by Dan Rosenberg

As hard as this may be to believe today, when I went to my first Keeneland yearling sale with Clovelly Farm in 1973, I was surprised to see that sales prep for most of the farms consisted of bringing the yearlings in about a week before the sale, giving them baths, trimming their feet, and perhaps pulling their manes. Showing the yearlings for most farms was a scruffy guy from the farm in a filthy T-shirt dragging a yearling along behind him.

At Clovelly, Lars la Cour had us grooming each yearling one hour a day according to a specific regimen. Yearlings were hand-walked 45 minutes a day as fast as we could possibly walk. We had a show for Lars every afternoon during which he would check their coats. We would discuss their condition and their attitudes, making adjustments to feed or routine as indicated, and we and the yearlings would get lessons in showing.

Lars insisted on a clean uniform. He insisted we walk at the yearling's shoulder with a loose shank, head up, smiling, and making eye contact with the person looking at the horse. He taught us to make wide turns, to turn the horse away from us so that we did not get between the horse and the looker, and to walk in a straight line back to the looker. He taught us to square a horse and to move from side to side with the looker.

All this is standard at sales now, but back then it was not. Only a few farms used these methods, and they stood out. When I started at Three Chimneys Farm in 1978, it was still not the norm, and we stood out and began to make a name for ourselves from what Lars had taught me.

Responsibility without authority

Lars once said, "I'm going to throw you to the wolves." He gave me an assignment as team leader to motivate and guide a team on projects, but without a title, rank, or authority. It was difficult and painful, but in the end I gained the respect of my co-workers and learned a lot about leadership. Lars called me into his office one day and said: "There's an opening for a broodmare manager at Calumet Farm. I've called Melvin Cinnamon and made an appointment for you to have an interview. Go home, take a shower, and get over there."

Melvin was a tough old hardboot. I was scared of him, but he hired me and taught me. He also opened a lot of doors for me. Anybody and everybody visited Calumet, and Melvin introduced me to them all. I told Melvin I had been invited to a Thoroughbred Club of America function and asked for an afternoon off. His response was: "What do you mean you've been invited? Why aren't you a member?" The next week I received a notice in the mail that my application for membership had been approved. Another time, Melvin told me I had been nominated to be secretary-treasurer of the Kentucky Thoroughbred Farm Managers' Club. "I don't want to be secretary-treasurer," I said. "Too bad. I'm counting the votes, and you're going to win."

Two rules

I had been on the job a matter of weeks. I could not put my finger on it, but one of the mares seemed not quite right. I put her in a paddock and told the short-shift night watchman to keep a close eye on her and to let me know immediately if she showed any change. I went home and took a shower, and before I got out of the shower the night watchman called and said the mare shuddered and fell over dead.

Not believing this could be possible, I hurriedly dressed and went to the barn. Sure enough, she was dead. I went back to the house and told my wife we could stop unpacking because I was about to be fired.

I called Melvin and told him what had happened, which he took surprisingly well. The next day while waiting for the necropsy report, I was beating myself up pretty badly over what I could have or should have done differently.

Melvin said to me, "Son, there are two rules in this business. Rule number one is that horses die. Rule number two is that farm managers can't change rule number one."

Not that Melvin was callous. Far from it. He dreaded euthanizing horses even when it was clear it was the only humane option. But he had been around the farm long enough to know. As it turned out, the mare that died suddenly could not have been saved no matter what we might have tried. But all of us who care about horses hate to see them die, and it is natural to be despondent and to second-guess ourselves. I hope Melvin's words have been a source of comfort to the people working for me when dealing with a loss.

There is nothing new under the sun

Melvin was an older man when I worked for him. He had been around, and he had seen a lot. There were a lot of "new" ideas floating around about how to raise horses, and in my youthful enthusiasm I was ready to try them all. Melvin would say, "Oh yeah, I remember years ago when so-and-so tried that. It didn't work." Most "new" ideas have been tried and rejected before. While I strongly believe in innovation, I did learn from him to take new ideas with a grain of salt and to consider their merits carefully. Sometimes, it's a good idea to not be the first to try something and not to be the last.

Learn how to read your boss

Melvin told me we would start teasing the next morning at 5 o'clock. At about ten minutes to 5, I saw Melvin drive by my house on the way to the barn. I jumped in my truck and was there a few minutes before 5. Melvin was obviously angry. The next morning I was there at 4:45. When I arrived at 4:45 the following morning, Melvin was already there and was obviously angry. The next morning I was there at 4:30, and the next day Melvin was already there and angry at 4:30. We backed it all the way up to 4 a.m. before I figured out that Melvin wanted to be there first, and he wanted to be angry. We went back to 5.

Making the vet list

When we finished teasing, Melvin would read off the vet list for the morning. He noticed I was checking off from my list rather than writing down his. After a while, he asked to see my list rather than read off his. Soon, I was given complete responsibility of not only making the vet list but being in charge while rounds were made.

Dr. Bill McGee was the attending veterinarian at both Clovelly and Calumet, and so I had the opportunity and great pleasure of working with and learning from him for six years. I was always asking questions. So much so that when I went to work at Calumet, his advice to me was: "Act like you know something and quit asking so damned many questions."

But I didn't quit asking, and he didn't quit answering. Dr. McGee taught me to trust nature. So many times he would crouch in the corner of the stall for 15 or 20 minutes and then say, "Let's just keep an eye on her." He explained to me that parturition was not a matter of "opening up a sack and dumping the foal out" and explained in detail all the things that had to happen in sequence for a successful birth.

I realized the miracle of foaling is not that things go wrong so rarely, but that it ever works at all. Once, I woke up Dr. McGee in the middle of the night and told him: "This mare is foaling, the foal is upside down, and I can't turn it. I've gotten her up five times, and the foal still won't turn." His response was: "Get her up a sixth time." The foal turned. Both professionally and personally, Bill McGee did more for me than I can ever say.

Learning the business side of the horse business

From Calumet, I went to work for Robert Clay at Three Chimneys. Robert told me in our initial interview that he had begun with 100 acres and a dream of developing the farm into a world-class commercial operation. I knew within five minutes this was the man I wanted to work for.  He also turned out to be a great teacher. Robert taught me how to run a business. He sent me to a one-week management seminar at the Harvard Business School. He involved me in strategic thinking from the beginning, formally meeting to set goals and map out a plan to achieve those goals.

He taught me about branding and marketing, which I had never before considered. He taught me about financial oversight and how to develop and manage budgets. Most importantly, he challenged me constantly to learn and to grow and to take on new roles and new responsibilities. You cannot ask for a better teacher than that.

Some people may be self-taught, but not me. From the beginning I've been fortunate to have had some of the best teachers possible. I credit them with any success I may have achieved and hope to thank them and credit them by passing these lessons on.

Dan Rosenberg, owner of Rosenberg Thoroughbred Consulting, is a consultant to "Farm Management News" and a regular columnist