CHAPTER FIVE: They Hit Horses, Don't They?

          I drove out in the late afternoon to look for a few of the places I’d been reading and writing about. Carol had described to me the houses that she’d grown up in on the way to Mackville, and later, on the Kalarama Farm.

          Kalarama is the oldest Saddlebred farm in the United States. It was started in 1901, the same year William McChord built our B&B, by a Judge Thurman. I happen to know the current owner and trainer, because during the brief time I operated the Little Red Hen, they were regulars. I knew them only as Joan and Larry. At first, I thought they were a married couple, since they came in and left together, although quite often Larry would still come in when Joan was away. They were both congenial, and generous with compliments on the food, and tips.

          Joan, whose last name was Hamilton, a name I’d later find on the 1877 map, told me that as a young adult, she’d rented a room in and lived in the Cinnamon House. When I mentioned the horse farm to a friend and church member who also owned horses, she asked me what kind of horses. I’d forgotten, but later I remembered and told her they were Saddlebreds.

          That’s horrible. They abuse those horses. They break the tail bone to make it stand up like that, and they hit them with sticks. To make them step so high.

I did some research. Lots to read about how brutally Saddlebred horses are trained and treated:

The American Saddlebred comes from stock brought over from Europe. Its ancestors were originally pacing stock. They were crossed on English Thoroughbreds.... When you look at portraits of these horses you see balance, good legs, nice neck sets and feet that will actually support a horse.

I’m sure the Modern Saddlebred Breeder’s forum is going to go all freaky here, just like they did when they reviewed my blog before. According to them everyone that disagrees with their methods is a hater and just “doesn’t understand the ASB”. Seriously people, we get it. We understand exactly what you’re doing because we own horses too. We ride too. We care for horses too. And we know without a shadow of doubt that what you do to your show ASB’s is a complete and utter load of shit.




1) Why the set tails? There is no reason on this earth to break a horse’s tail, or nick the tendons. It doesn’t serve any purpose. It is vanity on your part and it subjects the horse to lifelong disfigurement. I think every exhibitor that subjects their horse to set tails needs to have their middle finger broken and tied back to the top of their hand. That way they can flip themselves off all day long for being such idiots. They should also get daily ginger enemas, just to make sure they step lightly and enjoy the day like their horses have to. Vanity and cruelty.
2)What is the deal with the long feet? Don’t try to bullshit us that it serves a purpose. Has no one in the ASB industry read a shoeing manual? Do you not understand the pressure put on the phalangeal levers by leaving that toe so long? Do you not get that creating tubed feet is just a quick trip to navicular disease? The hoof angle also impacts the knees, elbows, hocks and stifles. Poor feet can screw up the whole leg. Why don’t you shoe the horse correctly for a working horse and leaving the long toes to ballerinas?

3) What is the deal with your tack? Can you not handle your horses without bits that look like murder weapons? Don’t give me endless crap about “any bit can be cruel in the wrong hands”. Trust me, you guys are the wrong hands everyone talks about. There is no reason for a 9-inch shank on a double bridle. None. Ever. You have two bits at the end of the reins. The snaffle should be the one getting the majority of cues. I have seen ASBs shown where the curb is working almost parallel to the ground. WTF is up with that? Here’s a hint, when the horse does the thing with his chin and lower lip where he has it all wrinkled up it is because the bit and curb chain is hurting him! He’s not making faces to try to score a laugh out of the judges. He’s in pain.

4. Most of us understand the principals of saddleseat. Several breeds utilize the form and do so without making their horses look like strung out torture victims. Why can’t the ASB crowd?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60DFjMenFNI&feature=related

Scuttling movement, bad hands, horse is winging like crazy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4srDmPwQ-dw&feature=related
Looks like shit. The horse is hyper reflexed. He is wearing a bit that any non-tortured horse would flip over with. Don’t try to tell me that rider isn’t heavy handing that horse, I can see the strain in his arms. I can also see the hocks and stifles locking every few steps.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXeVQKfKM5g

http://shameinthehorseshowring.blogspot.com/2008/12/made-in-america.html

          It’s not as if these scathing critiques of Saddlebred breeding were hard to find. They were everywhere. A video shot in 2012 showed the application of harsh chemicals to the forelegs of a Tennessee Walker, the binding and beatings when the horse flinched with pain, all done to enhance the high rolling gait so prized for show horses. Similarly, the Saddlebreds are whipped and hit with sticks to “train” them and reshape their legs and gait.

          I started looking at Joan and Larry differently thereafter. Especially Larry. I’d wonder if he had the meanness you’d have to have to do these things to horses. I heard from other regulars in the café that they had been married for a while, but were now divorced, and just business partners. Joan was a classically beautiful woman near sixty. Larry had some older kids from a first marriage and was also several years older than I. Maybe he was just a mean person. I didn’t know until after the café had closed that they were somewhat celebrated in the horse industry, beyond Springfield and even beyond Kentucky. They’d taken over the farm from Joan’s dad in the seventies, and raised some champion show horses, among them the (evidently) very famous Harlem Globetrotter. Joan and Larry purchased him in 1981, and he went on to win nine World Championships.

Harlem Globetrotter

          I had no way of knowing how many of the brutal and crippling techniques Larry might have or may still employ on Kalarama horses. If it hadn’t been for Jennifer’s remark, I’d never have thought much about what they did there. I’m not a horse person. I couldn’t tell you the difference between a Saddlebred and a Palomino. I didn’t know why some horses raced, and others were for show. And, I didn’t much care.

          And here’s why. I think horses are splendid creatures. I’m somewhat frightened of them, because of their size and power, and more than a little in awe of them. But I see in their bearing and their gaze such dignity and majesty. They seem to me so attuned to human interaction, and to one another. They walk, canter and run with balletic grace. And they are beautiful.

          So, I’ve long regarded the human subjugation of the horse: the whipping, the spurs, the caging and the slaughter; the removal of their young, the forced breeding, the spectacle of racing and showing, all of it, with aversion.

          Hey, I might have said, at least Joan and Larry let Harlem Globetrotter live out his 32 years at Kalarama. That’s something.

          And, it’s entirely possible that Chris Newby’s father helped train the horses when they lived on the farm. There have been many renowned Black trainers and jockeys in Kentucky's horse industry, including one or more who worked or grew up at Kalarama: Here's one story. I don’t know. Would it help me to know?

          So, when I began to read further into some of the slave narratives about Kentucky, and particularly those written and recorded in and about Washington County and Springfield, I found that my historical reckoning with “slavery” in Kentucky would need to broaden considerably, just as meeting Joan and Larry, telling Jennifer about them, and becoming curious about her remark about Saddlebred training forced me to broaden my understanding of the horse industry in ways that were both endarkening and educational.

          I didn’t think any educated person believed the old adage that slavery in Kentucky was somehow “less”: less brutal, less inhumane, less widespread, or less difficult. I was wrong.

          The myth of the happy slave has been pretty well indoctrinated into the native Kentuckian. The Stephen Foster song, My Old Kentucky Home, is sung at every football and basketball game held here, as well as at the horse races and the Kentucky Derby, watched by millions all over the world. It’s customary to stand for it, and yes, people cry. I’ve heard and read many critiques of the song, and of Foster, himself not a Kentucky native, because the original lyrics read, tis summer, the darkies are gay… and continues to describe what might be called a blissful slave scene, including this: the young folks roll on the little cabin floor, all merry, all happy and bright.

          And I’ve repeated those criticisms myself. Like most things, it bears scrutiny. Seems it was written as an antislavery ballad not long after the release of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

The creation of the song "My Old Kentucky Home, Good-Night!" established a decisive moment within Stephen Foster's career in regard to his personal beliefs on the institution of slavery and is an example of the common theme of the loss of home, which is prevalent throughout Foster's work. In March 1852, Harriet Beecher Stowe's abolitionist novel Uncle Tom's Cabin appeared in bookstores in Foster's home town of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The novel, written about the plight of an enslaved servant in Kentucky, greatly impacted Foster's future work in song-writing by altering the tone of his music to sympathize the position of the enslaved servant. In his notebook, Foster penned the lyrics inspired by Stowe's novel, initially named "Poor Old Uncle Tom, Good-Night!" Foster ultimately removed references to Stowe's book, renaming the work, "My Old Kentucky Home, Good-Night!" Foster's song includes distinct Kentucky imagery. Foster's brother Morrison indicated in correspondence that Foster was an "occasional visitor" to Federal Hill, owned by Foster's relations, the Rowan family of Bardstown, Kentucky. The Foster and Rowan family's close relationship appears to have been initiated through Stephen's sister Charlotte who stayed with the Rowans at Federal Hill in 1828. While Charlotte lived with the Rowan family, Atkinson Hill Rowan made a proposal of marriage to her, which she ultimately declined. Charlotte died in the home of George Washing Barclay, a cousin of both families, with Atkinson Hill Rowan at her bedside.The song "My Old Kentucky Home, Good-Night!" is one of many examples of the loss of home in Foster's work. Biographers believe that this common theme originated from the loss of Foster's childhood home, known as the "White Cottage", an estate his mother referred to as an Eden, in reference to the Garden of Eden. 
The family was financially supported by the family patriarch William Foster, who owned vast holdings, which were lost through bad business dealings that left the family destitute and unable to keep possession of the White Cottage; the family was forced to leave the estate when Stephen Foster was three years old. After years of financial instability and the sharing of memories of the White Cottage with Stephen by his parents and siblings, the impact of longing for a permanent home that was no longer available to him greatly influenced his writing. (My Old Kentucky Home, n.d.)

Upon its release in 1853 by Firth, Pond & Company, "My Old Kentucky Home, Good-Night" grew quickly in popularity, selling thousands of copies. The song's popular and nostalgic theme of the loss of home resonated with the public and further resolved to stimulate strong feelings in support of the abolitionist movement in the United States. Famous African-American abolitionist Frederick Douglass promoted the song, among other similar songs of the time period, in his autobiography, My Bondage and My Freedom as evoking a sentimental theme towards the enslaved servant that promotes and popularizes the cause of abolishing slavery in the United States. Douglass commented, "They [My Old Kentucky Home, Good-Night!, etc.] are heart songs, and the finest feelings of human nature are expressed in them. [They] can make the heart sad as well as merry, and can call forth a tear as well as a smile. They awaken the sympathies for the slave", he stated, "in which anti-slavery principles take root and flourish (My Old Kentucky Home, n.d.)

The song held popularity for over a decade and throughout the American Civil War. The song's reach throughout the United States and popularity has been attributed to soldiers of the war, who passed the tune from location to location during the war's tenure. Soldiers of the war, both Union and Confederate, visited Federal Hill by the thousands to see the landmark that lent visual inspiration for Foster's song both during the war and after. Following the war, Federal Hill continued to be frequented by tourists throughout the remainder of the 19th century.

After the American Civil War had ended and the institution of slavery was abolished, the song, "My Old Kentucky Home, Good Night!", which encouraged and inspired abolitionist views in the United States thereafter continued to be held in high esteem by the public. The typical reduction of the song's title from "My Old Kentucky Home, Good-Night!" to "My Old Kentucky Home" occurred after the turn of the century.

The song's first verse and chorus are recited annually at the Kentucky Derby. Colonel Matt Winn introduced the song as a derby tradition. As early as 1930, it was played to accompany the Post Parade; the University of Louisville Marching Band has played the song for all but a few years since 1936. In 1982, Churchill Downs honored Foster by establishing the Stephen Foster Handicap. The University of Kentucky, University of Louisville, Murray State University, Eastern Kentucky University, and Western Kentucky University bands play the song at their schools' football and basketball games (My Old Kentucky Home, n.d.)

Interestingly, it was Georgia Davis Powers, a native of Springfield who became a Kentucky state representative, who was able to lobby for and finally have the song, which had been declared the Kentucky state song in 1929, changed so that the lyrics read “people,” rather than “darkies.”

Bibliography

My Old Kentucky Home. (n.d.). Retrieved 11 12, 2017, from Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/My_Old_Kentucky_Home

          This all brought to mind another song.

          When I was a child, my Aunt Ruthie lived with us, and would “tuck us in” from about the time our mother died until our father remarried. She moved out then. But even after that, on her frequent visits, she sang all her classic favorite songs to us, and I have each one memorized. One that we heard each night was called Old Black Joe.

Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay,              

Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away,              

Gone from the earth to a better land I know,               

hear their gentle voices calling “Old Black Joe”.              

Chorus:               

 I’m coming, I’m coming, for my head is bending low:                

I hear those gentle voices calling, “Old Black Joe”.

          Now Aunt Ruthie Patton was an “old maid", the second oldest of eight children, raised mostly in Tennessee and Virginia, spent a bit of time in Texas, so to me she represented Southern people. She had an accent, and she sang songs like this, which I doubt any other little kid in New Jersey had sung to them in the 1960s.

          Old Black Joe, it turns out, is one of the most humanizing and gentling songs written by a white person of that time: Stephen Foster. In my mind’s eye back then, Joe was our erstwhile gardener, George. He was nearly eighty, I’d guess, so he could have been the child of slaves. I have a beloved photograph my father took of him, standing by the weathered barn, tattered hat in hand, his head tilted slightly, a toothless smile beneath his opalescent eyes of the very old, his frail and skinny frame a rebuke to time. He was still alive.

          
          I didn’t know it then, and Ree-Ree, as my sons would come to call her when she sat with them, never explained it, but Old Black Joe is hearing his friends “calling” from beyond the grave.

          It could be that Ruthie felt that way too. Most of her siblings and her parents had died. It could be that she had that fondness you see in Southerners for the obedient Black people. I can’t ask her now.

          But that song, along with other experiences, did not leave me unmoved. It stayed with me, and brought me to this work.

          When I heard that the Newbys lived at Kalarama farm, that added a piece to what I’d known. When I read the book about stock farms for slaves, another piece dropped in to place. When I came to understand that these places were in Bardstown, where the “Old Kentucky Home” cabin Stephen Foster was inspired by is located, I knew a few more things for sure. And so it goes.

          Knowing things can lead to knowing other things. And there are things we can’t unknow. It takes an enormous amount of energy to maintain the lie that is denial. But it takes courage to face truth. And once faced, what do we do with it?