in civilian life is principal of St. Paul’s School in Barton.
He looked around for his arch rival, Father Dan Rupp, but the priest had not yet arrived at the track.
Mr. Close acknowledged himself the underdog in the day’s contest, a tractor pull for the benefit of St. Paul’s School.
“By the mere fact that he was born in Iowa, I’m at a huge disadvantage. His father has a dozen tractors, he even has a quilt with his tractors on it.”
If Mr. Close was worried, he was not planning to go down without a fight. “I’ve been taking steroids. I’ll do anything to win,” he declared.
Anything, however, did not extend so far as to include practicing. He said he had spent about five minutes on one of Mike Pion’s John Deere 730 tractors.
“I have a Sears Craftsman lawn tractor,” Mr. Close said hopefully.
He took another look around and resumed his stream of trash talk.
“I’m calling this the Iowa smack down. He’ll probably call it educating the principal.”
He revealed that he had a “secret side bet” on the results of the contest. “If I beat him I get his 1974 Trans Am he just got finished restoring. If I lose he gets my beautiful 1995 Subaru Legacy with the wing on the back.”
Mr. Close admitted that he was keeping the side bet a secret from Father Dan.
It was then that Father Dan breezed onto the reviewing stand, fashionably clad in a dark windbreaker, Roman collar and brand, spanking new John Deere cap. He had just finished celebrating mass.
He airily dismissed Mr. Close’s threats, saying, “He’s all talk, no action.”
Father Dan confirmed his Iowa roots, but said he grew up in a city there. His father, who was raised on a farm, does collect antique tractors.
“These old tractors are a lot of fun.”
He has no tractor pull experience, Father Dan said, but has driven a tractor.
When informed of the secret side bet, Father Dan, enthusiastically agreed, with a slight alteration in its terms.
“I don’t want your car, I want your house,” he said.
Mr. Close said he suspects it isn’t the house but the three-bay garage attached to the home that Father Dan wants.
Father Dan also expressed interest in the possibility of competing for Mr. Close’s 1996 Heritage Harley Davison soft tail motorcycle.
The men took a break from their efforts to psych each other out. While Mr. Close set off to sell a final batch of 50-50 raffle tickets, Father Dan retreated to the grandstand to watch the competition
The day of tractor pulling, he said, would raise money for St. Paul’s with the gate receipts, the hitching fee and the raffle all going to benefit the school.
Mr. Close made his rounds, stopping to sell tickets here and there while Father Dan relaxed in the stands. Finally competitors in the 9,000-pound class were called to line up.
Mr. Pion gave last-minute instructions to the two men and they mounted their green and yellow steeds, heading off to their joust.
While the two men may have been narrowly focused on their rivalry, there were other contestants in the class. Mr. Close was set to run fourth, Father Dan later in the event.
When Mr. Close’s turn came he backed carefully toward the sled, stopped and raised his hands as his tractor was hitched to the sled.
When the green light went on Mr. Close threw his ride into gear. Mr. Pion, looking slightly alarmed, walked toward the tractor and helped Mr. Close make an adjustment. He walked alongside and offered a few more suggestions as Mr. Close chugged down the track.
The big John Deere rolled along at a stately pace. Mr. Close bounced up and down and slapped the back of his seat to encourage the machine in its efforts. The tractor came to a stop before the judges’ table. Mr. Close had pulled the sled 137 feet, four inches. As he unhitched, Mr. Close wiped imaginary beads of sweat from the brim of his cap.
Father Dan watched his competitor’s pull. A couple of intervening tractors gave him time to plan his strategy.
When his turn came, the priest pulled up to the sled, hitched on and, with his steely gaze trained toward his goal, gave it the gas. The mighty 730
Mr. Close gives the thumbs up as Mike Pion tells Father Dan that his pull has put him in first place in the 9,000-pound open class. A later run by Dave Hathaway surpassed that of Father Dan by a little more than two feet. “Not bad for a priest,” was Father Dan’s response to his second-place finish.
diesel surged forward, dragging the protesting sled behind it. On and on it went, never resting until it had traveled 156-and-a-half feet.
Father Dan unhitched and drove on to meet Mr. Close and Mr. Pion.
There he learned that his pull had been enough to put him into first place.
“Not bad for a priest,” Father Dan exclaimed.
That result, sadly, would not stand. David Hathaway topped it with a 158-foot, ten-inch pull, to take first. Father Dan finished second in the 9,000-pound stock class.
Mr. Close’s pull was good for sixth place. The sting of that ranking was diminished a bit when Mr. Pion revealed that Father Dan’s tractor was carrying 400 pounds more weight than Mr. Close’s.
“He has to eat more,” Father Dan said. “If he weighed a couple of hundred pounds more he would have done better.”
Asked if he had used his status in the church to gain divine help for his race, Father Dan replied with a firm “No.”
