August 26, 2006

World Equestrian Games Journals from Aachen
Mack's Musings
By Father Mack (a.k.a.: Father Larry David McCormick)

“The Usefulness of a Clean Hankie”
Special to Dressage Daily #15

My maternal grandfather – on whose farm my older brother (Jimmy) and many of my cousins and I were privileged to spend countless happy weeks during the summer – worked hard and long to reinforce the sound upbringing our several families pressed upon us. Grandpa, of course, repeated the usual familial truisms about looking both ways before crossing the road, always wearing clean underwear, and the like. In addition to these maxims, however, Grandpa offered us advice at which many people my age marvel when I repeat it.

Of these principles I will treat you to only two; the latter having direct bearing upon the dressage contest whose conclusion approaches. “Always carry a pen knife.” While this adage gets me into all sorts of trouble when I go to board an airliner or enter the local courthouse with its metal detectors, these are nuisances well worth the bearing. No one else in my department at the university is properly equipped to remove a splinter from someone’s finger, and none of them can cut those pesky plastic straps which bind boxes of photocopying paper. Thank you, Grandpa!

The second dictum is this: “A gentleman always carries a clean handkerchief.” The emphasis upon “clean” was soon explained to snotty-nosed boy children. That neatly folded (and usually properly pressed by our Moms) piece of cloth in our pockets was not intended primarily for the care of our own proboscis. Rather, it was tucked away, safe and always clean, for the eventuality that a person of the fairer sex should have need of it.

Grandpa came rushing into my mind at the conclusion of the Grand Prix Special on the second to last day of the dressage competition as the victor, Isabell Werth, stood upon the podium dobbing tears from her eyes with the edges of her gloves. I wanted with all my heart to leap over the fence, dash across the expanse of grass, and proffer her the white hankie tucked in my trouser pocket.

The lachrymose moment has to have touched the hearts of even the most Scrooge-like persons in the stadium. Mind you, Ms. Werth is no fragile flower. This is a lady who can persuade a half-ton of critter to do her bidding. She earns her livelihood managing a stable, training thick-skulled boys such as myself and equally recalcitrant ladies in the sport and art of dressage, and buying and selling the occasional horse to boot. But standing there upon the world stage, flanked by Anky van Grunsven and Andreas Helgstrand, Isabell’s emotions overflowed into tears of joy and pride. It would have been an honor to offer my bandana for her use.