Knuckleheads

Knuckleheads 

I was a child when I first heard the term “knucklehead”. Watching classic slapstick humor from the unforgettable Three Stooges, I laughed when one or the other was called a knucklehead. But that's what slapstick comedy is all about. Decades later and missing that knucklehead humor, I purchased several Three Stooges video cassettes on one of my visits back home during the 80’s and 90’s and played them for family and friends in New Zealand. I may still have these gems packed away somewhere amongst my clutter. 

In researching for my sequel historical fiction novel, “Gilded! A novelization of the life of John Hiram Beckley”, my grandfather’s grandfather, I was astounded to discover that the term “knucklehead” originated in the 1890’s. This is the era I’m currently researching and writing about, as I’m midway through my manuscript. Back then, the slang reference of “knucklehead” meant the person was a dunce or had done something foolish. Leave it to the United States Military to pick up on this “in vogue” term and produce training materials. The army/air force created a cartoon character, Cadet R.F. Knucklehead, who makes mistakes and shows poor judgment in the handout literature to the troops. These were young cadets being trained to enter the theatre in World War II, so it’s most likely these light-hearted manuals were a spinoff of the popularity of the Three Stooges. However, the origins of the term dates to the “Gay Nineties” days, and this affectionate term, “The Gay Nineties” was first coined nostalgically in the 1930’s when people without jobs, food or a roof over their head, reminisced of the good ole days. But I digress. 

Last month we had some time on our hands, so we made an impromptu visit to the Blue Grass State. For those taking notes, mark down that nearly every distillery in Kentucky is closed on a Monday. However, this is what led us to the “Unique Horse Farm Tour” based in Lexington. When we visit this region, we normally stay in a hotel strategically placed between Louisville, Lexington, and on the verge of Bardstown. Therefore, we were delighted to find the Unique Horse Farm Tours had availability for that Monday afternoon, so we signed up! And are we glad that we did. 

After enjoying a leisurely brunch and a drive through the northern outskirts of Lexington, we arrived at the designated pick-up location, the Embassy Suites Inn. A small tour bus pulled up out front and we met our tour guide, Jeff, who would be informing and entertaining us for the afternoon. Now, a word about Jeff. He’s cool man! Laid back, incredibly knowledgeable and self-deprecating; not in a manner that would make a stranger think that he has a low self-esteem, but as someone with an excessive amount of modesty. Allow me to give you an example. Jeff checks that everyone is on board his minibus and pulls out of the carpark on this 100 + degree day. (Our car was parked in the shade and on our return registered 113!). Jeff has driven us a couple miles from the hotel and is navigating the congested traffic when he finally speaks up. I’m personally thankful we chose seats at the front of the bus because there is no PA system, and I have no idea how folks behind us could hear him as I struggled with my hearing aids on. “Ok folks. Good to have you on board today,” Jeff greets us. “My name is Jeff. I’ll be your tour guide today and just to let everyone know, I know nothin bout horses.” Jeff then repeats himself, “I know nothin bout horses.” After pausing awhile for effect, he resumed his speech. “But its 100 degrees out today and we’re a couple miles walk back to the hotel by now, so, I guess unless you want to walk back to your car, you’re stuck with me this afternoon.” 

Let me assure you, in all my years of appreciating and fascinating over equines, I have never met a more knowledgeable, hands-on, horse expert than Jeff. During our tour, which was as laid back as Jeff is, he told us of his recent travels on jets all over the world, including Australia and New Zealand, accompanying his employer/Kuwaiti owners and their prize possessions. Jeff has lived the high life, and he’s been on the midnight shift with his arms up to his armpits in the bowels of a mare, turning her foal so that both she and her offspring have a chance to live. As Jeff explained, the first forty-eight hours is the make or break, and he’s been there through the duration to give the horses the best chance possible.  

Jeff has seen a lot in his lifetime. I assume that he is semi-retired now. In one of our barn stops, Jeff led a dozen of us down the middle passageway. With stalls on either side of us, he cautioned that “the girls” are approachable most of the time, but the boys, well, they’re knuckleheads! Jeff warned us that at any time the boys will bite. I’m assuming one of our tour guests did not take note of Jeff’s warning and her midsection was given a healthy nip as she approached the stall of whom Jeff referred to as “The Alligator”. It was easy to let your guard down for Jeff was handing out a pocketful of Brach’s peppermint candies, one at a time and his “buddies” who were tied in their stalls loved seeing him. There was ample opportunity for each of the tourists to feed out the peppermints as well. 

I was in my element, transposed back to my boyhood days when my grandfather, Bill Beckley, would take me to the county fairs to watch the harness races. Labor Day weekend was absolutely the best time of the summer when we would take in both the Canton and Canfield fairs. Canfield was always on Labor Day Monday and my grandparents would pick up their friends, Glen and Helen Buxton and we would all make a day of it at the fair. The men wanted to arrive early so as to watch the horse pulls in the morning. I stayed with them the first year, but watching huge quarter horses drag a sled of pig iron up and down the track got a bit boring after a while. So, the following year, I opted to see the sights of the fair with the womenfolk. But come the afternoon, the races were all on and these are the memories I will always cherish. I’m very lucky that my wife is equally interested in attending the county fairs and watching the races. We never bet any money on the races but keep score from the results on the tote board of the horse we have separately chosen. At the end of the races, we tally up to see who would’ve won the most money had we bet. 

Summer in the 70’s, with my spending all day at the Carroll County fairgrounds during the fair week, was just heavenly for me. I had to be at the front gate and punctual by 5:15 pm for my grandfather, who was working at Surety Rubber at the time. He would drive up to the gate and take me back to his house on 3rd St SW Carrollton to eat our dinner and be back at the grandstand in time for the first race at 7 pm. Back then, with there being so many horses available to race and each card racing twice, the event would finish near midnight. My grandmother would attend if the races were held during the daytime, but at night and with the damp settling in and all of the dust from the racetrack, these conditions would gravely affect her respiratory system, so she would beg off. My grandmother understood the attraction of the horses and races, though, stating many times to anyone who would listen, “Pappy isn’t coming home until the very last horse has been put to bed.” I’ve inherited this affection for the equine and so has my sister! We’ve had to pull her out of the racing barn after the county fair races have concluded. I must admit with all that energy and intensity after the races; those barns are quite the thrill to be a part of. 

So, here we are in the Capital of Thoroughbred Racing and amongst a barn full of million dollar racing soon-to-be celebrities. Jeff approaches the one stall and says, “Now this knucklehead and the one in the stall next to him, got into trouble last week.” Seems as though the lead knucklehead dared the other to jump the fence in their grazing paddock. The follower came off worse having not completely clearing the top rail! They looked so innocent just standing there and looking back at you, but Jeff assured us that looks are deceiving. The horses that my grandfather and I would watch at the county fairs were “seasoned” two- and three-year-olds with their own name. What we were seeing in these private Lexington barns were foals that had been born essentially this year; as each of them, despite the month they were born, were given a birthdate of January 1, 2025, and a name only referencing their mother. Jeff went on to explain why several “nurse maids” had a mask over their head. In circumstances where mothers and foals are lost during birthing, a motherless foal is matched up with a childless mare and as long as the nursing mother doesn’t discern any difference, all is well. Other horses we saw were masked, but this was to protect their sensitive eyesight. This is also the reason why these young horses are not allowed outside during the heat of the day. They’ll get sun burnt! However, after the sun recedes midafternoon, they are released into fenced paddocks until dusk. Jeff explained why all of the trees in this paddock had fences around them, “Cuz these knuckleheads will eat the bark off the tree, killing it and leaving them with no shade.” Jeff also told of an unfortunate occurrence a week or so prior to our tour. All the foals had been rounded up at dusk save one. A search party ensued and was given up with the pitch black of the night. The next morning with the search and rescue resumed, she was found but having fallen into a gully and now with a broken leg, there was no choice but to put her down. Jeff told us how he saw the overseas owner in the barn the day after the incident, and he offered his commiserations to the owner having just lost $23 million dollars invested in that horse. Surprisingly, Jeff said that the owner seemed non-plussed. It was all a matter of doing business. It does stand to reason seeing how a stud fee in the barn we visited reached half a million dollars and more. Jeff assured us, he having been tasked with this duty as well over the years, and at that price, the purchaser wants every last drop of the stud’s semen and folks like Jeff, are employed to make sure that not a drop is lost or wasted. 

As the tour group sauntered from farm to farm, Jeff regaling us with stories of particular horses and their owners, it became abundantly clear that he didn’t “know nothin bout horses”; he knew everything about horses. We were attentive to his every word and that may be why our tour was an hour longer than originally scheduled. We were just enjoying listening and learning about these beasts and watching them up close in their natural environment. It was interesting to see the barn staff energetically going about their tasks as well.  

“Knuckleheads,” Jeff said emphatically with a hint of disdain in his voice. “These knuckleheads with all the energy of their youth don’t know no better.” I could see the beginning of a smile forming around his lips. Jeff was low-key, low-balling this millionaire’s game of roulette, but using the rearing of the finest racing specimens in the world in doing so. “Anybody can do this,” Jeff said repeatedly throughout the afternoon. He had been there and done that. He repeated himself, “Anybody can do this.” Right! I’m thinking over his unabashed encouragement. And theoretically anyone can win the lottery! And yet, amidst all of the high stakes involved in this upper room of the world’s thoroughbred racing cartel, Jeff was spot on. Everyone was either making or losing a small fortune and all based on “knuckleheads”.