Head Groom, Bob Green
Bob Green was instrumental in taking care of the horses in the stud’s first great sale out of state. During the train trip to New York, the Johnstown Flood of 1889 occurred. The rails were covered in water and the train was forced to detour. During their confinement in the railcars, the horses became excited and the grooms, including Bob, had to hold the horses’ heads to keep them from becoming injured. Despite their best efforts, some of the horses were injured anyway, causing the first New York sale to falter. At the end of his life, Green was forced to move from the plantation and his home at the old family cabin to his property in Nashville. Not only had he been in charge of all Thoroughbreds at Belle Meade, he owned and raced Thoroughbreds during his lifetime and was heartbroken to leave Belle Meade. In 1906, he was granted his request for burial at the farm, where he rests today in an unmarked grave. Bob had at least 4 grooms working for him including Sam Nichols who in the 1880s was offered a position at Fairview Farm but declined in order to stay working at the famous Belle Meade farm.
Read more about this topic: Belle Meade Plantation
Famous quotes containing the words head, bob and/or green:
“Never, my dear Sir, do you take it into your head that I do not love you; you may settle yourself in full confidence both of my love and my esteem; I love you as a kind man, I value you as a worthy man, and hope in time to reverence you as a man of exemplary piety.”
—Samuel Johnson (1709–1784)
“English Bob: What I heard was that you fell off your horse, drunk, of course, and that you broke your bloody neck.
Little Bill Daggett: I heard that one myself, Bob. Hell, I even thought I was dead. ‘Til I found out it was just that I was in Nebraska.”
—David Webb Peoples, screenwriter. English Bob (Richard Harris)
“The bud of the apple is desire, the down-falling gold,
The catbird’s gobble in the morning half-awake
These are real only if I make them so. Whistle
For me, grow green for me and, as you whistle and grow green,
Intangible arrows quiver and stick in the skin
And I taste at the root of the tongue the unreal of what is real.”
—Wallace Stevens (1879–1955)