Some 35 years ago, I was privileged to be a part of the First Cavalry Division Horse Platoon at Fort Hood Texas. While there I often met men who had been cavalrymen before the horses were replaced with mechanized weaponry. Nearly every one of these men expressed their love of horses, and sadness at their falling out of use. I did meet one who claimed the opposite.
We were doing a demonstration at a local rodeo in Texas. This fellow walks up to where we were tending to our horses afterwards. He told us that he had been in the cavalry at Fort Bliss Texas. We asked him what it was like back then, and he said he hated it. He was glad they had gotten rid of the dirty, stinky smelly, cantankerous beasts. He told us that his family farm was not far from Fort Bliss, and he requested leave to visit his family. The leave was denied, so he went AWOL (absent without leave) and went home anyway. When he came back, they threw him in the stockade (small military jail). He was told that his commanders understood his homesickness, and ordinarily would have given him a light sentence. Instead, they threw the book at him because he had stolen a horse to make the ride to the farm.
I never did ask him why a fellow who hated horses was at a rodeo and took the time to seek us out behind the arena.
I'd love to hear other folks stories of meeting old timers.
I was managing a small TB farm near Louisville, KY. A neighbor had a good Saddlebred barn. He was in his 70s.
He had some sort of accident and broke a leg. He called me and asked if I could squeeze a few hours into my morning schedule to help his staff. He needed somebody around to pitch in and keep things moving. Just basic horse care. One gentleman could ride three-gaiteds, well enough, and I would do some lunging of horses on two lunge lines hooked end to end just to keep them moving without stressing joints (commonly called a gyp line - because you are cheating the horse out of a ride).
I obliged for 8 or 10 weeks.
I stayed on a couple weeks when he came back and was almost able to go full force. He was working up his leg's strength for riding 6 or more a day.
One day he was riding a nice 5-gaited stallion. A liver chestnut. He rode up to where I was doing something and said, "You don't think much of these horses, do you? You think they are just kept for pretty and have no real use. You think they are barely broke and can only go in straight lines or lean on the rail to find their way around the ring." I mumble something I thought indicated otherwise, but he rode off.
He did a very respectable reining pattern on that stallion. And he kept shouting what he ask for next. "Roll back." "Spin." "Back up from here to town."
Oh, boy. In a saddle seat saddle, coming back from a broken leg, in his 70s.
I learned so much from him. I had before that, too (on treating sprains and strains), but we became good friends after my time of helping him.
He would even come down when I was starting young horses and make me demand more from them than I was. When those youngsters went to tracks or training farms, they got lots of compliments on their handiness.
When a teen, many moons ago, there was an unwritten law at the stable that you had to fall off a horse ten times before you could call yourself a rider. One day a bunch of us were playing games on horseback along with a younger gal on her pony. Her balance was dreadful and she came off a few times. As our games continued she was off again, then jumped up an down, hollering with joy "That's my 10th time, I'm now a rider". Coming off 10 times makes you a much better rider because you get tired of hitting the hard ground.
Two people owned the riding school where I started learning. She was a Methodist spinster, she seemed to be ancient to us children and never changed in all the years I knew her. He was Catholic, ex military and had been Chief of Police in Nairobi before returning to the UK.
She taught the beginners, always taking them out on a lead rein from another horses, often one each side, always at the back of the ride so she could yell instructions to the riders in front.
His rides were mostly on the military side of training. When a TV programme called Boots and Saddles came to the UK his rides were based on that!
We all longed to be on his rides rather than hers which seemed boring by comparison.
All the horses and ponies lived out, there were only three that were clipped and kept in during the winter and she didn't like riding any of them when they were fit and full of joys.
One Saturday we were mounted for out ride and she the two of them were arguing and when she pulled out Faro, one of his hunters, we knew we were in for a more than boring ride.
We went to the beach and the tide was out but instead of being allowed to canter we had to follow behind her keeping our distance, as she trotted serpentines. Then we had to form a line and rode a wheel around her. There was great scrabbling to be on the outside so we could canter. Finally we were lined up to play Simple Simon, I begged to be Simon and was allowed.
After a few orders with or without Simon, to do exercises, I just said "Simon says, 'Gallop' "
So we did. Flat out, along the beach soon totally out of control. Up over the stones and the slipway, sharp left turn onto the wide Tarmac walkway that zig zagged up the cliff. Onto the road, straight into the Old Village, down the hill and heading towards home far faster than we wanted.
As we turned the corner so the ponies began to slow and by the time they got up the hill we were able to stop.
At some point Faro had charged past us but when we stopped so did he and came back and was caught.
We had a discussion as to whether to lead him back for her or to go back to the stables. We did the latter having decided that as we were early we might get a jump in the arena.
We were wrong we had to dismount and put the sweaty ponies away and he took Faro. He refused to drive down to pick her up and it took her an hour to get back, just in time for her next lesson.
The following week I was on his ride and, in all the years I rode and worked there, she never ever allowed me to be Simon.
When I was a very young teen, I applied for a riding job at a TB barn. The trainer barely glanced at me and asked, "How many times have you come off?" I thought I'd boast a little and quoted some small number.
He said "Go ride for ____________, and when you've come off 10 times come back to see me. If you still want to."
I thought he was a real jerk, but glad for the lead on a job.
It didn't take long for this little kid to come off strong horses 10 times. Dang. Those were cheap old tough horses. I hurried back to the first trainer and told him I still wanted to ride for him.
He said I didn't know enough and started me as a groom. I eventually did ride and pony for him, though.
I have thoroughly enjoyed reading all these stories. All these experiences can't be bought for any amount of money. This adult re-rider is feeling a little jealous of all that you learned and experienced as a kid!
Change, your Hollywood story reminded me of one I heard second hand from our muleskinner in the Cav unit. He had grown up on a farm that raised and trained draft Belgians. In 1976, he had driven a team of them from California to Washington DC with the bicentennial wagon train.
He said that one day, while they were making camp for the night in Death Valley, an old man came through wanting to assemble all the mules available in camp. Word got out that this guy was somehow associated with the long running radio and TV show "Death Valley Days". The shows main sponsor had been a soap company called 20 mule team borax. So called because the borax had been hauled from the mines to the railhead in freight wagons pulled by teams of 20 mules. This old guy owned the harness used to hitch the mules used for the TV commercials that opened every episode of Death Valley Days. He wanted to put together one more 20 mule hitch before he died. The folks in the wagon train obliged him.
There were certainly some great characters way back! The sad thing is that many died without leaving their knowledge amd experiences on paper.
I enjoyed the Mark Rashid books because they were in story form and the old man who set him off on his horse experiences was obviously very knowledgeable, not only of horses but people too.
I bought an Irish Setter pup from some breeders. They had a very nice three year old colt in a paddock. He had been dumped on the elderly couple to wean by an old man who travelled the southern UK with a pair of horses and a wagon.
The colt was entire and whilst I was there he jumped out over a 4'+ hedge when two women went riding past.
I told the couple to have him gelded and if they wanted to sell him to let me know.
They had him cut and about six months later called me and I bought him.
I broke him in and had a good girl riding him, he won show classes and was a natural for jumping.
Down the road from where I was, lived an elderly man who had an Arab stud where he stood a Champion Arab. He had some very nice horses. He had been a mule skinner in WW1.
Boyfriend and I stopped on the way home to go to the local, very small pub. To our surprise there was a stranger in there. A tiny man, sat at a table drinking a half pint of beer. My boyfriend bought him another when he ordered our drinks,
We hadn't been there ten minutes whe. In rushed Alby the Arab owner. There were no preliminaries, he just rushed to the old man and started cussing and before you could blink the pair were fighting like two Jack Russels, arms swinging and more cussing than harm.
Boyfriend grabbed Alby whilst the barman grabbed the other man.
Turns out that the stranger had two mares, one of these had somehow got loose and wandered over to Alby's and his stallion had also miraculously got loose and was covering the mare.
Alby stayed whilst the other went to collect his mare. Alby went on to tell us that the man was known for having one of his mares get loose amd get covered by some well known stud or another. Only ever one mare at a time so one mare would be pregnant whilst the other had a foal at foot and they swapped each year.
Days later we met the old man again and got talking to him. He told us that he had returned to pick up a colt he had left with some dog breeders but they had sold it. They had given him the money for it less the gelding costs. He said it was a very nice colt by a well known show stud, Airs and Graces.
I never let him visit our place as I know he would have recognised that horse! At least I found his breeding.
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