We are horse people. We love them. I was raised on a horse farm, and have always had some horses around me. I find the sport of horse racing to be the ultimate sporting event, the combination of man and animal meshed together, performing a great physical effort that the horse and jockey are both born to do. I find a very similar connection between the thouroghbred and the hillbilly singer...both are born to the art...both are born to run...both never get the urge to run completely out of their system.
About twenty years ago I went to a horse sale and saw a beautiful black horse that I just had to have. I bought the horse, without knowing anything about its origin, something I ordinarily would never do. Well, I got the horse home to the farm we had then and started working with the horse to get him use to me. Finally, I started to saddle up, both the new horse and another horse we had then that Denise rode. I swung into the saddle and Denise did the same, as we guided the horses out to our 50 acre pasture. We started trotting along, them moved up to a gentle lope. Denise brought her horse up next to mine and when she drew alongside...my new horse just exploded. I have been riding ever since I was 4 years old, and I have never felt any thing like the speed that the new horse burst into. I grabbed a handful of mane and held on for dear life. That horse was flying low over the pasture, leaving Denise far behind. Slowly, I began to realize that the horse was not running away...he was racing! At the end of the field, I finally got him slowed down to a normal gallop and then a trot and to hold up and stop.
Later, when I was taking the tack off the horses, I had a thought. I went to the horses head, gently rubbing his nose, and lifted up his upper lip. Sure enough, there was the tattoo of his racing number certification...the horse was a retired racer! When Denise came up alongside him, he did what he had been born to do...he raced.
So it goes, a horse born to run, is always gonna try to do it. A hillbilly singer, born to run the roads and sing, is always gonna feel the urge. You do what you are born to do, until you realize, finally, that your running days are behind you. I reckon horses lack the ability to realize that, and keep running til they drop, or break a leg.
A lesson I learned, on my first night on the Grand Ole Opry, in 1961, and it was Roy Acuff that taught me the lesson. The second song that I sang that night, I was given an ovation that Roy felt deserved an encore, he put his arm around my shoulder and said, "They want more son, give it to 'em". As I stepped back to the mike to do my first encore as a professional, I opened my mouth to hit another verse, and Brother Oswald, the banjo, dobro, harmony singer and comedian for the Acuff Show, come running out to do his comedy routine. He came running by me, squalling like a calf eating briars, tripped on one of the footlights, and flew out into the front row of the old Ryman Auditorium, landing in the lap of a plump lady from Ohio, causing an explosion of glee from the audience that completely overshadowed my little ovation of a few seconds before. As they were picking up Brother Oswald, and fluffing up the nice lady from Ohio, kinda like an overstuffed couch...I left the stage and went on back to the dressing room.
I was setting there in the dressing room, pondering the encore that almost was...when Mr. Acuff came in looking for me. He walked over, put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Stan, Oswald shouldn't have done that, messing up your encore, and I know he will probably tell you later that he's sorry, but ya'know, we are all here tonight to just entertain these good folks that paid their money to come see the show. They got entertained mighty good tonight, son, when Oswald did his high dive off the stage, and you were part of it....be proud, you done good tonight."
Well, I took that advice to heart, never had another attack of ego or self pride, and realized that, no matter how good you have just done, somebody else can come out of nowhere and run right by you...and bring down the house. And all you have to do is, be glad that you were a part of it all. It don't matter who gets the credit, just do your best and let that be your satisfaction. Thank you Mr. Acuff, and thank you Brother Oswald, you both taught me an important life lesson that I have never forgotten.
And thank you, you beautiful black thoroughbred, you were born to run and nothing or no one was gonna stop you. I sold you when we got ready to move back to Tennessee, but i told the man who bought you, "He's a runner, man, he's a runner, be sure and let him run."
Well, the horses are coming close to the starting gate, and the Kentucky Waltz is being sung by the crowd, the sloppy track is going to make it very interesting. Let 'em run, son, let 'em run....stan
No comments:
Post a Comment