This picture was taken at Smokey's Stable in Huntington Beach the day I broke my arm. That horse doesn't look too menacing at first glance, but see that look he's giving out his left eye? See those ears laid back?
Yeah, I'm going down.
My cousin and I used to ride at Smokey's Stables every weekend back in the '70s. One of our parents would drop us off at a hole in the fence that lined the Bolsa Chica Wetlands. Then we would walk a narrow trail that lead to the small, dank stable.
Smokey was a legend in Huntington Beach back then. I only caught a glimpse of him once. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and trousers pulled up across his stomach. He stood outside his trailer smoking a pipe wearing a plaid flannel shirt and trousers pulled up across his middle, he stared at us as we mounted our horses and gave them a kick down the trail.
That was the only thing kids really knew about Smokey for sure was he smoked a pipe– that, and he was a BB gun owner and wasn't afraid to use it on trespassers.
On this day the ride started off just like like every other ride, but at the end we decided to take the horses into the arena for some barrel riding. Now, I had ridden the trails of Bolsa Chica week after week for years and knew their every turn, and so did the horses. But I hadn't ever been in an arena with a horse and I certainly had no idea that once my horse saw the barrels he's bolt wildly to them out of instinct or spite, or maybe both.
I slid off the back of the horse and landed on the soft dirt of the arena. Collecting myself after the fall I took a minute and as I sat there I watched the horse run the barrels over and over again without me–kicking up dirt and working up a good froth around his mouth.
I got up and took off my jacket to look at my right arm. It broke my fall, but now throbbed just above my elbow. It showed no outward signs of being in trouble and after a quick examination of it by the stable manager, my cousin and I were sent down the winding trail, back to the fence to wait for my aunt to pick us up.
When we got in my aunt's car, I tearfully told her what happened. She looked at my arm and my eyes swollen and red from crying and decided dinner at Bob's Big Boy would be the best medicine. "You're fine," she said over the blare of the AM radio. "You'll feel better once you eat something."
It's true, in 1977 a fried shrimp platter and a strawberry silver goblet shake from Bob's Big Boy could cure a lot of things. But not this time. I remember sitting in the tall red booth at Bob's and watching my shake melt; the whipped cream and cherry slowly trailing the pink shake down the side of the silver goblet. I couldn't even touch it.
That's when my aunt knew for certain: it was broken. She took me by the arm (my good arm) through the restaurant, past the hostess stand and waiting area, back to the pay phone in between the restrooms and called my mom at work.
She told her about the horse, the crying, the shrimp platter, the melted strawberry silver goblet shake and they concluded it must be broken and agreed to meet at the emergency room.
Later that night in our living room, as my brothers drew lighting bolts on my cast and my cousin drew a pretty good sketch of me falling off a horse, I heard my aunt retelling the story to my parents. She was apologizing to them for not taking me directly to the hospital.
"It's Suzie," she explained. "You know, she cries over everything." You see I was the youngest of the horde of brothers, cousins and neighbors and sure, I probably let the drama flow a bit more than anyone else, but it was ALWAYS for perfectly justifiable causes and blatant injustices.
When I heard her explanation I was seized by rage– as much as a 10-year-old could possibly be seized by rage– and I made a solemn, ardent oath to myself sitting there on my parents' crushed velvet couch that I would never cry again. Ever.
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I told my daughter this story over enchiladas on Saturday and at the end she leaned in as if there was going to be more and then said, "Well, did you?"
What a great story…well the broken arm part. But you remember this so well…it must have left a huge impact on you.
I cry at the drop of a hat. Really. I almost cried reading the part about your aunt saying you cry at everything. 😉
I meant NOT the broken arm part…wow, I sounded like a meanie head.
Aw. How sweet. and Sad.
Its okay to cry now Suz. I give you permission. Especually if you have a broken LIMB.
Man I miss Bobs Big Boy.
I might cry I miss it so much.
🙂
Great Story!! They day before I went in to labor I got bit by a horse on my left arm. I just walked by him and BAM!. The biggest bruise i have ever had in my life. The horse trainer there said he knew i was going to go in to labor and sometimes when the mama horses start to labor the male horses will push them around. I guess this includes me too because 24 hours later my water broke!!!
wonderful story! hey, don’t you want to ride with me sometime? you’d love riding buster 🙂
Not a BB gun a Salt Rock Rifle. And if he caught you trespassing he’d shoot you in the bum. Smokey was legendary!
Love the story!
That’s funny the horse kept going around the barrels. You must have been so upset! I would have cried too. But then again, I cry over everything too.
I too am the baby of all the cousins and I cried at everything too. We are just more sensitive to our surroundings and emotions. That’s it.
Wow, When I was about the same age, I broke my arm falling off a horse too. But, no shrimp platter from Bob’s Big Boy for me. Are there any Bob’s still around – I want my shrimp platter.
By the way, did you get back up on that horse?
ouch! I’d be crying too if it was me, except I broke my arm on my cousin’s roller skates which were too big for me at the time…
Awww! What a sad story. I can just picture you at Bob’s Big Boy! (We used to eat at one on Garden Grove Blvd., I believe.)
My best friend rode (and boarded her horse) at a stable in Huntington Beach! I wonder if it was the same one? We spent many weekends there. It was right across the street from the ocean.
Oh, meant to e-mail you: My Vans skate park post is still up on my blog, right on the current page. 🙂
We have lived somewhat parallel lives, I think!
Big Boy! I didn’t know the franchise stretched all the way to California. I always thought it was a Midwestern thing. Some of my best childhood hurts were soothed over a double-decker hamburger, fries and a huge strawberry shake at Big Boy. Great reminiscence.
We just ate at Big Boy last night for dinner here in Cincinnati! Love the Big Boy burgers…I mean…soup & salad bar!
I feel left out! I’ve been bucked off a horse a few times, and never broke anything…but I sure could go for a shrimp platter just the same.
I recently found out that my family had a certain opinion of me and I was seized by rage, in fact, I was completely outraged. It’s a defining moment and if anyone wants to give me that experience again anytime soon… LOOK OUT! I’m glad you’re at long last fully recovered from your traumatic experience.
PS My son definitely knows that I can cry.
My dad used to take me to Bob’s Big Boy to make up for the fact that he was a shitty dad. I still dug eating there though. He would drop me off at my mom’s house and she would be pissed because I got to order whatever I wanted and she couldn’t afford to take me there. Man, Bob’s must have been full of divorced dads and their angry kids.
LOL at Grant’s comment! MY dad used to take ME and my sister there too! The place was steeped in divorce guilt.
On another note Suz, so sorry you were a cry baby! haha
This is a trip. I’m trippin right now.
My dad used to take me and my brothers to Bob’s Big Boy to make up for leaving my mom. That was the ultimate treat in the ’70s. At least in Orange County. I remember those double decker burgers with that special sauce. I even remember hanging from his arm outside the restaurant. I have the picture somewhere. Back to the point. It must have been some sight to see all those divorced dads coming through the door night and night. I could go for a double decker hamburger right now…
Oh, sorry about your arm Suz. I was a big baby, too. Nothing to be ashamed of. It was always justified!
How well they know you!
Cute story. Cute picture.
Horses are dangerous. Better to watch them from a distance. This doesn´t make me think in another way.
I ought not write this, but your humoristic writing style makes me laugh, Suzanne. That nasty eye, I saw it too. Can we really trust a horse ? That way to jump over the barrels without you … didn’t it reveal a bad mind ?
My now 14 years old son broke his elbow when he was 2 1/2. First, when he fell from his chair, he cried. A moment later, I proposed him to lay down. He fell asleep. I told myself, when he’ll wake up, if he begin again to cry, that’ll mean that he really hurt his arm. That’s what happened.
At the emergency, I was the one who was crying ! Reproaching me not to bring him immediately.
After that, each time he felt, I was anxious, still now ……
When my son was in kindergarten, he broke his wrist jumping on the couch. When ice cream didn’t bring a smile to his face, that’s when I knew I had to take him to the ER. It really is a good test with kids.
I cry at everything! Really, I do. You poor thing. Thankfully, bones heal so quick on young people.
Oooh, the injustice of not even getting a good barrel ride in before you were plopped on the ground by the horse! Although I didn’t cry as a kid, for whatever reason now (in my 30’s) I am crying all the time … ALWAYS for a justifiable and perfectly rational reason!! 🙂 Sometimes the tears just gotta come. I can’t promise I won’t cry again, but some days I wish I could!!