They Don't Make Those Men Anymore

Elmer Conrad

The day started as many do

I ran up the hill of the grounds

I'd leapt from bed, in fear and dread

that I would be late to the Downs

We had so many horses then

thirty one as I now recall

Only two men, to jog back then

 rushed to finish before the squall

 

We had six horses in that night

each hurried to finish in time

We'd bathed them all, cleaned each ones stall

life was hard back then in my prime

The rain was roiling from the west

black clouds had portended a storm

All were ready, stout and steady

for us this was just the norm

 

On that night between the races

I spoke with an old friend of mine

His the mystique, the most unique

of any horsemen you could find

His dad named him Elmer Conrad

he was a product of the old school

At eighty four, or maybe more

this young man thought he was so cool

 

As the oldest racing driver

I must admit he held great sway

In him I'd found, a lonesome sound

as he'd outlived all from his day

One night Elmer was in a wreck

his temper puffed a powder keg

There on the ground, a cracking sound

he lay picking bones from his leg

 

But this night he drove his rig home

it was late and the roads were wet

He'd had bad luck, and wrecked the truck

I'm sure he blew it off, "no sweat"

That was the last I saw of him

someone thought him too old to drive

With no great ease, took Elmer's keys

and with that his desire to thrive

Elmer hung himself in the barn

beside the home family owned

Looking back now, I wonder how

any of us could have atoned 

 Next day I heard my hero died

where-bye we'd lost a man so great

Scrawled on a note, that he had wrote

"I am the Master of my Fate"

 

He treated me as if his own

and for that I honor him too

By eighty four, he had done more

than any man I had ever knew

He was the last great gentleman

I had known of four and four score

There died our best, eternal rest

they don't make those men anymore

Author's Note

Men like Elmer led their lives by a code unlike the average man. Elmer Conrad was such a part of the track his was the template from which we were all created. He was the constitution and conscience of us all. The old ones respected him. But I admired him. The secrets he had learned followed him to the grave, as did our feelings and admiration for his spirit. As a young man I felt a little poorer for the loss of such a spirit. He had been the guest on the Carson show the year before as the oldest living driver. I remember watching him and thinking he is so cool!
I am not one who believes that finishing third is winning. I think we do our children a disservice by awarding them trophies for participation. It is the truth of life that excellence is the key to success. Life is meant to be hard. I use to look at Elmer and knew from the tip of his hat to me that he approved. He watched me work night and day. He saw with what deference I paid homage to my own father and in me I hoped he had found something of himself and the times that led to the man I so admired. He was one of a kind.
May God Rest His Soul

Reviews

[Brother Rooster]

Holy moley. Jeewhizz. Jaw dropping. This poem is like being hit by giant hammer through a pillow. It took my breath away. The imagery, the sense of nostalgia. This is so far my fav Tate Morgan work. It's inspiring in its briliance. You should be out there, Tate. Your works touches people and...well...you should be on the cover of TIME. Great. Really great.

[Tate Morgan]

thank you rooster

[jacob erin-cilberto]

ps

i used to go to the Duquoin state fair...and i actually worked it selling programs for the harness races...the Hambeltonian used to be there.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i had read this...digested, came back...still wondering what causes people to commit suicide...especially those who seem to be kicking along just fine...

he sounds like someone i wish i would have known...

you paint such a portrait (albeit sad) of this man...

jacob

[Robbie~xoxo~]

I'm so sorry to know that a great man passed away that way... So sad and lonely...

"Fate" may have been his enemy at that point for being coaxed into leaving this earth, but it seems as if he lived a full life, leaving a great impression on you, precious Tate...
What a special bond you formed with him, kindred souls are rare and I know you will always cherish him, as he does you... Great write my friend!

[Holly Mason]

Master of his fate-that he was
to be so adventuress in life must have conquered many quests
to have a role-model such as this adds to your journey you have shared your memories beautifully
thank you for sharing

[VALORMORE DE PLUME]

I know what you mean by they don't make men like that any more. My father was one of those who set the pace for his competitors. As a child, I never actually knew what made him tic. Though I sertainly knew what ticked him off. He never said I love you. It wasn't until I became a man that I discovered, he said it every day by the way that he lived.
I have had the good fortune to have had aquaintance with several such men. The dying out breed of self made icons in their chosen field. They were a testament to a time in our nations history when; integrety, courage, preseverance, and attention to detail, were the measure of a man. You too my friend are one of those men that they don't make any more. Thank you for sharing your passions about life, and those who live it to the fullest.

[James Hanna-Magill]

PS I had forgotten you are already out there. In two senses, take this as it comes, get out there again:

1) Another book and with a wider audience; and

2) Out the front door. As many writers, I am one, we need to drop the laptop at times and breathe the fresh air God gave us to enjoy daily in our one shot at life.

J. H-M

[James Hanna-Magill]

Dear Tate

Strange thing to say perhaps, but when I read you, I feel honoured in a way to enjoy the privilege, rather more than anything I feel I have to offer you in return.

In reviewing at times I find I learn more than I have to teach. This applies especially to you.

Getting down to the job:

Style: This moves at times between rhyme and out of it. Sometimes, I feel it is poetry in prose and at others it isn't.

But does it really matter? Does it weaken the piece? Not really. Not in my book.

But if you did want to reflect on it a little, you might focus a little more on keeping the rhyming going in those few places where it stops and sounds a little more like a story.

Genuine thought from me to you to consider.

But I wouldn't worry about it too much. There is too much else which is flawless about this poem to get too hung up about it.

Accessibility and colour: Your author's note gives the reader a helpful view of what you are trying to say and its personal meaning to you. That enhances the piece and lets us into the head of the writer. But even without it, I can feel the emotion, the link you felt with this man. However I will come back to this point at the end.

From a British Irishman to an American, I can see the shades of US life in this piece. It is inspiring, when you are taken out of your own world and placed firmly into someone else's. Writing will either emote you because you identify with it or precisely because you don't. You and this piece fall into the latter category for me and I feel the colour of a life begun in the 'Wild West' in the horse-racing world.

I don't mean to cheapen this piece by an allusion, but it's like being lifted out of your own world as in the world of Harry Potter and Hogwarts. I don't mean fantasy. I just mean different for me and I am sure for so many other readers where the US, horses, life-style, you name it, do not form part of our daily lives.

Content and emotional reaction: I fear this is always my thing and (my 'bag' to put it in US language) where I can write a book (if I haven't already here) in reviewing any piece.

Let me try to keep this as brief as possible (though the words brief and James Hanna-Magill never seem to sit easily in the same sentence unless the word 'not' is added). I do self-mockery.

1) You build this up like a story. There is a beginning a middle and an end. Perhaps that is why I say poetry in prose. It lends charm I do not often see in regular poetry;

2) You give us a flavour of the rough tough daily environment you lived. The washing down of the horses. Although you don't mention it overtly (perhaps you should) the implicit smell of the stables;

3) You get us hooked into the life of one man, whose wisdom and own ways, whose longevity makes him a special person in your life. You make him alive and real and then you lead us slowly into the tragedy of his life and death at the end of which, I was moved. I hope (I never look at anyone else's review when I review) indeed I defy anyone not to be moved by it.

Final comment. This is something that concerns me about my own writing as much as yours or anyone else's on here. When we write be it poetry or prose, we may deliberately wish to leave a mystery in it. We allow a level of access or several levels which some or all of the readers will be able to access to a greater or lesser extent. But there is often a very personal level which is either stated in the piece, or deliberately hidden.

Here you take us most of the way in the poem alone, but it is with the author's note that the piece gets the full impact. If we turn a poem into an anthology; if we do the same with short stories, the mechanism of revealing the personal and making it evident is not obvious, unless we choose to add a comment with each piece.

Perhaps a novel is easier, because it is a whole piece of writing and on the inside or outside cover we can give a summary of what it is all about without giving away the plot.

My commentaries can be too long. But if they are, it is either because I am bipolar, a mood disorder, where my emotions are easily moved, or because writing has always been my passion.

I can ask questions; perhaps the right onse; I can even I hope suggest answers. But sometimes I get stumped.

Setting all that aside, and not wishing to pun for a pun's sake - another accomplished piece from The Tate 'stable'. You are a man with emotion, who has clearly suffered much pain in his life.

For many writers (I am one) we find the best way of working it out of our system is words on a page.

But in the end, as I have done, we may realise with pain comes wisdom and with wisdom comes the opportunity to teach others something we never knew and thereby enhance the lives of all.

My opinion? You need to get your collected poems out on the streets in an anthology and get paid for it. You deserve it.

I intend to use every contact and any mechanism I have to hand, including several big names I know to do the same with 'Split'.

Even if in the end I become a w***e and have to sell my soul to the devil.

'Split my novel on here is a passion and a moral cause. I will die trying to get it out there.

Keep going, brother, friend.

I am with you all the way.

I wish you success in writhing.

And I think it is high time you achieved it.

With friendship as ever

James

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Very moving. I can relate to this. I have horses and compete at shows, so you get to know and see so many interesting people...after 15 years showing, the warm up arenas are still filled with the same trainers and youth riders who have grown up to be trainers. There are people like this in my world, so I can relate to the Elmers of the world, there is a lot that can be learned from them. Sad story, but beautifully penned.

[Dinesh Sairam]

I think everyone, young or old has something to learn from Elmer Conrad. Happiness and Zeal are valuable gifts. And if someone could find these even as old as this, there's nothing much better you can expect.

The fact that he committed suicide maybe tells that he had some hidden secrets. Then again, what you feel hardly matters. It only matters what you conceive, or express. It takes a fine man to differentiate between the two, and our friend here seems to be exceptionally qualified.

I also liked your tip-of-the-hat to David. Now that I think of it, you guys are one of a kind on your own too. Keep writing.