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 The seventies were an important period in McCombs’ life for another reason: That was when he realized he had a problem with alcohol. He was never a falling-down drunk—he never even appeared to be tipsy. To this day, Charline does not believe that he is an alcoholic. “That’s how insidious this disease is,” McCombs says in response to his wife’s disbelief. He knew that he was an alcoholic because, he found, he couldn’t live without booze: At first he drank mainly beer, then mixed drinks, and finally graduated to vodka because it’s clear and odorless. At two in the morning on November 12, 1977, almost one month after he turned fifty, he awoke at his home and went into convulsions. He was taken by ambulance to a hospital and later transferred to a hospital in Houston. “My liver and kidneys just quit working,” recalls McCombs. On the sixth day he was conscious enough to start praying. “I had only one prayer: ‘Please, God, get this monkey off my back,’” he recalls. At some point the urge to drink left him; his will to live was stronger than his desire for alcohol. “God gave me a second life. I don’t know why, but I’m very sure of it,” says McCombs. “People ask me all the time if I’ll ever retire. Naturally, the answer is no. You don’t retire from a second chance.” My Spirit Animal is A Grumpy Penguin Who Slaps Annoying People Shirt

Soon after, McCombs found new, more profitable ways to channel what he describes as “my addictive personality.” During his recuperation, Charline took him on long drives through the Hill Country and urged him to “buy a little ranch so that we can relax.” They bought a five-thousand-acre spread about a mile north of the Pedernales River near Johnson City, and McCombs decided he would try to buy a small herd of cattle. He discovered that breeders did not sell their best Longhorns, which kept the price low—in 1978, about $700 a head. Once again McCombs saw a hook. He resolved to find a way to offer top-of-the-herd Longhorns to the general public.

That summer, he and Charline toured the South and Southwest in his airplanes, paying three times the going rate for the best cattle he could find. One of his stops was the King Ranch, which had never sold its Longhorns. He called Tio Kleberg, who ran the King Ranch’s cattle operations in Texas, and asked to buy from his herd. At first, Kleberg refused—traditionally, the ranch hasn’t sold its Longhorns—but eventually he relented, and McCombs picked out 26. When he inquired about the price, Kleberg told him, “Pay me what you think they’re worth.” McCombs took the top ten percent of the previous year’s sales of Longhorns, averaged them out, and came up with a figure. In 1980 the King Ranch’s Longhorns were part of the herd that McCombs sold for record prices at glitzy public auctions in the lobbies of the largest hotels in San Antonio and Houston: Breeding stock that once sold for $700 now sold for $3,000 and higher. In 1983 one of McCombs’ bulls, Redmac Beau Butler, sold at auction in Johnson City for $1 million. By the late eighties, the high-end market that McCombs helped create had run its course; today, Longhorn prices are half what they were at their peak.

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