;)
by Bradley Harris, Smithtown Historian
Newcomers to Smithtown always ask about the statue of the bull that stands in the Head-of-the River Park. What does the bull have to do with Smithtown? The answer is: everything!
For “Whisper,” as the bull is affectionately known, has become the symbol and trademark of the Town of Smithtown. People who visit Smithtown for the first time may not recall anything else about our town but they do remember the town with a statue of a bull in it. And rightfully they should remember “Whisper” because his statue is a constant reminder of the history of the founding of Smithtown.
“Whisper” got his name years ago when a local newspaper ran a contest for elementary school children and asked them to submit a name for the statue of Richard Smythe’s bull. “Whisper” was chosen because he never makes a sound.
Legend has it that “Whisper” was the bull that Richard Smythe, the patentee of Smithtown, rode on his jaunt around the boundaries of Smithtown as he staked out his claim to the land. Although accounts of this legend vary according to the embellishment given by the teller, the most succinct is to be found in J. Lawrence Smith’s book, The History of Smithtown. It is only appropriate that a descendant of the “bull-rider,” as Richard Smythe is known, tell the tale:
“Tradition says that he (Richard Smythe) purchased of the Indians as much land as he could ride around on a bull in a day, and, having a trained bull which he used as a horse, he started early, reached the valley between Smithtown and Huntington at noon, rested and took his lunch (thereby giving the valley the name of Bread and Cheese Hollow which it still retains), and completed the whole circuit of the township by nightfall – much to the astonishment of the natives.”
Could Richard Smythe have done this? No one will ever know for sure and I for one would not like to debunk such a colorful legend. Richard Smythe could have owned a bull and it is possible that he could have ridden this bull just as other colonists did in the absence of horses. But to ride this bull a distance of some 35 miles through an untracked wilderness in one day’s time would have required a superhuman effort on the part of Richard Smythe, to say nothing of what would have been required of the bull.
The most ardent supporters of the legendary ride look for ways in which Richard Smythe could have accomplished such a superhuman feat. Some say that he wisely chose the longest day of the year, carefully plotted his course, trained his bull and built up his endurance, and then made his mad dash. I think Paul Bailey, Islip’s town historian for many years, has the best explanation for how Richard Smythe managed to get his pet bull to “scout” round the boundaries of Smithtown. This is his poem written in 1956 and entitled:
You’ve heard of Sheridan of course
Who rode to glory on a horse,
And Paul Revere who won renown
Galloping out of Boston town.
You’ve heard the tale of Austin Roe
Riding old Dobbin past the foe,
And many other daring deeds
Performed by heroes on their steeds,
But only Smithtown did provide
A wild and wooly bullback ride,
And be it history or myth,
Here’s to the Bull and Richard Smith.
This Richard Smith, I understand,
Was looking for a piece of land
On which to found a sanctuary
Only for Smiths (and those they’d marry)
So on his pet bull, in riding togs
He went to see the Nissequogs
Who, being gamblers, made a bet
That he couldn’t ride his bovine pet
Twixt dawn and dark around the zone
That he had said he’d like to own.
The prize was all the land in full,
But should he fail, they’d get the Bull.
Richard agreed, but on the side
The night before he made his ride
He marked the boundaries with a plow
Hitched to a most alluring cow
And when next day he rode the route
My how that Bull did up and scout
With Richard clinging as it went
Hot on the trail of Bossy’s scent
O’er hill and dale, thru briny bogs,
And in pursuit the Nissequogs,
Not knowing as they ran behind
Just what was on the big Bull’s mind.
Altho the branches scratched his face
Smith didn’t try to halt his pace;
Altho the briers ripped the stitches
From out his homemade riding breeches
Smith thought but of his future town,
He cared not that his pants came down,
Nor did the Bull mind branch or bough
For he was thinking of the Cow.
You know the rest, ere sun had set
Bold Richard had won his bet
Without an arm or leg disjointed,
But my! That Bull was disappointed.