A 1988 Conversation with George Morris

The Coach: George Morris [USET photo]

The Anvil: Seamus Brady [USET photo]





The Vet: Danny Marks



 

Part I:

Systems, A Structure to Teaching...Team Work

In the world of show jumping, the name George Morris is synonymous with the very best.  An Olympian in his own right, having competed for the United States at the 1960 Rome Olympics, Morris has trained and coached more Olympic riders than anyone in the world.  A dominant force in the careers of Conrad Homfeld, Katie Monahan-Prudent, Leslie Burr, to name just a few.  Morris has developed a career out of asking just a little more from his students.  At age fifty, Morris continues to dominate the world of show jumping as trainer, coach, and yes -- rider.  At the 1988 Spruce Meadows Masters, held in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, George rode the horse Rio to victory in the $500,000 DuMaurier Grand Prix, the richest prize in the world of show jumping.*  George offers an interesting look at the trainer/vet/farrier relationship at a top show barn -- from the boss's chair.

*As of 1988.

1960 Rome Olympics...George Morris in the Irons.

ANDY:  Why don't we start with a brief look at your training establishment.  In the past you were known for both hunters and jumpers.  But now that has changed.

 

GEORGE:  Yes.  I have operated Hunterdon (Pittstown, New Jersey) for about 18 years.  I have 55 stalls -- all jumpers now.  I no longer have hunters or equitation horses.  Between Anne Kursinski and a few other associate people I am just about up to that level again.  As my energy level became more and more limited, I just couldn't handle three rings, assistants, and different things.  It was just too complicated.

 

ANDY:  Do you also start some young horses there?

 

GEORGE:  Yes, in fact I have some homebreds, and we break a couple every year.  We start them as three-year olds or four-year olds.  But that is a very minor part of my business.

 

ANDY:  Unlike some parts of the country, you show almost year around.

 

GEORGE:  Between North America and Europe, yes.  From the first of February to November.  I make sure that I have an off-season.  I have more of an off-season than most people.  For the most part we pull up after Madison Square Garden which is the early part of November.  I absolutely don't allow many of my horses to jump a fence until I get down to Florida in early February.  And I am very picky about that.

 

ANDY:  I imagine that your clientele has changed a lot over the years,  What is it like today?

 

GEORGE:  A lot of amateurs, some jumpers, and a lot of amateurs that go on to the Grand Prix.  I don't have a preference.  I am basically happy teaching a beginner that is jumping cross rails or working with people at the Olympics.  I like riding a four or five-year old horse as well as riding an experienced horse in the DuMaurier at Spruce Meadows.  They are all about the same.

 

ANDY:  Does the quality of the student make a difference?

 

GEORGE:  I am always attracted to a quality, talented student, as I am to a quality, talented horse.  Most students are of  average talent, and most horses are of average talent.  I enjoy progress with them within the range of their ability.  I couldn't lie to you and say that when Conrad Homfeld came along at twelve or Katie Monahan at fifteen that I don't get a kick out of that. 

 

ANDY:  So these former students remain a feather in a very crowded cap.

 

GEORGE:  Well, almost anyone could have developed a Conrad or Katie.  All they could have really done is ruin them.  So that is not my greatest accomplishment.  I have had greater accomplishments.  The great accomplishment comes with much less talented people.  They went from very little to quite a bit, whereas Katie and Conrad would have made it no matter what.

 

ANDY:  So in a way you are these rider's chief mentor, but who was responsible for mentoring George Morris?

 

GEORGE:  My first life-long and major mentor was Gordon Wright.  And of course, Bert De Nemethy, but Bert was a specialized mentor.  Gordon trained me to handle all aspects of this game.  Hunters, amateur riders, a structure to teaching, and a structure to running an Olympic-level operation, and a superb system for training jumpers.

 

ANDY:  When did you turn professional?

 

GEORGE:  I was twenty-six when I actually turned professional.  But now there is no line between a professional-professional and a professional-amateur.  There is a line between those categories and an amateur-amateur, but now the amateurs who are riding in the Olympics are all professionals.

 

ANDY:  Good or bad?  Any distinction?

 

GEORGE:  I think it has to be opened.  I think it is hypocritical.  If you cannot control it, then you have to open it up.

 

[Note:  Remembering of course that this was 1988.  In today's Olympic venue, the NBA simply shows up for the medal ceremonies. :)  This 'openness' as George refers to was especially important for the development of international-level parity by USET competitors.  For decades the playing field was terribly skewed by various, arbitrary standards on what constituted "amateur status" within the guidelines of the competing nations.  And yes, it is and was about access to both talent AND money. American riders and their horses were begging for quarters from strangers, while teams from other nations were being bankrolled through the national coffers of the home nation, or private, often corporate interests.  Neither of which is a negative unless you are denied equal access.] 

ANDY:  You have been at the top of a very intense game for a long time.  What really separates George Morris from other trainers?

GEORGE:  Oh, I think that I have always had an innate feeling for horses and riders beyond most people.  I was also in a part of the world where I had access to people like Gordon Wright, Bert DeNemethy...Gunnar Anderson.  I had every advantage.  Besides these trainers, I came from a family that wasn't super rich, but they were wealthy people, and they helped me get to the top as a junior rider and onto the team.  I had a lot of good contacts.  My family had a lot of friends in the Long Island, Connecticut area that had to do with riding.  I had a lot of edges.  Billy Stienkraus was a great supporter of mine when I was young.  I am also a hard worker -- I have always been a hard worker.  I am also a studier.  I have always worked hard most everyday and have always worked hard.  I couldn't chalk this up to great talent.  I do have an innate sense about horses and I love horses.  I am a kind person with horses and horses like me.  I also think I am a good leader with people.  I am also very strict.  Some people don't like that, but that's okay, because the rest do.  All of those things have contributed.  But I am also very meticulous in my standards.  That makes me a perfectionist.  I think it all adds up to my consistent success.  I think those details have to be there.  Once you start chipping away at the details, you start to drop.  I never waiver with my standards.  I am not a good compromiser, so they have to come up to my standards or else they don't stay with me.  So even by approaching my standards, they get better than they would have before.  Another principle that I have always adhered to is that I would rather go to Florida and get fifths and sixths than go on a lesser circuit to win.  I'll go to Madison Square Garden and get a tenth in a jumper class, which is better to me than going around the backyards of New Jersey or Pennsylvania and winning a little mini-prix.  That's why I enjoy going to Europe now with my students, to really see where they are or where I am in world class competition.  Of course in the old days I went to Europe with the team, but now in the 80's I have won a lot with students.

ANDY:  Whenever comparisons are made in America of horses or riders, every finger seems to point to the East.  Why is that?

GEORGE:  Well, the top level is mostly in the Northeast, but of course now you would have to include Virginia.  The Northeast is very intense, very competitive.  When you get into the South or the Midwest, the attitude is much more laid back.  It is not as intensive or as competitive.  The stakes are not as high perhaps.  The Northeast has always been and probably always be an intense part of the country.  The New York metropolitan area is the cultural and financial center of the whole East.  That draws and influences things as far as like I said, Virginia.  I have always attributed this feeling to being around New York as the "push."  You don't quite have that push in other parts of the United States.

ANDY:  And it forces you to be better...

GEORGE:  It worked the best because there was the most competition.  If you lose any strokes around that part of the world, you're beaten.  You are going to lose.

ANDY:  Why doesn't that attitude surface in other areas?

GEORGE:  Oh, it works, but for that area the level is lower.  People that I've influenced in different parts of the country or the world, very often are the best in their area, but they are the best at the level of that area.  The same cannot be said about New York where every weekend you are working against Michael Matz, Rodney Jenkins, Conrad and Joe, Katie, and on and on.  They would have to ride higher.  They might survive in the Midwest, the Northwest or California.  They survive at the top by doing less.  It all makes perfect sense.

ANDY:  What about your shoeing needs?  Who is you main farrier?

GEORGE:  Seamus Brady is our man unless we are really in a crunch is some far away place.  Seamus has worked for us for many years.  First of all, he is a marvelous horseman; he is also a marvelous blacksmith.  Where he shoes my horses at the back of my barn, it looks out onto the grand prix field, and he is always watching the horses school in the spring and summer.  I have great confidence in Seamus as an all-around person.

ANDY:  How many years has he been with you?

GEORGE:  Ralph Snyder was with me in the beginning and he was a very good horseman too.  Seamus has been with me for ten or twelve years.

ANDY:  And have they been happy years?

GEORGE:  I believe in Seamus is all aspects of being a horseman, not just putting the shoes shoes on and taking the shoes off.  I have as much confidence in Brady as I have in Danny Marks, who is one of my oldest friends and my number one vet.  I have equal confidence in each of those men.  They are both tops in their fields and both magic horsemen.  They have tremendous experience -- forty or fifty years being horsemen.  They are not gimmicky.  I ma not a gimmicky horseman.  I don't like gimmicks.  I like everything very simple and natural.

ANDY:  So it is a pretty safe assumption that you feel very lucky to have these people.

GEORGE:  Oh yes.  I have never pretended or tried to be a vet.  And I have never pretended or tried to be a blacksmith.  If I wanted to be a blacksmith or a vet, I'd learn to be one and I'd be a top one.  But I don't try to second-guess one.  Once in a while, and it is very rarely, I will override either Seamus or Danny.  Occasionally.  Very rarely will I say, "No, I really want to kick down and take a chance and do it a little differently.  Take a shot and go to the show."

ANDY:  Does that type of decision cause problems?
    
GEORGE:  No.  I do it rarely and when I do they know I am going out on a limb.  I did it this year going to Spruce Meadows and it didn't work out.  It cost me a lot of money, but it didn't hurt the horse because he didn't show.  What they predicted happened.  He had some foot problems, and I didn't show him, so I didn't hurt him.  But it cost me a lot of money and they were right.  Another time, before the Valley Forge Grand Prix, they were sure that my horse shouldn't show, and I knew what had happened.  He had been turned out in a hard paddock, and the groom at the time was a little dumb, and I had been away giving a clinic and she lunged him on a little bit of a hard surface.  All he was [was] a little bit foot sore.  He was perfectly capable of going to the grand prix on Sunday.  They advised me not to go.  We went to the grand prix and got a top ribbon, and he was fine.  He went to the shows afterward and was fine.  I didn't hurt him.  In that case I went over their heads.  So you see what I mean.  But it happens very, very rarely.

ANDY:  So decisions have to be made.

GEORGE:  Yes.  But I always surround myself with experts.  If I feel that they are not experts, I replace them.  Or if they are not doing their job as well as they could.  I have experts who are secretaries, gardeners, housekeepers or accountants, and if ever I feel they are not an expert, I get someone else, because I am very busy.

ANDY:  So you delegate freely?

GEORGE:  Yes.  I am a delegator.  I am a good delegator.

ANDY:  But what if that judgement falls short?  How tolerant can you afford to be?

GEORGE:  If my judgement about the other person falls short?

ANDY:  Yes.

GEORGE:  Even with some of the experts I have to give them hell.  I don't care who they are.  If they are experts and they fall short, it's just as it is in my field; if I am an expert and I fall short because I am stupid or lazy about something, I should get hell, and I do get hell.  And I give experts hell if they fall short.

ANDY:  That never compromises a relationship?

GEORGE:  No.  Kathy Moore, who runs my place, I have given her hell for about fourteen years and she still laughs and she does a good job.

ANDY:  What about horses that have feet problems or physical problems.  How much time are you willing to give one?  Or better yet, how much time can you give one?

GEORGE:  Well, I am going through that now with a very nice young horse.  He has problem feet.  And I'll give that horse six months to a year and that's it.  He is a very nice horse, and when you are talking about Danny Marks, Seamus Brady and myself riding the horse, you have the best professionals and the most careful shot the horse could get.

ANDY:  So you figure with those people and that period of time if the horse can't make it then...

GEORGE:  Then I cut my losses.  This horse I bought with my own money, for a fairly decent price and he is a hell of a horse; he's a grand prix horse; a seven-year old now.  If in the next four or five months; if he doesn't cut it, I will have to cut my losses.

ANDY:  Do you ever purchase horses on the assumption that your people can move them up or fix them?

[Here, I go fishing. A good many of the "issues" surrounding vet/farrier relations tend to go sideways post pre-purchase exam, such 'vetting' an evolving process in its own right. That said, a notable gap exists in protocol, more accurately philosophies, between the top echelons of show jumping and the rest of the sport. This is based to a great extent on the Olympic experience; you compete as an individual, but are an integral member of a team. And as George pointed out in Part I, a top show barn must be a 'team of experts' -- all matters of personal self-serving left in the parking lot. And yeah, I got out-fished a bit here.]

GEORGE:  If I really like a horse physically I'll go out on a limb, knowing that I have Brady and Danny Marks in the wings.

ANDY:  You have that much confidence in them?

GEORGE:  Yes.

ANDY:  What about purchasing horses?  Is Brady involved at all?

GEORGE:  No.  I never involve other people in the selection of my horses.  Unless I have the horse vetted.  Or if the rider/client tries the horse.  Sometimes I buy horses for riders who have never seen the horse, but usually I go on my instincts.  I wouldn't mind involving the vet and the farrier, but that would mean flying Brady and Danny all over world and I can't afford that.

ANDY:  I think most shoers would shy away from any direct involvement in the selection process; I mean, if for no other reason, the tendency to get burned if things go awry.

GEORGE:  No, because often the vet will tell me, "don't buy it,"  and I'll see it down the road with somebody else winning grand prix -- or, they say, "do buy it" and it ends up being a problem.  That happens.

ANDY:  So you remain the ultimate insurer?  But what about a horse that may be purchased for a client, say because the client can get the horse around a course...the horse vets ok, but Brady finds a hole in it that a small bus could drive through.  Then what?

GEORGE:  Well, Danny and Seamus are very old friends and have worked together for years.

ANDY:  So they can agree to disagree?

GEORGE:  They are so close in their thinking.  That's never cropped up with those people.

Part II:

 

Tomorrow perhaps...however, it is of note that Seamus Brady passed away in 2009; as such I reprint a portion of his obituary here.  

 

Seamus Brady, former farrier for the US Equestrian teams, died on July 27, 2009 in Whitehouse Station, New Jersey.  He was 77.

 

Mr Brady was born in County Cavan, Ireland, and trained at the Irish Army Equitation School in Dublin.  He immigrated to the United States more than 50 years ago to work for USET Director Arthur McCashin at his Four Furlongs Farm in Pluckemin, NJ.

 

Mr. Brady was the official USET farrier for all three disciplines and was the team farrier at the 1988 Seoul Olympic Games.  He was also the farrier at a number of show barns, from Ronnie Mutch's Nimrod Farm to the Leone family's Ri-Arm Farm.  He was also the farrier for George Morris' Hunterdon farm for fourteen years.

 

"He was a great asset to the USET and really part of the USET in a way.  He was one of the pillars of Hunterdon.: said Morris.  "He was famous as a great guy and a great friend."

 

Excerpted from:  The Chronicle of the Horse, September 4, 2009.

 

 

 Copyright: A. Juell 1989,2013

 

 

 

  

           

 

 

RA$HA...Finally, An Association for Rich Farriers!

The Anvil Archives: Rob Edwards, Publisher Extraordinaire

RA$HA [The Rich And Scientific Horseshoers Association]

© Andy Juell

First published in ANVIL Magazine (Mid-80's) 

Well, I have had quite enough. First it was the AFA, then the WSFA, then FAWS, then Walt Taylor's WFA and pretty soon the Interplanetary FA, just in case someone is stupid enough to want to shoe horses on Venus.  So I am going to add RA$HA to the ever-growing list of farriers' groups, as not only is it a cute name for a small dog, but it will also fill the one last void in American horseshoeing: the rich guys.  Here is a rundown on our rules, ideology, contests, membership requirements, and drinking habits.

 

RASHA President and Certification Enforcer.
"We got oil!"

BACKGROUND INFORMATION:

The association was formed last week for no apparent reason. In light of that, our board of directors (who wish to remain anonymous, particularly in the Islamic world), still felt that there was no association in the world to represent rich people; who, by some accident of birth, ended up as horseshoers. By filling this void, it is hoped that people like Jay Leno will invite us to be on their TV shows and ask us irrelevant questions about life or Brad Pitt's last movie. 

MEMBERSHIP REQUIREMENTS:

The International Association of Rich and Scientific Horseshoers will have strict membership requirements.  Well, most of the time anyway.

1.  Applicant must be rich. Proof of richness should be mailed in small bills to: Association Secretary,  P.O. Box 5, Tijuana, Mexico.

 

2.  Applicant should show some degree of scientific ability. This may be ascertained by a), straightening a bent pritchel, b), operating a small electric drill, or c), giving a brief verbal explanation of what pine tar tastes like. 

 

3.  Applicant must be able to accurately distinguish a five-dollar tip from a one-hundred dollar tip and be able to react to a small tip with the proper hostility.

 

4.  Applicant must pass the National Flinch Test.

 

OUR CODE OF ETHICS:

"If you get paid, don't worry about it."

OUR MOTTO:

"Get the check."

OUR MISSION STATEMENT:  E pluribus scrotum and this other stuff:

 

THE NATIONAL FLINCH TEST:

One of Last Year's Judges

All prospective members of the International Association of Rich and Scientific Horseshoers will be required to take the following examination:  Each applicant will be required to shoe a horse in any chosen manner by that member (hiring someone else to do it is fine), with any materials that the applicant can find.  Upon completion of the aforementioned horse (there will be no time limit), said applicant will present a totally outlandish bill to either (A) George Steinbrenner, (B) a Jewish haberdasher from Brooklyn, or (C) Mike Tyson.  A panel of four judges, drawn at random from a local plumbers' union will decide if, in the course of presenting the bill, the applicant either flinches, bats an eye, becomes embarrassed, or God forbid, adjusts the bill in the client's favor. There will be a five-minute time limit (65 seconds if applicant draws Mike Tyson for the exam), in which the testers may say or do anything short of a Class B felony to the applicant.  Those individuals found to have failed the test will be required to pay the association the sum of $125.00 (no checks) and may not reschedule an examination for at least 24 hours, or until the judges sober up, whichever comes first. Those applicants passing the exam will receive $50.00 in cash from each current member, an invitation to join the Republican Party, a year's supply of oakum courtesy of the plumbers' union, a video cassette of the movie True Grit, Donald Trump's cellular number, and a year's subscription to Forbes Magazine.

 

 

THE ANNUAL COMPETITION:

 

Once a year, The International Association of Rich and Scientific Horseshoers will hold a competition to determine the championships in our five recognized divisions:  Best Truck, Best Outfit, Most Creative Use of a Cellular Phone, Most Outrageous Promotional Gimmick, and the Overall, All-Around Farrier Czar of the Day, which will be decided upon by the horseshoer exhibiting the absolute laziest way possible to get a few bucks from the audience. 

 

 

 JUDGES FOR THIS YEAR'S EVENT: 

 

 

 Dick Cheney, DpSHT;  Jimmy Hoffa, RIP; and Warren Buffet, $$$$.

 

In the event of a tie, Mr. Andy Juell, QXTE will NOT cast a deciding vote unless money or a lewd encounter is involved. 

 

  

 

RA$HA Dress Code Rigorously Enforced

                           RULES:

 

CLASS 1:  Best Truck. This class will be open to any vehicle with less than seven axles.  Weight not to exceed 60,000lbs., or overall length of 40 feet.  Contestant may present truck in any acceptable manner.  Please though, no obvious nudity. In the event of a tie, all cigarette butts, candy wrappers, and old donuts will be carefully removed from the cab and weighed.  First Prize: A free triple bypass by the surgeon of your choice, or an all-expenses paid -- two week vacation at a Nevada brothel, or women: 12-hour shopping spree in the Nordstrom's shoe department. On us!

CLASS 2:  Best Outfit.  This is a split-division class.  Female entrants will be judged on poise, confidence, and  their use of shoes and/or accessories.  Chaps are required.  The men's division will be judged on number and quality of tattoo's, overall strength (aluminum can crushing, hammer throwing, etc), and best abs -- enthusiastic audience participation encouraged here.  In both divisions, cross-dressing is discouraged; DNA testing will be mandatory.

 

  First Prize Women's Division:  Leonardo DiCaprio's phone number.

 

First Prize Men's Division:  More beer or something made of chrome.

 

CLASS 3:  Most Creative Use of a Cellular Phone. This is an open class to be judged on the ingenuity of the contestant.  Example:  Last year's winner ear-twitched his favorite trainer with the cord while ordering sushi from the local takeout bar.  First Prize: 500 shares of stock in Verizon, two Super Bowl tickets, and a guest appearance on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.  In the event of a tie, the winner will be determined by the balance owing on their American Express Card.

CLASS 4:  Most Outrageous Promotional Gimmick. (Sponsored by the makers of Sorbothane, Hoof Bond, Big Bob's Plastic Pritchel Co., and The Barefoot Alliance.)  This is a thinking man's class, and all contestants will be provided with lounge chairs and a cocktail of their choice.  Deep furrowed brows, smoking ears, and migraine headaches will be given special consideration.  The winner will be established by the first contestant to successfully earn $1,200.00 without getting up from his or her chair.  Lying is optional, with a two-hour time limit for ascertaining the truth.  First Prize: Tammy Faye Baker's face embossed on a belt buckle, $52,000 in legal fees, and a month's stay at the institution of your choice.

OVERALL CHAMPION CZAR PERSON:  The annual champion of The International Association of Rich and Scientific Horseshoers' Annual Contest will be determined by the accumulation of the most points.  In line with the philosophy of the association, the judges have determined that the points may be stolen, embezzled, blackmailed, or bought from other contestants. In the event of a tie, the contestants will be allowed to reach a settlement on their own. However, this class is closed to attorneys, unless they have been recently disbarred and/or jailed.  Prize:  Fourteen feet of cow intestines, a pair of tight jeans, and Wayne Newton's favorite horse.

DUES:

 

Annual Membership dues for the International Association of Rich and Scientific Horseshoers will be one dollar. Life memberships are 50 cents, plus 1.5% of all income received from clients by bad, questionable or larcenous means.  Members will be entitled to our monthly newsletter (if we feel like printing it), our special decal (which has a picture of a rich guy running over a Hungarian immigrant), and the knowledge of knowing that they are a member of the world's finest association for Rich and Scientific Horseshoers. 

 

 

E = MC (MasterCard Accepted)

 

Dating 101...Women with Horses.

Rule # 1:  Skip the Horse Show Altogether

 

 

Horseshows are not designed around moments of hopeful intimacy.  They are angst-filled encounters with what lies behind the blue eyes, seductive smile...your own fantasies of an overnight adventure in an exotic land that, well...smells funny. 

 

 

The cab of a pick-up truck is entirely too small. So is a ferry boat.  And she's driving:

     'The ferry ride turned out to be a lot longer than I imagined.  No, it wasn’t the tension level.  Seems I failed to examine the geography involved in our expedition.  After an hour or so I was thinking Europe.  After two hours, it was time to have a serious conversation with Columbus.  Even the porpoises that had been following us turned around.  I started rummaging around the truck looking for oranges – figured we might need to fend off dysentery or beriberi or something.  At 2hrs. & 37 minutes we struck land.  The locals seemed curious, but not overly friendly.  I considered sticking a flag in the ground and claiming the place for God and America, but a Denny’s restaurant had beat me to it.  The ferry crew was busy hosing Brownie’s urine and other stuff off the deck.  They gave us a cheery one-fingered send off.  Local custom I guessed.  After a quick greasy hamburger we hit the road again.  Smaller road, fewer inhabitants.

 

     “Uh, just where exactly is this show?”  I swore I saw a sign that said, ‘Last Gas for a Hundred Miles!’  I was hoping it was just a marketing stunt.

 

     Three gas stations later we arrived at the show grounds.  Yeah, the sign was a shameless marketing ploy.  I figured that the next time I toured Europe I’d bring my own hamburger.  Between emergency roadside stops Jesse and I talked about the subjects of her choice.  I asked a question and received an answer disguised as another question.  She must have studied counter-intelligence or male interrogation techniques since after two hours in the truck I wasn’t even sure if Jesse was her real name.

      “Why’d you get into horses, Jesse?”  Seemed like a safe question.

 

     “Wasn’t supposed to.”

 

     “Me, it was school buses and…some other stuff.”

 

     “Other stuff?”

 

     “Yeah, stuff.”

 

     “Home, huh?”

 

     “I didn’t say that.”

 

     “Yes you did.”

 

[Quick...a deflection!] 

 

     “Look, are those Canadian geese?”  Wondered what they were doing in Europe.  Next time we stopped I planned on going through her purse.  Probably find fifteen fake passports, the miniature camera – maybe a Walther PPK.  Oh, the official fingernail pulling manual.

 

     “Have you ever been arrested?”

 

[Another deflection needed...]

 

     “Where’d that question come from?”  My eyes were doing the darting thing.  “Wow, see that!  One shoe by the road.  I always see those and they’re always a right shoe.  Makes you wonder what was going on…like roadside amputations by deranged foot collectors or…least they could do is leave a pair or something.”

 

     “Well?”

 

     “What?”

 

     “I thought so.”

 

This is how I pictured a long weekend of possibilities...

Later in my adventure -- horse bath time... 

 

     “How’d the schooling go?” I asked, knowing full well that Jess had got dumped twice in the schooling ring.

 

     “He was a little spooky out there.  Didn’t you see him?  He spooked at that yellow oxer and dumped me!”

 

     “No, I missed that.  I’m sorry.  You okay?”  Of course I didn’t miss it.  That’s why I ended up behind a barn on all fours trying to cough up the Marlboro I sucked down one lung.

 

     “I’m all right.”

 

     “Tell me something,” I said, wanting to change the subject before I surrendered to the giggles.  “Why do you do this?  I mean, this doesn’t seem like it goes too well, and like I thought this was supposed to be fun?  You get horribly nervous, the trainer chews you out, the horse dumps you and you hardly ever get a ribbon or money or anything.  How come?”

 

     Jessica paused, tossing the sponge into the bucket of shampoo.  “I don’t know.  I guess it’s a challenge.  To take something like Brownie, with no training, no manners or anything, and convert him into something usable.”  She tossed her hair out of her eyes so she could stare straight at me.  “I like fixing things.”

 

     “Oh,” I deadpanned.  I had really hoped she wanted to ride in the Olympics or something.  ‘Fixing things’ tended to make me more than a little nervous.  The last thing that got ‘fixed’ was the cat.  I guess though that it supported my overall opinion that Jesse and Chet had something and nothing in common.  Chet fixing those broken pistons was one thing, but why would a woman sort of pick a man and then try to turn him into some other kind of man?  Why not keep shopping?  “So winning doesn’t matter?”

 

     “No.  Has to do with a poem I read once.  Something about ‘the value of the journey’ as opposed to the destination -- something like that.  Besides, I can’t afford a horse that wins and it probably wouldn’t be that much fun anyway.  I bought my first horse when I was thirteen.  Couple of hundred bucks.  My father said no…”  She suddenly straightened up, gently tipped the bucket over with her left foot, handed me the horse and walked off.

 

     “So, Brownie, now what in the hell did I say?”  I thought about just sitting there and waiting, but there was still that issue about not sitting on the chairs.  So instead Brownie and I took a tour of the show grounds.  I did most of the talking.

And this was how it ended up...

     After waiting around to see if the judges gave a ribbon for twenty-third place, we took Brownie back to his stall, bathed him and wrapped his legs in forty-five pounds of cotton and Velcro.  Jessica swallowed a couple of aspirin while I organized what was left of the mess.  I slid into the cab of the truck and put the key in the ignition and turned it.  Zip.  The horse show had taken the last ounce of our dignity.  After spending the early morning hours braiding Brownie’s mane in the one good headlight of the truck, the only thing we earned for our efforts was a dead battery.

 

      The ferry ride home was cloaked in a noisy silence.

 

     “So, Jessica, where does this leave things, like with the year-end standings and all?”

      I thought she might have said something but it was just the prop churning the water.  Maybe teeth grinding.

 

     “Okay then.”

 

Empathy: The Food of All Literature.

Where Books Come From:

 

Yes, empathy. And an empathetic mind evolves from adversity, from disappointment...from deceit.  Broken trusts held in the hearts of small children. Children who become adults, mentors to those who follow them...custodians of the planet we share.

 

 

They become our legacy, the next chapter in our dreams and quite sadly, and too often, the cold granite marker of our failure.  A desert, where a garden was destined to grow.

 

I wrote this piece in 1989.  In the middle of a personal and physical crisis of my own making.  I was watching my career end.  Or so I believed at the time.  But during this thankful intermission, my days were spent in introspection, retrospection, negative self-analysis...all while a rather unattractive and brutish nurse was going through her initial catheter training...on me.

 

Some people know my early history.  Most don't give a shit and that is perfectly fine. Sympathy merely feeds self-loathing and this planet has enough practitioners of hate's various manifestations to go around...twice.  It is the spiritual pandemic of our times.  And while many people doubt that it is possible...I was a child once, born to the garden that traveled from watershed to Wasteland at the very moment of cognizance.

 

"A young adult retells a story of depression at its miserable height.  Endless driving, back and forth across the same bridge, trying to find the right spot, just the right moment to pierce the railing.  Tears streaming down her face, she finally stops the car on the shoulder of the road.  "Who," she thought, "would take care of my horse?" 

 

And that is where I live.  These children are my mentors.  My knights in tarnished armor.  For these are the soldiers of my army, the cherished one's who failed to "pierce that railing."  We know each other by our eyes...we feel each other in the rare moments of calm.  And we never stop questioning the value of this thing called life -- deep down in our souls, where the secrets live.

 

That is the great metaphor stalking the pages of this book.  The horse as friend, confidant...healer. And the role of the many custodians of our sport...the teachers, trainers...the sacred camp of other students...grooms, barn owners, vets, farriers...show organizers...those who create a place in the sun, never realizing that the last line on their ledger is really a child's second chance at life.  And off to the side, beyond the comprehension of accolades and applause...a horse.

 

After decades spent tromping about the show grounds of the world, I still find these kids.  We own a mutual awareness -- a road traveled -- words unspoken, but heard.  It used to sadden me to think that love had a power of predation...an ability to hide behind the mask of sanctuary.  But then I had to consider that these children were still here, still standing...they had hold of the reins. And I would smile, for in the end, I knew they would be okay.  Because the horse, this dumb and often frustrating creature had usurped the pain...traded the worthlessness these kids felt for the responsibility, the accountability of putting an animal's needs above their own.  For showing that failure brings humility, not scorn -- that tomorrow is really a new day...an unspoiled opportunity; the clean slate these kids never experienced, never knew.  So today, I celebrate the horse world...from all the Knights in tarnished armor:                

 

 

They Might Be Alive
 

Of distant fields and triumphs,

An aging eye believes.

That fading accolades upon,

Such things we might deceive.

 

As ghosts go rushing by the gate;

And pastures fade to brown.

This horse upon the edge does fall--

Go round and round and round.

 

Spirits leave to live in wood;

Electric lights they dance.
Carousels by night do haunt,
These horses of romance.

In children’s hearts where horses dwell,

Forever to survive.
Touch such wood with gentle hands--
They just might be alive.

                                                       A. Allan Juell  1987

 

 

 

For: John Turner and those like him. You know who you are!

The Sign...

 

Quite Obviously a Case of Rogaine Abuse

Superstitions and Thoroughbreds...
 

Gotta Love it!



     On this farm, I decided to wean the old-fashioned way.  The first thing I do is check for the sign.  The sign is an off-shoot of some long forgotten secret society of Kentucky horse breeders who were expelled from The Odd Fellows Society for hanging around seedy places like racetracks, which in itself probably wasn’t that odd – though what they did with the winnings evidently qualified.  However, they could keep a secret it seems.  All most people can remember is that it has something to do with astrology, Bourbon, black mysticism, animal bones and an albino buffalo.  Nancy Reagan could explain it better than I can though I am willing to try.  Here goes:

 

Now according to “The Farmer’s Almanac,” that frightfully right-wing manual for potato farmers, each part of the body (apparently this also applies to humans, including children.  More on those possibilities later.), corresponds with a particular constellation – the 12 signs of the Zodiac.  This occurs when the moon wanders into say, Capricorn’s neighborhood.  However, since the moon’s orbital cycle is about 28 days and somebody just randomly decided to add a day or two to some of the months of the year, the system is kind of sloppy.  That leads to all that rising and falling stuff you read about in your daily horrorscope.

This system was actually formulated about 2000 years ago, though the Almanac didn’t say by whom exactly.  Plus, there is the small matter of the origin of Thoroughbreds, which only dates back to the 1700’s and was not only contentious, but pretty arbitrary as well.  Thoroughbreds were derived from Arabian horses (well, one Turkish horse too, but nobody likes to talk about that one), and given British colonial policy, probably stolen on top of it.  The British actually liked the Arabian horse overall, but wanted something with longer legs.  Once they achieved their goal, they changed its name and pretended the whole thing was their idea.  That’s really why oil is so expensive.

 
But who decided on the birthday presents?  Obviously it was Aires.  He got the head.  Virgo – poor buggar, he got the bowels.  And Libra?  A kidney.  Aquarius got the legs, but Aqua is the root word for aquarium so he should have gotten something like fins or a good face mask.  Ah, but there is Scorpio.  Nothing like having your loins rising or falling every 28 days or so.  Everybody else got appendages.  Thighs, arms or a foot.

So according to our 2000-year old anonymous soothsayer, young horses should be weaned when the sign is below the body.  Why?  Because we’re weaning the ‘body.’  No, I don’t know what good a body is without some legs attached, but who am I to argue with twelve constellations, the moon, Nancy Reagan or Aunt Bea’s favorite moonshine recipe.  This is tradition talking.  Oh, children should always be weaned in December.  You have at least six good days and they all fall before Christmas.  That’ll save a few bucks.  And guys, be careful about May.  The Almanac says it’s a good month for castrations.

Regardless of which system you choose to deny a young horse his/her rightful udder,

this is what follows:

 

     Most new weanlings follow the same routine.  I call it the weanie shuffle.  The weanlings all run around crazy for the first hour.  Then they congregate in a corner to choose a leader.  The guy that gets the long straw picks out a path and head to tail, they march around the paddock like soldiers on a scavenger hunt.  Every so often, a voice from the wilderness will cause the formation to break up into small, noisy groups that think they heard something important.  After a few minutes, they all decide it was a wrong number and return to their treks, only stopping occasionally to see if one of the group happened to sprout a bag.  A bag being an unattached mammary gland, preferably one that was both available and full of something close to 2% milk fat.  Colts are the worst, as they assume, quite illogically, that another colt’s penis has a mystical power to convert urine into milk, leading to all sorts of crotch snatching and less than sincere apologies.  Fillies join in of course, but they categorically fail to reciprocate the favor.  Instead, they just kick the offender senseless.

 

I can only stand about an hour of this nonsense before I retreat into the house.  Sure I feel guilty, but the best thing I can do is watch the “Wheel of Fortune” and let the boys and girls process the mess.  Besides, this is going to go on for at least a week, which is about the length of time it takes for me to lose my hearing and them to lose their voices.  Now if I could just lose my vision.

     UPS Guy:  “Sign here, sir…ah, what’s that horse doing…is he…?”

 

     Me:  “Nothing, nothing.”

 

     UPS Guy:  “Well, I just took over this route…Geez!  Look what he’s doin’!  Can I get a picture of this?”

 

 

 

Good thing there was no YouTube in the 80's

 

 

 

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