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The last move for my father was to 203 N. 28th St. in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He enjoyed his retirement and was constantly savoring new facets of life around him from model railroading to riding motor scooters. He never rode one of my horses, but he did have an experience with one. He stood about 14 hands, was a pinto, and had wall eyes. I named him Atom. I had bought him the day before at the sale, and my friend Roger and I were going for our first ride that cold December morning. It was light but the sun had not yet popped over the hill in back of my house. The snow sounded like gravel on pavement under my feet as I started to mount. As soon as I put my weight in the left stirrup, Atom started bucking, and I ended up doing a cartwheel on the frozen ground and snow. I looked at the palms of my hands, they felt like they had been sand papered. I knew that I couldn't let Atom get the best of me, so I tried again and again with the same result. Each time examining the damage to my hands, before trying again. On the fourth try I remembered my uncle telling me to 'cheek' an outlaw before getting on. 'Cheeking' means to pull the animal's head around by the cheek strap of the bridle before putting your foot in the stirrup. By controlling the horse's head you control the amount of bucking they can do. This time I got into the saddle before Atom could buck, and I managed to ride him. Roger and I rode up the hill onto the mesa and into the sun. The balance of the day was spent training Atom to stand still while being mounted. I was starting to mount that final time, when the saddle turned, and I was on my back under a bucking horse. His rear hooves were landing on either side of my head, and he wasn't going anywhere but straight up and down, so I kicked. That kick shifted his up and down motion into forward motion, and I had to walk home. As I reached the bottom of the hill and turned the corner to head for the barn, I saw my dad and Uncle Jim coming down the road from the barn. My dad had blood down the front of his shirt. He said to me, as he met me, "Don't worry you won't have to sell him.". The horse had kicked at my dad as he tried to contain him with the corral gate. The kick glanced off of my dad's shoulder before hitting him in the nose. We finally determined that the horse had been sedated at the sale, and could never be trusted. The end result was that my mother had the final say, and I sold Atom, the bomb, at the sale next week and bought Nugget. The horse I had until I went into the navy. I learned from this several lessons that have lasted throughout my lifetime. Most problems are made smaller, and can usually be solved through persistent effort. Less problems arise when we listen to someone who has more experience. Each purchase should be considered with care, with an attempt to see beyond the immediate glamour of the moment. You need to know when to cut your losses and admit a bad decision. My father was my helper any time I needed to memorize something. He would drill me, over and over until I had mastered what ever it was. After I was married and especially when I entered the Post Office with all the memorization required for schemes, I missed his assistance. As I got older I began to realize what a true friend I had in my father. He ended up being my best man at my wedding. He always seemed to know exactly what to say in any given situation. Even though he only stood five foot six, in my book he was ten feet tall. -21-
