The New Guard

Randy was on probation with the staff for the first few years after he took over Cactus Flower. He had some big shoes to fill. His father, Henry, was a brilliant horse breeder, a clever businessman, a good boss and a pillar of the community. Although I had known Randy almost all his life, I had no idea how he would be as a boss. As a child, Randy as a curious little kid who pestered everyone with questions when he wasn't getting into some kind of trouble. On one memorable afternoon, he was driving me up the wall with questions about the printer cable I was repairing. "What does that wire do? How hot is that soldering iron? What would happen if you ran a thousand volts through that cable?" Each question overlapped the last, leaving no room for an answer. After half an hour of this, I interrupted forcibly to mention that one of the grooms had spotted the two headed snake in the hay loft.
The legend of the two headed snake was a favorite around the barn ever since one of the trainers ran screaming from the barn claiming that the deformed serpent was after her. Snakes are an inevitable feature of places with so many mice which, in turn are an inevitable feature of barns, where so much grain is stored. Catching the two headed snake became the goal of an army of kids that hung around between riding lessons or while waiting for a mother or sister to finish riding. Henry added to the fun by nailing a silver dollar to the tack room door and stating in his best Ahab imitation that whoever caught the two headed snake alive could have the dollar.
Randy jumped at my information like a pirate with a treasure map. I quickly forgot all about him as I soldered color coded wires to a Centronics connector. The low voltage signals used by printer interfaces meant that every connection had to be perfect. I used a large magnifying glass to make up for my bad eyesight, a well practiced hand and an ancient soldering gun that hummed ominously as the tip heated. I watched the last bit off molten lead and tin solidify into a neat shiny bond before breathing a sigh of relief that I had not been burned or electrocuted. I fixed the connector cases into place and was snaking the cable between the computer and the new daisy wheel printer when I heard someone a shout, "Fire!" from the barn.
Randy had gotten bored hunting snakes and had moved on to burning strands of hay with a magnifying glass. One smoldering pile of grass burst into a small flame that greedily spread through the dry grass. The fire quickly grew beyond his nine year old ability to put out. Fortunately, horses make excellent smoke detectors. The uneasy sounds running through the stalls alerted a rider who saw the flames and made the shout that brought one of the grooms and me running. We grabbed a few watering buckets and had the fire out before it could cause any real damage.
Henry took Randy to the woodshed. Literally. Randy emerged later with tears in his eyes and a slight limp. For the next month he performed extra chores around the barn without complaint. That was years ago and although Randy had matured in the intervening years, the memory of that kid was a big part of how the staff thought about him when he took over. Would he be a great success like his father, or would he burn the place to the ground? The staff adopted a wait and see attitude.
The first real test of Randy's character came when Rhonda showed up to apply for a job as a trainer. Rhonda was 17 or 18 years old, although it was hard to tell through the heavy black eye make-up and lipstick. She wore a black hoodie over a lacy black blouse that ended just above the waistband of a pair of tight checkered slacks. When she reached over Randy's desk to hand him her application, the hoodie and blouse raised up just enough in the back to reveal a image featuring curly scrolls and broken hearts. One of the teenage riders refers to this type of tattoo as a "Tramp stamp."
Randy looked over the standard application form for a moment before giving the young girl his full attention. He had one question, "What do you care about?" Rhonda answered with a shrug. "There's nothing that you think about all the time? No music that you listen to everyday? A style that matters to you?" He waved at her outfit as he said this last. Rhonda scowled a bit as if her carefully selected outer appearance was the last thing in the world she expected to be judged by. Randy sat back in his chair and let her think of an answer.
I have to admit that I got a bit choked up at the sight of Randy patiently waiting for the answer to a what to anyone else would be an irrelevant question. His appearance was all his mother. The dark hair, deep brown eyes, thin hands and compact frame, all Jenny. But the patient gaze the genuine interest in the person sitting before him, that was Henry. Henry could find the essential qualities of a person or a horse just by looking into their eyes. He had an uncanny knack for finding the offbeat character who, although a bit too strange for the normal world, had the skills and attitudes that made them perfect for Cactus Flower. When I first started working here, I hated the seedy looking grooms and antisocial trainers that seemed to come out of mental hospitals from miles around to plague me. Many years later, while seeing some of my own quirks reflected in the behavior of my children, I realized that I came to appreciate that if it weren't for Henry's predilection for outcasts and weirdoes, I would be unhappily trying to get along in a world that had little room for the unusual.
Rhonda shifted in her seat as she grew more uncomfortable with the expectant silence. Just when she couldn't stand it any longer, Randy lifted an eyebrow. "My drawing, I guess," she answered as surprised as anyone at the answer.
"You should bring some by sometime," said Randy with a smile. "I'd love to see them." His interest made Rhonda draw back shyly. "For me, these horses are like your drawings. They are what I do, how I make my mark on the world, see?" Rhonda nodded her head. I thought about the graphics library I was so proud of. By their works shall you know them. "Do you think you can treat my horses like you want people to treat your drawings?" Rhonda kept nodding. She was hired. Not a word was spoken about her experience, previous job performance or expected wages. Henry would be proud of his boy.