His 11-year-old wanted a 4-H calf. Herbert said yes. Sunny Day Farm is still producing All-Americans fifty years later.
Some people pass through this industry. Others reshape it.
Herbert Daniel Lutz, Sr., died Monday at his home in Chester, South Carolina. He was 85 years old, and if you’re reading this, you probably owe him something – even if you never met him.
As the dairy community gathers today for visitation at Capers Chapel Church (4-6 p.m.) and tomorrow for his graveside service (11 a.m., Chester Memorial Gardens), the stories are already flowing. About the man who built one of the nation’s top-producing Jersey herds. About the DHIA president who changed South Carolina dairy. About the father who said yes when his 11-year-old son asked for one 4-H calf.
That calf’s name was Clover. And she changed everything.
When Yes Means Everything
Picture this: 1950s–60s Chester County. Herbert’s family has moved from Lenoir, North Carolina, to Rocky Creek Farm, a Guernsey dairy in Chester County. After graduating from Chester High School and spending time at Clemson in Air Force ROTC – earning his private pilot’s license – Herbert comes home to work alongside his father, Otis, in a string of businesses: Chester Frozen Foods, Chester Mobile Homes, a mobile home park, City Chrysler Plymouth (where he served as service manager), Bonnie Mist Car Wash, and Highlander of Chester, Inc.
Then, young Herby says he wants a dairy calf for 4‑H.
Most dads would have pointed to the Guernseys already on the farm. Herbert said yes to Clover. Said yes to Jersey cattle. Said yes to what would become Sunny Day Farm.
That single decision – a father choosing to support his son’s dream instead of taking the easy path – launched a breeding program that would eventually create the top milk‑producing Jersey herd in the nation, as his family proudly noted.
Think about how many times we say no because yes is complicated. Herbert said yes. And it mattered.
The Numbers That Tell the Story
Godbee Brass Top Tanny. 305 days. 26,960 pounds of milk. 4.5% fat. 3.4% protein.
Those aren’t just numbers. That’s Herbert figuring out how to make Jersey cows thrive in South Carolina heat. That’s decades of breeding decisions, of knowing exactly what traits to chase and which to cull, of refusing to compromise on excellence.
Sunny Day Farm and Her-Man Jerseys became fixtures at major Jersey events. Over the years, the family has exhibited several All-Americans in both Jersey and Guernsey breeds and sold three bulls to AI – the ultimate validation that your genetics are good enough to influence the wider population. Their commitment to performance was recognized in production contests as well, with the Sunny Day Farm name appearing on trophies and awards that celebrated high-output Jerseys.
And here’s what kills me: Herbert would have shared every single decision that led to those results with anyone who asked. “Always happy to share his dairy knowledge,” his family wrote.
In an industry where competitive advantages mean survival, Herbert taught freely. That’s rare. That matters.
Herbert’s Way (And Why We Need It Now)
His family says he’ll be remembered for doing things “Herbert’s way or the highway.”
Anyone who’s spent time on a dairy knows exactly what that means. It’s not just stubbornness. It’s the refusal to cut corners. It’s building it right, even when building it fast would be easier. It’s believing that if your name is on it, it has to work.
Herbert’s way meant stepping up as a leader in the S.C. dairy industry, including serving as President of DHIA (Dairy Herd Improvement Agency) and helping grow the performance-recording backbone that allowed herds across the state to improve.
Herbert’s way meant earning induction – alongside Betty – into the South Carolina Dairy Hall of Fame, an honor reserved for individuals who have made outstanding, long-term contributions to the state’s dairy industry. For Herbert, that Hall of Fame recognition was one of his crowning achievements.
Herbert’s way meant he and Betty didn’t just attend American Jersey Association conventions in New York, Wisconsin, Maryland, and Oregon – they eventually hosted the convention in South Carolina in 2000, bringing the Jersey world to their home state.
And Herbert’s way meant building something that would survive him.
A Family Farm That Still Bears His Name
Last summer, Herbert’s grandson Hobbs was in the ring at the Virginia Summer Showdown, leading cattle under the Sunny Day Farm and Her-Man Jerseys banners – names Herbert helped build decades ago.
Today, Her-Man Jerseys at Sunny Day Farm in Chester, S.C., operates as a registered Jersey and Guernsey herd under his son Herby, daughter‑in‑law Amanda, and grandson Hobbs. The farm focuses on deep cow families and profitable cows, a philosophy that traces straight back to Herbert’s priorities.
Herby has carried that legacy far beyond Chester County. Since 2008, he has served as Jersey Development Manager for Select Sires, and his judging resume reads like a world tour: National Jersey Jug Futurity, All American Jersey and Junior Jersey Shows, National Junior Guernsey Show, Western National Jersey and Guernsey Shows, plus assignments in Australia, Colombia, Costa Rica, Brazil, and the Isle of Jersey. He is also a past recipient of the American Jersey Cattle Association’s Young Jersey Breeder Award and one of the few people to win both the national Guernsey and Jersey youth achievement contests.
That kind of influence doesn’t appear out of nowhere. It’s what happens when you grow up beside someone who insists on doing things right and explains the “why” behind every choice.
And here’s the detail that breaks me: Herbert’s final project at Capers Chapel Church was building a multimedia desk so Hobbs could livestream services. Then Herbert would sit at home with Betty, watching those services together, seeing his grandson serve the church through the system he’d just finished installing.
Even at the end, Herbert quietly connected generations, built infrastructure, and ensured things would keep working after he was gone.
That’s legacy.
The Hole He Left in South Carolina Dairy
South Carolina’s dairy industry has changed brutally in Herbert’s lifetime. Extension reports and statewide data show that the number of licensed dairy farms has shrunk from well over 100 to only a few dozen over the past two decades.
Herbert lived through that entire contraction. He watched neighbors sell the herd. He saw the economics tilt harder every year. He knew the state he loved was watching its dairy heritage slip away.
And he stayed.
He kept breeding Jerseys that could perform. He kept recording data. He kept showing up at industry events. He kept mentoring younger breeders who were trying to figure out if there was still a future in this business.
Now, at a moment when South Carolina has only a small fraction of its former dairy operations left, we’ve lost one of the men who proved – day after day, year after year – that excellence and resilience could coexist.
We needed more time with Herbert. Young breeders in South Carolina needed more years to learn from him. The Jersey breed needed more of his institutional memory. His family needed more mornings watching church together.
But dairy farming doesn’t negotiate with time.
What He Taught Us
Herbert did everything on his farm: milking, feeding, raising buildings, repairing equipment, fixing fences, and, as his family puts it with a smile, “keeping Herby in line.”
He poured that same energy into Capers Chapel Church, serving as a long‑time trustee, helping with repairs, constructing a prayer garden and playground, and driving the bus on “many fun‑filled trips.”
He met Betty at Chester High School, started dating her on the senior trip to Washington, D.C., and married her on August 20, 1961, after she finished her degree at Winthrop. They built more than six decades together – as parents, grandparents, traveling companions to Jersey conventions and the Isle of Jersey, and partners in every sense.
He raised three children – Suzanne, Deborah, and Herby – and loved seven grandchildren by name.
And when people talk about Herbert, they don’t start with his titles. They start with his character. With “Herbert’s way or the highway.” With the way he was always “on the go and looking for ways to improve everything.” With the way he freely shared his dairy knowledge.
His family gave him a sendoff that feels exactly right: “Herbert is in heaven today fixing the fences with Odie and Slim.”
That image – hands busy, brain working, making things better – is who he was until the end.
Tomorrow Morning
At 11 a.m. Saturday, the dairy community will gather at Chester Memorial Gardens, 945 West End Road, Chester, S.C., to say goodbye.
Betty will be there, saying farewell to the man she met in high school. Suzanne, Deborah, and Herby will be there, laying to rest the father who taught them that if something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. Seven grandchildren will be there, including Hobbs, who’s showing cattle and streaming church services from the foundations Herbert helped lay.
And the rest of us? We’ll remember that excellence has a cost. That building things right takes longer than building them fast. The dairy industry doesn’t just need great cows – it needs great people who stay when times get hard and share when it would be easier to hoard.
If you want to honor Herbert, his family suggests donations to Capers Chapel Church, 1683 Lowrys Hwy, Chester, SC 29706, or Cancer of Many Colors, 100 Old Cherokee Road, Suite F‑339, Lexington, SC 29702, or a cause close to your heart.
But maybe the real tribute is simpler:
The next time a young breeder asks you a question, answer it.
The next time you’re tempted to cut a corner, don’t.
The next time your kid asks for that one 4‑H calf, say yes.
Build something that will outlast you. Do it right when nobody’s watching. Leave the industry better than you found it.
That’s what Herbert did. That’s what we owe him.
Rest easy, Herbert. The fences are in good hands. And somewhere in South Carolina, a young breeder is going to ask Herby a question about Jersey cattle – and Herby’s going to answer it the way you taught him to: completely, honestly, generously.
Because that’s the Lutz way.
And it’s still the highway.
Visitation: Today, January 9, 2026, 4–6 p.m. | Capers Chapel Church, 1683 Lowrys Highway, Chester, SC
Graveside Service: Tomorrow, January 10, 2026, 11 a.m. | Chester Memorial Gardens, 945 W. End Road, Chester, SC
