Meet John H. Darrington, Jr., or as I affectionately call him, the Ol’ Cowboy. He was my father-in-law. Standing a mere five feet nine inches and weighing in at about one hundred fifty pounds soaking wet, he was both ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. His broad, square shoulders showed the strength that had made him a top-flight athlete. He was always polite, unless he didn’t like you, and he didn’t spend much time around people he didn’t like. His social circle was small, despite the respect and admiration he earned from many. He preferred the company of horses.

When John’s wife died in 1976, he went into a deep depression that only horses could pull him out of. By the time I met him, he was in his early fifties. That was also about the same time that he bought his first horse. He soon learned that I too loved horses, and a permanent bond was made between us.

Years of dabbling with racing, breeding, and showing Quarter Horses culminated in the birth of Starlite in 1997, a sorrel stud colt that resulted from breeding Cowboy’s racing mare to a popular cutting horse stallion that I had located in the area. Starlite exhibited a manner that was very different from his mother and brother who also lived on the farm. I only got to see him a few times after moving away from Oklahoma, but I always knew that he was special.

Living so far away, I didn’t notice that Cowboy had begun to fall back into a state of depression after we left. In time, he grew weary of the farm that we had so painstakingly built together, and complained that he wanted to get rid of his horses. I told him that I would love to have Starlite come and live with me if he ever decided to part with him. When the time came, he asked me if I wanted him. I said yes, and after a brief stint with a trainer in Oklahoma, Starlite moved to Colorado.

Cowboy had been a trailblazer of sorts. He had been recruited to help racially integrate the ranks of professional baseball at the same time Jackie Robinson started his career, but by then, he had already broken another color barrier, serving as a military policeman in the newly integrated U. S. Army during World War II. It was a tough job, one that I think he described best.

According to the Cowboy, he once chose to single-handedly shake down an entire Louisiana juke joint full of reveling soldiers and sailors who had gotten out of hand. I still flinch when I imagine the sound of his nightstick smacking hard against a flimsy wooden wall as he entered the room. He said that he never raised his voice, but when he gave the command, men of every rank, color and creed suddenly snapped to order and followed his instructions. He collared and cuffed dissenters so swiftly and easily that others barely noticed that it had ever happened; they were just glad it had not happened to them. What kind of man struck such fear in the hearts of other fighting men? I would always wonder why he referred to his days of military service as “bad memories.”

Cowboy could be an intimidating man, and he sometimes intimidated his horses. I wonder if Starlite had any idea why he was so wound up, why he sometimes would fly off the handle unexpectedly. Some say that horses have the ability to sense what goes on inside of humans. If so, I wish Starlite could tell me what was going on inside of Cowboy, because no one in the family knew that he was so tormented that he would one day take his own life.

Starlite saw more of the Cowboy than most of the humans in the family. Did the Cowboy talk to him? Or did Starlite just know that something was wrong? From his stall, Starlite had a clear view of the southern half of the farm. For a few years, the land seemed to bring some satisfaction to the Cowboy, but I’m not sure it ever gave him peace. Sometimes Starlite would watch as Cowboy walked the south fence line, pacing as if guarding the perimeter of a military installation, the tension in his body easily visible from hundreds of yards away. If anyone happened upon him at such times, he would respond as if awakened from a deep sleep or as if suddenly brought back from a far-away place. I don’t know if he ever released any of that tension in a healthy way with the horses; I just know that the tension finally broke on the day he took his life, some thirty years after he bought his first horse.

Looking back, I believe that the horses gave the Ol’ Cowboy a reason to live, until he finally surrendered to his depression and ended his life. His death left us confused and perplexed, maybe in the same manner that Starlite felt confused and perplexed by his role in the Cowboy’s life. But I wonder if he felt a burden somehow, if he knew that he and the rest of the horses were not only bearing the brunt of the Cowboy’s depressed state, but also daily giving him a reason to go on living. And, if so, did it leave an emotional wound that needs to be healed? Do horses even bear such wounds? I don’t know. All I know for sure is that Starlite and I share something in common: The life and death of John Darrington, a man that we know loved us, but perplexed us at the same time. And it took us a lot of years to fully know why.

There is so much that I wish Starlite could tell me. He is my one link to the enigma that was the life of John H. Darrington Jr., the Ol’ Cowboy. Why did he have to leave so soon? And yet, fate saw fit to eternally connect Starlite, the Ol’ Cowboy, and me in a triangle of love and life that will never end. Before meeting Cowboy, I believed that I had left my love of horses on my boyhood farm in southeastern Oklahoma. He restored the joy of horses to me, and left me with a legacy of horses helping people.

In my heart of hearts, I know that the horses helped heal the wound of Cowboy’s grief after his wife died. Unfortunately, they did not override his ultimate decision to end his life, but perhaps they allowed him to choose to be around long enough to be a second father to me, to see his grandchildren grow up, and to share the joy of horses with all of us for many wonderful years. It is easy for me to dedicate my work with horses that heal to the man who made it all possible. What greater motivation could I have? And Starlite, well, he’s my daily reminder that pain and blessings often travel on parallel tracks. If only he could tell me what he knows.