Mary called me the night she received the note and thanked me. She told me that the note made her cry. Her marriage had been an unhappy one, she had two young girls, and she didn’t know what to do.
I told her, “Mary, I want to be with you more than anyone else in the whole world.”
We started spending hours together, talking and getting to know each other. Mary knew quite a bit about me even before we’d met because I had a public life. She’d heard about Adrian and some of the things I’d fought through, but as we got to know each other better and began to trust each other, I shared with her things about myself that I normally don’t share with anybody. Because I spend a lot of time talking into a microphone, people assume that it’s not easy to hurt my feelings. It is. I’m just as sensitive as the next person, but it’s hard for people to see that in my line of work.
I didn’t say anything about Mary to my friends in Montana yet, but I did tell my foster mom about her. I told Betsy how much it meant to me to know this person, and I asked her to pray for me that one day we would be together because Mary was the person I always wanted to be with.
The turning point in our relationship came when I put on a clinic at the Pass Creek Ranch outside Parkman, Wyoming.
The students and I were all staying at a little guest house on the ranch. One night I ran out of chewing tobacco (I still had that unsavory habit), and I was headed for the Parkman Bar on the border of the Crow Indian Reservation to buy some. Mary, who was there with her sister Mindy, said she wanted to ride along with me.
As soon as we got into the truck, Mary asked in her direct way, “So, Buck, what are we going to do about this?”
I blurted out, “You could spend the rest of your life with me, and then it wouldn’t be a problem. I’ve loved you for a long time, Mary.”
She looked at me for a moment, then she smiled and said, “Me, too.”
It was all that needed to be said. I don’t know if the Parkman Bar was five miles away or five hundred. The moment was forever.
After we got back to the ranch, we walked out to check on the horses. Until that point, we had never even held hands. But there in the Wyoming moonlight, with the world spinning around us, we held each other and kissed.
The divorce wasn’t particularly friendly when it came, but it wasn’t as bad as some. Even though I think Rob respected me, it was hard on him, and it was an adjustment for Kristin and Lauren. They were five and seven at the time, and at first they were confused that their mother wanted to be with me instead of their dad. She had always been a wonderful mother, and the girls knew she loved them, but it wasn’t easy for them, either.
Mary came out to Montana once or twice a month and stayed with me at Indian Creek in the Madison Valley. We spent most of the rest of the time on the phone. Our phone bills were close to the national debt.
I proposed while we were sitting on a bridge over Indian Creek in Ennis, Montana, where I was doing a clinic. Mary was again direct. She asked, “What do you intend to do about this?” She meant our relationship.
I replied, “I intend to spend the rest of my life with you.”
That is how it happened, on a summer evening on the Madison River, under a moonlit sky … the whole nine yards.
Mary introduced me to her girls over the July Fourth holiday in Jackson Hole. We rode the gondola up to the top of the Tetons—Kristin called it the gondelo. I felt strange at first, because I didn’t know anything about children. All I knew was about being single, but we had a lot of fun.
I had met her parents, Bill and Lorraine Bower, in Boulder a few months after we started going out. Bill had been a fairly well-known aviator during World War II. He was one of Jimmy Doolittle’s raiders flying B-25s, and he was part of the raid on Tokyo that was America’s response to Pearl Harbor. We got along just fine.
Her close friends were all for us, and so were her brothers Bill and Jimmy. Mindy was excited that we were going to be brother and sister-in-law, but some of Mary’s other friends probably thought she’d lost her mind. She was a beautiful model who had been around some fairly influential people. She knew just about everybody in Boulder, and here she was running off with a cowboy. I’m sure they were shocked, but Mary and I were so consumed with love for each other that, quite honestly, neither one of us gave a damn what anybody thought. If they couldn’t accept what we had decided to do with our lives, then they weren’t really our friends after all.
Buck, center, with some of the women in his life. From left: Mary’s sister Mindy Bower—a superb horsewoman—Mary’s daughter Lauren, Mary holding daughter Reata, and Mary’s daughter Kristin.
Mary and I were married July 6, 1992, in an outdoor ceremony at my foster parents’ ranch. Mary’s girls, her folks, and my foster mother, Betsy, were there, along with most of our closest friends. They had seen us go through some hard times, and they were thrilled for us. They seemed to feel we were getting the happy ending that we’d both been waiting for.
Kristin and Lauren were flower girls. Instead of having a specific best man and maid or matron of honor, we wanted all our friends and loved ones to play that part. Preacher Dave conducted the ceremony. As it turned out, we were the last couple he married. Not long after our wedding, he quit being a preacher and moved down to Oklahoma where he started selling mobile homes.
We lived around Bozeman for the first couple of years after we were married. We bought a house on five acres outside of town and kept several horses. I was busy doing clinics, and at first Mary found having me on the road as much as I was somewhat difficult. She’s learned to handle it pretty well since, but maybe that’s because a little bit of me goes a long way.
I began learning how to be a stepdad. Kids have a forgiveness for their real parents that they don’t have for stepparents. That means there are two different playbooks, two different sets of rules. Kids are almost looking for you to become the wicked stepfather or stepmother. That validates situations so that kids will have a scapegoat, which gives them a license to misbehave.
My primary object was to become friends with Lauren and Kristin. That’s how I learned that you pick your battles more carefully, and there are times you have to let go. Things have worked out well at our house: the girls are straight-A students and model citizens.
That goes back to what I’ve said: whether you’re dealing with a kid or an adult or a horse, treat them the way you’d like them to be, not the way they are now.
I taught the girls to ride, and Mary and I rode with them some, but they never really got into horses. Their real passion has always been schoolwork, which is a full-time job. I’m really proud of them, and I love them as I do my own daughter, Reata.
Mary got pregnant in the summer of 1993, the year we acquired the Houlihan Ranch in December. We had looked at some other places, but Mary liked the country around Sheridan, Wyoming. We heard that the ranch was available when I was doing a clinic in North Carolina. The property was a thousand acres of grassland and rolling hills, and when I got a descriptive package from the Realtor handling the sale, it looked like a good deal. Worried that the ranch would be sold by the time I got back, I made an offer sight unseen. Buying property that way can be risky, but it turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made.
The house was old, but we remodeled it according to our tastes. I built corrals and a lot of new fencing myself, and the work I did on The Horse Whisperer helped pay for an indoor arena so that I’ve got a place to ride in the winter. That makes a real difference when the snow is coming in sideways at seventy miles an hour.
Our newborn daughter was named Reata, which in Spanish means a rawhide rope “of great strength”; Mary and I loved the sound of the word. Reata was born on March 30, 1994. I was in Malibu, California, doing a clinic. I had arranged to take time off so I could be present when the baby came, but Mary delivered a week early, and I just couldn’t get home fast enough. I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life that I wasn’t there to see her birth.
It�
��s generally accepted that if you’re in the pattern of being abused by one or both parents, that’s what you’re going to do when you grow up. I don’t agree. I believe the deciding factor all boils down to free will. People have the choice. Self-discipline prevents that streak from coming out. You need to be vigilant to guard against a slow growth in the wrong direction. You need to be cognizant of how you behave toward your wife and children. Not a day goes by when you don’t think about how you want to be and how you don’t want to be. It’s always in the back of your mind, a burden that you carry.
Mary runs the ranch when I’m on the road doing clinics. We keep approximately forty horses and, depending on the summer grass, we run anywhere from one hundred to six or seven hundred steers. We ship in the fall, and Mary can do it all. She’s a good hand and resourceful, too. She takes care of the horses; she moves the cattle when it’s time to change pastures; and when there’s a tractor job that needs doing, she jumps on and does it. When I’m at home, we work together; but when I’m on the road, she’s on her own. It’s like the old saying goes: “You never want to have a bigger ranch than what your wife can run.”
It’s hard being on the road so much of the time. I miss my family a lot when I’m gone, and it seems unfair that I have to be away from them as often as I am. Mary and I remain absolutely committed to each other, but I have a calling. I have a mission, and I have to fulfill it.
12
Whisperings
THE TERM “HORSE WHISPERER” was first used in ancient Scotland, but since the novel and the movie, the phrase has been used to describe trainers who have developed methods of working respectfully and gently with horses. It defines what I do for a living. It’s not a bad definition, but it’s incomplete and somewhat misleading.
I observe the horse, learn from him, and remember the experience. Then I try to find a way to use what I’ve learned to fit in with what I’d like the horse to do. These are the techniques that I learned from men like Tom Dorrance, Ray Hunt, and others who were using them long before I ever did.
I can’t say enough about Tom Dorrance and Ray Hunt. Tom is a genius. He has spent his entire life observing horses and learning from them. He knows them inside and out, and he loves them more than any man I have ever known. He’s in his nineties now, and he remains as curious about the horse as he ever was. His curiosity and his search for perfection are the cornerstones of his wisdom. Ray Hunt, who has followed in Tom’s footsteps, is, in my opinion, the greatest horseman alive.
In 1994, I learned that a writer by the name of Nicholas Evans in London was trying to get in touch with me. He was doing research for a fictional character in a novel who would be based on the concepts I use when working with horses. He had called friends of mine around the country; his phone messages followed me from clinic to clinic. They said that he’d heard about my horsemanship techniques, and he wanted a chance to meet me.
Nick also called my ranch and told Mary he was having a hard time getting me to call him back. Mary made a suggestion. “If you want to talk to Buck Brannaman, you ought to go to one of his clinics and spend some time with him. If he feels you’re for real, he’ll help you get the information you want.”
Nick took her at her word. He flew out to Novato, California, where I was doing a clinic and spent a few days with me. He watched me work with horses and listened to me talk about my methods. He told me his interest was in formulating the essence of a fictional character who would eventually become Tom Booker in the novel.
Nick is a very nice guy, and I got along with him well. But I’ve been on the road for many years, and in that time I’ve had more smoke blown up my backside than you can imagine. Lots of people were “going to write a book.” Nick said he was going to write a novel. I left it with, “Well, Nick, good luck to you. I hope I’ve been able to help you and that it all works out.”
Nick took his notes, we said our farewells, and he went on his way.
The next thing I knew, The Horse Whisperer was selling about a zillion copies. For those of you who haven’t read the book or seen the movie, The Horse Whisperer tells the story of a fourteen-year-old New York girl named Grace and her horse Pilgrim who are injured in a terrible riding accident. When Grace’s high-powered mom, Annie, realizes that in order to help her daughter recover, she has to help Pilgrim, too, she gets in touch with Tom Booker, a cowboy and horseman who is famous for his ability to work with troubled horses. Tom lives on a ranch in Montana where Annie takes Grace and Pilgrim. After Tom begins making progress with Grace and Pilgrim, he is able to help Annie with her own problems as well.
Nick called me a few months after the book was published. This time he actually got ahold of me, which is no minor miracle when I’m on the road. He thanked me for all the help that I’d given him, and he told me he had sold the movie rights. After we had chatted for a while, I congratulated him on his success, and we wished each other the best. Again, I thought that was the end of it.
About a year later, in the spring of 1996, I was doing a clinic in Ojai, California. A young woman I’d seen at several of my California clinics introduced me to a fellow named Patrick Markey. He had long hair, and he was wearing jeans and a pair of shoes that reminded me of the old earth shoes from the 1970s. I was a little surprised to learn he was a movie producer; I thought that all producers went around wearing suits. A lot I knew about Hollywood producers.
After we said our hellos, I excused myself and went over to the arena, where I’d seen a young filly had been kicking. I put a rope on one of her hind feet so I could work on her “giving.” I’d pick her foot up and set it down, and she was gradually getting better.
“Tell us all about what you’re doing there, Buck,” the woman with Patrick said.
“Well, I’m just trying to get this horse a little better about her feet. She’s kind of touchy, especially around her hind feet, and that can be kind of dangerous for both of us.”
Patrick didn’t look like a man who cared about horses, but he was really paying close attention. Then he came over during the lunch break and asked, “What do you think of The Horse Whisperer?”
I told him I liked it and that I was very happy for Nick Evans’s success. Nick was a good guy and deserved it.
“What about the horse scenes in the book?” Patrick went on. “I mean, how did you feel Nick did in interpreting what you do?”
“Well, Nick wasn’t really trying to teach people how to work with horses. That wasn’t his intention. So you can’t look at the book as instructional material.” I thought the book was a love story with a main character who happened to be a horseman. I liked it because Nick had written something that was a little different from what I typically read. “I can’t criticize Nick for not being able to portray the action with the horses exactly.” If someone wanted to hang Nick Evans for being a horseman, they’d be hanging another innocent man.
Patrick continued, “Well, what would you change about the horse scenes in the book?”
“If you want to know the truth, I’d start over.”
He laughed, and said, “Would you be interested in giving us some advice on this movie?”
“Yeah, sure,” I nodded, thinking that all the advice he would want would amount to a few short phone calls from a hotel room wherever I was giving a clinic at the time. We shook hands, and he went on his way.
Little did I know that the film was to be a Robert Redford production and it was already under way.
As they say in Hollywood: “Dissolve to.”
A few weeks later I got another call from Patrick. He wanted to set up a meeting at Mr. Redford’s offices in Santa Monica. I was still in California doing clinics, so this worked for me time-wise.
I told Bill Reynolds that Redford’s people had contacted me about the movie and asked him if he would play agent for me. Bill is a businessman with a background in the advertising and western apparel worlds, and he loves horses. After we’d gotten to know each other and become friends, he began sponsoring
some of my clinics in California, and he also partnered with me on several horse-training video and book projects.
My concern, and Bill’s, too, was that we get the horse scenes right so that they honored my way of life and what I do for a living. On that basis, we agreed that the movie could be a great opportunity.
Quite a few people were on hand for the meeting. Bill and I were there along with technical advisers for other areas of the film. The offices contained western sculpture, Navajo rugs, and overstuffed leather couches, the sort of furnishings you might see in a house in Santa Fe.
When an assistant took me into Robert Redford’s office, he was on the phone, and when he got off, he said, “Hi, I’m Bob.”
We talked some about horses and where we lived, and it turned out that we had some mutual friends. I knew Mike Shinderling, his ranch manager in Utah, and Tom and Meredith Brokaw had been friends of mine for many years and friends of his as well.
After we chatted for a bit, Bob asked, “So, Buck, what do you think of the script? Is there something you can help us with?”
I said, “Well, if I was going to be on the payroll, I’d kind of want to know if you want me to just help you re-create what’s in the book, or if you really want to know what I think.”
He smiled. “I want to know what you think.”
“If you want to get it right for the people who know this approach to horses, I’d rewrite the horse scenes and start over.”
My response surprised Bob a little bit, but he understood what I was saying. He is a stickler for accuracy, and he wants to know that what he’s doing is real. A River Runs Through It was a graceful, elegant film in part because Bob didn’t phony up the fly-fishing. He took the time to get it right.
One of his assistants came in to say, “Bob, it’s time to have the others come in. I’ll go get them.”
Bob replied, “No, I’ll get them.” It wasn’t a big thing at all, but I was impressed. He got up, went out into his waiting area, and greeted everybody individually. Bob Redford was just a real outgoing fellow, friendly, polite, and very respectful. There was some real quality to this man, something that he would show over and over in the coming months.
Faraway Horses Page 17