My Grandpa – With Two Horses on Two Continents
Posted: Wednesday, September 21, 2011
by Christofer French
Rain Dancer Associates, LLC
When I was 12 I had my last conversation with my maternal Grandfather. He died the next year. I went to his funeral on a cold March day. The weather was blustery and cold and seemed to be ordered perfectly for the ceremony. Later that day, it started to rain, and I looked out of the window with the soft drops of rain pelting the windows.
“Grandpa, Mother says that you were in Silent Pictures and that you played cowboys and you played Indians. In the same day, the camera men would shoot the same groups of men shooting their weapons, and then you would have lunch and change makeup and do it all over again.”
Midnight Was My White Horse in Pasadena, California
He smiled with a twinkle. “The movies were fun ‘cause I was a young man and I had a job in California, but the real fun was Midnight. Midnight was my white horse. I know, I know, it’s a funny name for a white horse.
I saved that horse one day from dying of cactus wounds. He was a real scoundrel, a tough young stallion that would not be ridden. All the cowboys and the hands had no use for him. I think one just let him escape because he was no use to them. Well, I stumbled on him in a draw. It’s about where downtown Burbank is today. But that was 1913. It was just Manzanita bushes, pinion pines, cactuses, rattlesnakes and tarantulas then.”
“Was he all bloody?” I said with dread.
He spread his long arms kind of drawing the outline of a horse. “He was covered with cactus spines. I mean the white horse looked like a red and white horse. When I came up on him, he moved a bit, but it hurt so much he stopped. I whispered to him and calmed him down, then all afternoon long I stayed with that horse and pulled out every cactus spine. Hours and hours later, I wiped him down and comforted him.” The warm Wisconsin sun shining through the clouds made his full silver head of hair glow as the sun seemed to be highlighting him just for the story.
“Was everybody happy that you did that?” I imagined the horse had enemies. I was trying to play detective.
“Not really. They had a lot of ugly names for him. But the next day, the wild stallion came up softly from my rear as I was sipping coffee. He nudged me on the shoulder. I could feel his horsey breath on my ear. I turned around slowly. There he was Midnight. Soft and mellow and just being as sweet as a wounded creature can be. The men laughed because the horse was tamed by the suffering, and the relief.”
“Then it became your horse?”
No one could believe that this wild horse with an impossible disposition would turn into a cuddly creature.”
“Was he cuddly with everyone?” I suspected not.
“Well, no.” He inhaled with a chest full of pride and remembrance.
“I was the only one that could ride him.” I named him Midnight. I rode him all through those Cowboy and Indian movies. That was my United States horse.”
Pegasus was my Black Horse in Northern France
“What do you mean?”
“When I went to Europe in World War I, I turned my experience with horses into a job with the Caissons. I was a “doughboy”. That’s what they called us. The American soldiers sailed over at the end of the war, in 1918. We finished it off for the French. I was a part of the Allied Expeditionary Force. The Caissons are the vehicles and the cannons that the horses pulled. You see, by the time World War II came along, everything was motorized. But during World War I, the artillery guns were pulled by horses then.”
“Man, that must have been cool”.
“It was anything but cool. I had to take care of this group of horses, but there was a black horse with a white snowball on his forehead. He was a mean cuss, and the horses kind of followed his moods.”
“So, there were guys that just did the caissons?”
“Horses, rigging, leather straps, wheels, cannons and back and forth and back and forth all day long. When they fired the guns, somebody had to watch the horses. That was my job, along with others.”
There was long breathing in and out. His heart was weak. “Sorry, Chris. Not feeling the best.”
“That’s enough. OK? Thanks for talking to me.” I moved as if to leave.
He put his hand up to stop me. “I have to tell you about this European horse. The horse I had on the Continent across the Sea.”
“He and I were injured at the same time! I almost broke my back keeping him from bolting. He cut his head on a bunch of oak branches that he ran into. A shell burst near us.”
“Do you still feel that sore back?”
“It’s what you call a war injury. But, I’m OK. The horse and I had to stay in back of the fighting for awhile. It was great having a little vacation. He and I were both hurting, but we both went into action a few days later.”
“Did you give him a name?” Being a creative guy, I sensed he had a good name for him.
“Pegasus. I called him Pegasus. He was a winged divine horse in Greek Mythology. Well, when that shell burst, he went flying. That’s what almost broke my back and he lacerated his face.”
“So you really did have horses on two continents!” I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked off into the gathering storm coming from the nearby Mississippi.
“I Want to Write about this Someday.”
He laughed. “Not really. That was something your Mom came up with when she was a little girl. But, it is kind of memorable isn’t it?”
“Mom said she wanted to become an actress because you toured the country with a group of players.” I had seen a post card sent from the Boulder, Colorado area, talking about his performance schedule.
“ Yeah, once you get bit by that bug. The poison stays in your system.” You could see a thousand memories playing out in his wandering eyes.
“You think I should be an actor?”
He came back quickly. His face hardened with an austere kind of look. “Be what you want to be. Don’t let anyone tell you what to be, especially somebody who made a declaration of freedom to become who they were going to be. Know what I mean?”
“I want to be some kind of writer.”
“Good, son. Good.”
I thought for a bit and made a little declaration: “Then maybe someday I can write about the “Grandfather with Two Horses on Two Continents”.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)What an enjoyable read. Thanks.Thanks very much for your notice, Arlene.
Yours, Christofer
Way cool and then some! I'd like to think this particularly fine story is dedicated to me, huh? I mean for the horses? Impressive Christofer - I enjoyed reading this; you knew I would! I can just picture poor Midnight with all his cactus barbs. Pegasus also served your story well. I like it so much. Hope you'll do another horse story sometime.Midnight made the Readers Digest in the 50's. Grandpa Ulmont was a writer too. Yes. This is dedicated to you. It's the only horse story I have, except for the 4 white horses that graze in the field bordering my property, ever' damn day of the week. They love my apple trees. And won't leave my cherry tree sprouts alone. It's a transplanted cherry tree that will never grow taller than 3 feet because I put it too close to the fence, and their neck length.Time to put up a fence. I'm so honored to have a story dedicated thusly. Wohoo. Love it! It's pretty cool story - ought to try about the four horses and how the buggers are eating the tree off - actually, their pruning it for you. Here, we have some deer eating what we laughingly refer to as the "orchard" - they don't like blueberries and leave those bushes alone. They love our raspberries though and the new growth (or next year's berries) are their delectables. Mitch has them fooled because next year all will be fenced.
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