March 1909. I’d had enough of Washington. Taft would be fine, probably better off without me around. So Kermit and I set off for the opposite of Washington, a place unworn of man, where we could wake beneath the splendor of new stars: Mombasa, Kenya. The morning after making camp, we came upon four water buffalo, the largest standing just outside the others. I fired a shot through his tough hide, going through the lungs. That bull ran for a quarter of a mile before finally falling. It was clear he was tough of hide and tough of heart. That toughness was what we encountered in that vast silence, a silence that was the opposite of Washington, a silence I needed.
You couldn’t bag a charging water buffalo with our Roosevelt vintage briefcase. But you can definitely bag a looming deadline or that presentation to your investors. This is the briefcase that just may be the epitome of the rugged gentleman: tough, no question, but also clearly refined, at ease with whatever’s headed your way. Everything, that is, except a charging water buffalo.
