Everything But Little Dogies

EAST is East and West is West, according to the old saying, but in a very definite way the twain have met in Hanover. It happened in 1956 when George Spurger, with his charming wife and family, arrived in town. There would not have been anything especially significant about this event, were it not for the fact that George is a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool Texan, given to cowboy 0boots and a ten-gallon hat. Two years later, a larger delegation from Texas arrived fifteen good, working stock horses. Thus began George and Vicki Spurger's Arrow "S" Ranch. Yup, a good chunk of Brenham, Texas, is here to stay.

The impact of this bit of transplanted Texas was not particularly marked in the College's program until the beginning of the present school year. Then the Physical Education Department included a horsemanship program in its fall curriculum. The entire setup of the course was left to George, marking the first time that the Department had given the responsibility for such a project to a person totally unconnected with the College. This excellent course ran throughout the term, a la Wild Bill Hickok.

Seven students made up the first class: Jim Cowen (Lakewood, Ohio), Lawrence Diehl (Kenilworth, 111.), Sturgis Dorrance (New York City), Percy Magness (Earle, Arkansas), Mike Prince (Pennsville, N.J.), and the two authors of this article, Warren Blackstone (a staid and solid New Englander from. Brookline, Mass.), and Pete Bostwick (from South Orange, N.J., whose heart belongs completely to the West). The members of this group hope to be remembered someday as the founding fathers of a full-scale riding program at Dartmouth.

No one will forget that first day of the course; it was a miserable, rainy, fall afternoon, and we were all prepared for a comfortable "chalk-talk" in the barn. It seems, however, that George was born back in the days (not really so long ago) when men were men and rain didn't signify anything except a cloudy day. As soon as we hopped out of the car, we were greeted by George's ever-present smile and a hearty "Howdy fellas" (this made my Boston blood boil, while Pete was right at home), "the horses are all saddled and ready to go." So, none too enthused, I mounted up and sat in the rain, waiting for something to happen. Pete was already halfway down the road, while I, only in the saddle for a minute, was already having ideas about never being able to walk again. The worst was yet to come.

George took the lead, looking a little like General Custer with a haircut, and off we went into the hills. Note that we didn't ride around in a ring, which would have been more than enough for my rather inexperienced rear end, but we took off into the mountains (I suppose they're hills, but they looked like mountains to me). So there we were, sheriff and posse, Pete helping George lead, and me trying to bring up the rear. I thought the uphill part was really OK, because I had that blessed little saddle-horn to hang onto, but I sure wondered what I was going to do going downhill. I was just about to holler for help when I noticed Pete trotting gaily along, looking as if he had learned to ride before he learned to walk. Then and there, coward that I am, I decided to die first rather than admit defeat, and believe me, fellow Easterners, I thought my time had come. A sixth sense (or average eyesight) must have told George of my agony. As we were about to descend into "the Valley of the Shadow of Death," he shouted the advice to me to "lean back in the saddle." So, leaning back until I was indistinguishable from the horse, and praying fervently, I began going down. I'm not sure whether it was the leaning or the praying that saved me, but I'm here to tell the story. About an hour later we got back to the ranch, soaked to the skin and then some, and Mrs. Spurger (Vicki) invited us in for coffee (boy, that was good).

As they all sat around (I'll stand, thank you) George talked about his plans for the future. "You betcha," he said. "In a week or two you'll all be out there loping around (I believe the English riders say cantering), weaving in and out in formation, and mounting and dismounting in motion like you were born in that saddle." Pete's eyes lit up, and I can't remember whether I laughed or cried probably a little of both.

Sure enough, though, in a little over a week George had us all out there doing all that. Pete had shown his horse, "Bunkie," who was boss, and my Pinto, "Tam," had shown me who was boss. Once you've mastered staying on the animal, there are still numerous ways to break your neck. One good way is barrelracing (running a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels for time), or dismounting at a lope, but no one did. We even formed our own little drill team, executing fancy patterns a la June Taylor on horseback. And for really bad days or just for the heck of it, George had rigged up a Western torture device in the loft of the barn - a bucking barrel. This is an oil drum with a saddle on it, suspended from the ceiling by four ropes. One lucky guy gets to sit in the saddle while his buddies yank on the ropes. You really get a ride to write home about from that thing - after a few seconds of that I'd confess to anything. With instruction in roping and riding and racing and a hundred other things, the term passed quickly, and we all found ourselves looking forward to this spring and more barrel races, drilling, bucking barrel, and the rest of George's machinations. Then, however, we would move to the advanced class.

The future was fast becoming the present. What were once wild dreams are beginning to look like real possibilities. Winter riding is rather impractical up here (although ski-joring was revived for Winter Carnival this year), so the longrange plans for the horsemanship program include an indoor arena. There is a great deal of interest in riding here, and with such facilities, horseback riding could surely take its proper place in the Dartmouth world of sport.

There was only one drawback. Since the program was developed too late to be included in the Phys Ed budget, each of us had to pay a steep fee to be a part of the course. This cut down the class to the size it was, and a great many people who were interested in riding were unable even to consider it. It is our hope that the Physical Education Department will incorporate this program in its budget so that more people will be able to take advantage of this wonderful opportunity. Even if the Department will only adopt part of the cost it will help a great deal. The cost of riding is inescapably high, and it will take such help to make it go. So, until the problem is solved, we'll all keep on dreaming, from Pete right on down to this here converted (or almost converted) Yankee.

Well, Warren was primarily responsible for the preceding article, so I'd like to throw in a few licks on my own. First of all, I'm not all as good as he made me seem, and he's not anywhere near as bad as he made himself seem. I would like to point out that this is not a kindergarten class where you plod around a ring on a sway-backed nag. George Spurger's horses are top stock animals, and he's a top instructor. He teaches saddling, grooming, and all the other points that go hand in hand with a knowledge of horses.

There are plans afoot now for reviving the Dartmouth Boot and Saddle Club, which we hope will be made a part of the Outing Club early in the spring. There are a great many of us who feel that horseback riding is an extremely worthwhile sport, and we sincerely hope to get it firmly established here at Dartmouth. If any who read this are at all interested in our idea, Warren and George and I join in inviting your comments or questions. If there's anything you'd like to suggest or like to know, or if you'd just like to shoot the breeze about a common interest, please write. Our addresses are: Pete Bostwick, 301 Hitchcock; Warren Blackstone, 103 South Mass.; and George Spurger, Arrow "S" Ranch, Ledge Road, Hanover, N.H.

The Dartmouth posse, saddled up at the Arrow S Ranch and ready to take to the Hanover hills in a new Rec Department activity.

On really bad days the student riders can exert themselves indoors with a "bucking barrel" devised by Director George Spurger.

Ski-joring, not seen in Hanover for some years, was revived this winter at Carnival time. George Spurger is riding the horse.