Lucky Breaks: Visiting a Kentucky Horse Farm

In 1984, a college friend from New York called to say he would like to fly into Cincinnati, visit me, and tour a horse farm in Lexington, Kentucky, in which he held a few shares. I looked forward to the days ahead, and I telephoned the farm to make arrangements. The manager told me that, on the day that fit best with our schedule, we could begin at 8:00 in the morning but would have to finish promptly at 10:00 because a private tour would be offered shortly after that hour.

My friend and I awoke early and drove to Lexington. The sun was shining brightly, illuminating a farm more glorious than a painting. Words can hardly describe the loveliness of the rolling pastures, the perfection of the board fencing, the beauty of the barns, the grace of the trees, and—best of all—the elegance of the horses descended from long lines of champions. Our guide led us from one barn to the next, describing in memorable detail the life stories of famous horses born and trained on the farm. My friend and I felt honored to be shown such kindness, let alone courtesy.

We were permitted to ask as many questions as we liked, and we never were hurried along or cut short in our conversation. We returned to our car at about 10:20—a little later than our prearranged departure time. I had opened the driver’s door and was standing nearby while my friend paused near the passenger door while we thanked the manager for such a wonderful tour. I noticed another vehicle coming up the long tree-lined drive to the farm; in the back of my mind, I thought that the private party was approaching and that we should be leaving.

The car pulled alongside mine and parked. A man stepped from the passenger door and gently unlatched the back door. While he held it open, a woman in a hat emerged. My friend and I recognized her instantaneously, for she was Her Majesty the Queen, Elizabeth II, Head of State of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealths. A huge smile spread across my friend’s face while I nodded slightly, not knowing what I should do. The Queen and the man who had held the door for her walked toward the manager who had bid us goodbye. Meanwhile, I sat behind the steering wheel until my friend had snapped his safety belt, then we drove away.

Queen Elizabeth II with William Farish III on Oct. 9, 1984

At Farish’s Lane’s End Farm in Woodford County

Courtesy KyPhotoarchive, Lexington HERALD-LEADER

After a stunned minute or two, my friend, still smiling, said, “We saw the Queen of England!” I could hardly believe what had happened! No wonder that we had been asked to conclude our visit at exactly 10:00 a.m.! We were not supposed to cross her path as we had done.

That evening, the news on my television mentioned that the Queen had visited a horse farm in Lexington earlier that day. My friend and I could verify that story!   

When I Met Ntozake Shange ... (Last Installment in This Series)

During my college years, the Women’s Liberation Movement, as it was often called, made headway surely but slowly. Most of the celebrities whose portraits I was asked to sketch were men. In the graduate creative writing courses that I took, there was considerable discussion about a breakthrough in feminism, in the portrayal of race, and in the very meaning of literature as a performance art: a breakthrough that was taking New York by storm! The author of the work was Ntozake Shange. The work was for colored girls who have considered suicide / when the rainbow is enuf.

Faculty who had witnessed the work at the New Federal Theatre or at the New York Shakespeare Festival praised it as utterly new. The theatrical event had begun in improvisations in San Francisco clubs and had taken form in the inventive mind of the young Shange, as she responded to the many movements that were sweeping the country. She created choreopoems that were arresting portrayals of black experiences with politics, with sex, with spirit, and with womanhood.

We graduate students were eager to meet Shange, but, for whatever reasons, she was not brought to campus. Here, I might be permitted a digression. When I finished my PhD and was hired at a university to do the job that I am still doing many years later, I was a newly minted professor serving on a departmental committee entrusted to invite well-known authors to speak to our campus. In committee, I mentioned that, in my creative writing workshop at my alma mater, I had been deeply moved by the first book of poetry by an author who had visited our class and had exhibited such charisma and such talent and such professionalism that she surely would become famous one day. Having never heard of her, my colleagues quickly moved on to consider other writers instead. The poet that I had recommended was Alice Walker. In less than a year, Walker published The Color Purple. Her fees rightly became too high for a departmental budget allocation.

My Portrait of Ntozake Shange

After a few years in my new job, I rejoiced at the announcement that Ntozake Shange was coming for a reading at my university. I was given the wonderful opportunity to draw a portrait of her for the publicity posters. To this day, I regard my art as the best portrait I ever drew.

I was also given the joyful duty to serve as one of two faculty members who would introduce Shange to the audience.

On the evening of Shange’s talk, I was so honored to meet Shange that my heart was racing. When I stood at the podium alongside the other member of the faculty, my knees were shaking so much that I thought I would pass out and fall. Too nervous for words, I thought my only choice was to read my introduction as fast as was humanly possible. I zoomed through my sentences at breakneck speed. My colleague leaned toward me and whispered, “Slow down.”

I would not slow down. I flew through my oh-so-carefully-prepared words. My colleague leaned closer and said, audibly, over the microphone, so that everyone in the hall could hear, “Slow DOWN!”

By then, I was almost to my last sentence. While I begrudgingly pronounced it more slowly, my fellow faculty member elbowed me out of the way. I was supposed to remain standing there during the other professor’s part of the introduction, but I knew I was too jittery for that! I gratefully took a seat in the front row and relished the unbelievable realization that I was sitting within a few feet of Shange.

When Shange took the podium, she wove a spell over her audience. We were alternately hypnotized by her voice and surprised by her ideas. So many adjectives came to mind: charming, engaging, challenging, artistic, poetic, musical!     

Shange’s talk was as transformative as her choreopoems had been. I felt suddenly aware of how much everyone had been missing for so many years when only male celebrities had stood at podiums declaiming their achievements to audiences of men and women.