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By Timothy Anderson Rocky Moment stood in the entranceway to the stall, peering out over the top of the Dutch doors. Chestnut-colored with a flaxen mane and tail, he stood alert with his ears forward. The gelding's white blaze lit up the shed row next to the tack room. Silhouetted in the solitude of the early morning stillness, the horse nickered and crow hopped toward the solitary man approaching him. "Mornin' fella." The short man paused in front of the stall and reached up to pet the horse. Rocky Moment was not one to stand still. Fidgeting, he tolerated the familiar man's attention for only so long before he began to push at the metal snaps holding the stall door shut. After downing a coke and strapping himself into a flack jacket, the man walked the horse out to the front of the barn. He handed Rocky Moment's lead to a groomsman while another attendant gave him a leg up. Once mounted, he trotted the horse toward the track. Rocky Moment pranced while his rider tied the reins together and adjusted the saddle girth. As he looked to the right, through the chilled mist of the dawn, he could see the sun beginning to rise, casting a glow on Mt. Hood. The sky turned crimson, then red, and finally a burnt orange lit the dust coming off the horses already on the track. Rocky Moment began to settle down and his rider leaned into his neck, patting him in appreciation. "Good boy, handsome. What a dude!" he whispered. Reaching the track's quarter mile chute, the two slipped behind the starting gate and the horse became tense again. The rider was met by the track's starter and assistant starter. "What are ya doing?" "I'm breaking him. Working him a half mile out of the gate." The assistant starter nodded, reached up, took the reins, and led the horse and rider into the gate. The starter picked up a microphone and said, "Bill, I have Rocky Moment working a half with Coogan up." "Got it," a voice replied over the speaker. Mike Coogan focused on the clocker's position a quarter mile away. He knew that Bill, sitting up in the clocker stand, would also be focused on him. Once the bell rang and the horse charged out of the gate, Bill would time the run. Knowing that Rocky Moment would be stiff, the jockey hoped the horse wouldn't stumble or rear up out of the gate. He didn't need any bad wrecks or broken bones to mark his first ride of the morning. Reaching forward, Coogan grabbed a handful of mane in each hand and leaned into the gelding's neck. He whispered, "Easy, buddy. Easy." The starter glanced up and down the track to assure that the field was clear and then turned toward the starting gate. "Looks like everything's clear guys. Ready?" "We're set!" Waiting for the horse to break, Coogan tensed. Every muscle in the short man's body became rigid as adrenaline raced through him. The fear and fascination of the unknown, the excitement, and the powerful horse under him defined the ride. His mind raced far ahead of the moment. The bell rang. The gate opened. The horse lunged forward. Sitting hard in the saddle for the first few strides, the jockey hung on as his mount gained speed. The horse's mane flew up into his face, stinging his cheeks, as near-blind the two of them charged forward as one. Within a few strides the horse reached nearly 35 miles per hour. Heading down the chute, he intersected the main track and merged alongside the rail. As Rocky Moment stretched out, working with intensity, Coogan was silent, listening and feeling the horse's every stride. As he watched for other traffic on the track, the rail became a blur and the chill of the early morning became like the coldest shower. Hitting warm and cold pockets of air, the jockey squinted through his dark goggles into an imaginary focal point between Rocky Moment's ears. Through the impossibility of this moment, the rider felt the magic of motion overtake the resistance of fear. Coogan's ride was smooth and Rocky Moment worked well. Afterward Coogan walked the horse, lathered up from the ride, back toward the barn as the dust kicked up from the other riders became fierce. Entering the paddocks, Coogan patted the horse's neck, his mind already considering the next ride and his next dance with adrenaline. Getting up from the couch, Mike grabs his crutches and gingerly walks outside. Shedding his shirt, he drops the crutches in the grass and stretches out on the picnic table. An early June sun beats down and overhead bald eagles are being chased by ravens. I return my attention to the scrapbook. Northern Valentino. Major Howey. Captain Boots. Our Star Dancer. Accessorizor. Bay Prospect. Together these horses form the resume of the trainer reclining on my picnic table. The names of the tracks also flow together from the smiling winning circle pictures gazing up at us from the yellowed clippings in the scrapbook. Portland Meadows. Emerald Downs. Longacres. Yakima Meadows. Playfair. Bay Meadows. Golden Gate Fields. Hollywood Park. Santa Anita. He has run horses on some of the world's finest tracks, sometimes conquering, other times biting the dust. Hundreds of thousands of dollars flowed through Coogan's hands like water. Horses bought and sold, trained and traded. Smaller men made fortunes off his abilities. Larger men crashed and burned, their wagers fruitless and foolish against his talent. But Coogan isn't about the winner's circle. He isn't about watching the odds. He isn't even about the material accomplishments his love of all things equine has produced. For Coogan, life isn't about the finish line. It is simply about the ride. I decide that I hate him. Returning to the scrapbook there is plenty to turn aside my envy. Turning the pages, I see pictures of wrecked horse trailers. Pictures of Coogan on crutches. But nearly always, featured frozen in the photographs, are images of his horses. Animals he has trained. Animals he has ridden. Animals he won on. And those he lost on. Animals that he dearly loved, as well as a few he hated. Animals he lived to ride. And even animals that almost killed him. Almost. They say almost only counts in horse shoes, hand grenades, and love. But almost also counts when it comes to broken bones. Five broken ribs in one spill. A broken collar bone in another. Punctured lungs, blood transfusions and metal pins inserted to rebuild what should have never been busted in the first place. These scars define the here and now. Coogan is an impressive compilation of emergency room visits. He also carries with him another wound with its own batch of history. A wound that might not be so apparent from the outside. But it's a wound that smarts just the same and its one that might not heal up so fast. This man carries a broken heart. Returning my gaze, he smiles as he shields his eyes from the sun. Below us, the Pend Oreille River runs her course, flooded with spring runoff. Coogan seems at peace here, as his blue eyes match the blue waters of the river, and dance with the bluest skies of Selkirk country. Picking up his crutches, he hobbles toward the house. The crutches are a reminder of his latest spill. A two-year old colt jumped into the air on all fours, throwing its neck down and sending Coogan right over its head and into another emergency room. Total damage included two transfusions, three separate hip fractures and numerous breaks in his femur. Long story short, he left the hospital with a foot long pin in his leg. A week later Coogan was insisting he'd be riding again within the month. He's crazy that way. Limping into the house, he sets down the crutches and looks out at the river. This time out of the chute, he isn't just recovering from his latest horse wreck. He is also still on the mend from a head-on collision of the heart. A collision as nasty as any he has experienced on the track. And, as it turns out, he also knows a bit about both when it comes to the heart of man versus the heart of woman. He tells me he was involved with women until he was 38 and didn't consider hooking up with a man until his frustration with women who were an "emotional roller coaster" made him swear off the opposite sex. "I knew I didn't want to live with a woman again and I didn't want to live the rest of my life alone." Whoa. Here was something he hadn't mentioned before. A snapshot of one man's life journey, Coogan was narrating his story, but was he really listening to what he was saying? This wasn't PC dialogue. His words were live, real, naked, and unsettling. How could a man in the midstream currents of life suddenly change course? His rapid decision to “change teams” as a solution to his difficulties with women seemed illogical, and totally against what I have long believed about choice and sexual orientation. I could just hear the experts, and the political intelligentsia debating the "accuracy" of his story. "He's lying to you, he was gay all along," they would sneer. "What he's saying is bullshit. He was never really straight. He was born gay, or at least bisexual,” they'd add. “Sexual orientation isn't a choice." On the other side, religious conservatives would yell, "Cowboy, you choose, you lose. Sexual preference is about choices and you just chose hell over heaven. You're now a part of the gay agenda, and your lifestyle is all about choosing to self-destruct." For myself, I didn't know what to think. Were the difficulties in Coogan's relationships with women the result of repressed homosexual longings? Was he a bisexual who had simply never acted on certain of his desires? My experiences certainly did not jibe with his. I could not imagine 35-plus years of one direction and then an abrupt change the other was. Was Mike bullshitting me? "You mean you never had sex with a guy the entire time you were with women?” "Nope. With my last girlfriend, the sex was incredible. I just didn't like the other part of it…the roller coaster ride part." "Did you ever think about guys?" I asked. "I suppose I did a little bit, but I never did anything about my thoughts. They were there in the background until my last girlfriend and I broke up. Then I wasn't with anyone for a year. I mean, I still think women are hot. I just like guys better. They are easier to be around and they don't put you through as much emotionally." I thought carefully. Definitions upon definitions muddied everything. What was the clinical definition gay? Straight? Bisexuality? Or just plain confused? I felt uncomfortable trying to understand his experiences as he relayed them to me. I knew that for a person to choose a new sexual orientation in their mid-thirties contradicted everything I believed. Yet it certainly wasn't my place to choose a label for him. And if one person is capable of changing his sexual orientation, won't the conservatives argue that all of us are? Worse yet, I knew of countless stories that muddied the simple gay/straight/bisexual definitions. I knew happily married couples who maintained same sex relationships on the side for years. I'd met men who were seemingly happily married for decades who suddenly left their spouses and became involved in exclusive same sex relationships. Others had left long gay relationships for women. I found this all dizzying. Is switching back and forth allowed? And did all these people really switch orientation mid-stream, or were they bisexual their entire lives and just never acted upon it earlier? And Sexuality would be so much easier to understand if it wasn't so fluid. Maybe when we tell our own stories we aren't honest with ourselves. Or maybe things aren't so cut and dried as the roaring crowds on every side of the gender/orientation/preference debate would want us to believe. Maybe there is room for either/or . Maybe the experts really don't have all the answers. Although I have been gay as long as I can remember, I certainly can't speak for any other gay person. I don't know how I ended up gay. But I also know I never made a choice to be gay. I didn't just wake up one day and say, “Hey, I want to swim upstream against the current for the rest of my life.” Mike Coogan made a choice to pursue a relationship with men, after pursuing women for nearly two decades. I could accept Coogan as straight. I could accept him as gay. And, as I looked at him in the fading light, I realized that I would accept him as a little of both. Meaning, the only label I could come up with was the bisexual one. Some men never question whether they are straight. Or gay. They never waver. Black. White. Gray. And all the shades in between. Welcome to the ins and outs of sexuality. He doesn't hesitate as he tells me that his first gay relationship out of the gate was his wildest ride. Once he made up his mind to pursue men, Coogan turned to the Internet and within a matter of weeks met the man who would become his first boyfriend. Enter Chet. After Mike responded to Chet's personal ad, the two started trading emails. A short time later they had their first “how do you do?” real time phone conversation. They instantly hit it off. The next morning, after Coogan finished galloping his horses at the track, the two of them got together at the Portland watering hole where Chet waited tables. Over the next couple of weeks, the two men saw each other off and on. Then they began to spend time together every day. In July, Chet gave Coogan a ring. In August, they moved in together. In September, they had a commitment ceremony. "It was like I'm sure how people say first love is. I thought he was so cute. His personality was a plus. I mean, put it this way, I got on a horse I'd never rode before." Coogan paused as he looked out over the river. Turning to face me in the twilight, he continued, "The ride was great. At first." We continue walking and as I listened to his story, I considered the magic of those first moments in the dance of new relationships. Those golden glow times when everything is perfect. The innocence that abounds before the inevitable baggage is unpacked. I've read the personal ads that clearly state, "No baggage. No drama." I wonder about those people who have never lived drama. I envy those souls who miraculously carry no baggage. Sometimes, I'd give anything to be one of them. Unridden, unbroken. Like Coogan's colts. Never handled, never abused. No bad habits. As I kicked the gravel under my feet I wondered if anyone really honestly exists who is over 21 and doesn't come with his bags fully packed, complete with all the drama of a Broadway musical. Coogan continued reflecting on the first few months of his new relationship. As we walked the memories tumbled forth. "Chet would have dinner ready for me when I got home from work. He helped me haul feed for my horses. Chet has this way of treating you really special, like no one else can. To the west the sky became dark while the cloud tops remained a brilliant white. We turned around and began the trek back up the mountain. I fell completely silent. Coogan continued his narration, with a wicked twinkle in his eye as he moved beyond the “in the beginning” part. As he began to spend more and more time with Chet, other areas of his life became a bit more complicated. Coworkers noticed Coogan's new ring. The pair attended a concert together held at the track. More coworkers noticed. During this time Coogan found himself coming to terms with his newly revised sexuality in unexpected ways. Shortly after he and Chet started dating, his pre-teen son discovered the two of them kissing. As a result, Coogan found himself explaining his new status to his son and to his son's mother as well. Both of them, and for that matter, most of his friends, accepted the news with hardly a reaction. “Nearly everyone's been cool with it. I started running into people I knew from the track downtown in the gay bars. With some of them, I was really surprised, as I'm sure they were. I had no idea about them and they had no idea about me. I know that people say shit about it at the racetrack, but no one usually says anything to me about being gay to my face.” Coogan also received a crash course in Gay Culture 101 when he started meeting some of Chet's friends, including Chet's then roommate, one very large fellow who called himself “Ms Donni". "We were celebrating the Fourth of July and we decided to go to this casino. Only Ms Donni wanted to go in drag! I'd never been around that shit before. At first it was a real novelty. I mean it was like, 'What do you want to be, a woman?' I am not one to judge, but I don't understand the whole drag thing. Anyway, I am sure people can say the same thing about me being gay. Well we went to this casino and Ms Donni, does this really obvious drag. In no time at all, everyone in the Casino knew there was a gal walking among the slots who didn't have a 'slot,' if you know what I mean. When we left the Casino, we were actually chased into the parking lot by this woman who was beating on our car, pointing at Ms Donni. The woman kept saying, 'Hey you! You! You used the woman's room.' She was really angry.” Pausing at the top of the hill, we both stood laughing in the dark. Coogan leaned on his crutch and caught his breath before he spoke further. "Get this, Tim. One time, Ms Donni and Chet went shopping. They were trying on these dresses at Nordstom's and Ms Donni got stuck in one of them. Chet had to go into the women's dressing room and rescue him and by the time he got in there, the strap on the dress broke. Ms Donni was standing in the middle of the dressing room with the dress up over his head and he couldn't move!" Reaching the house, we found chairs and sat in the darkness watching the river. Coogan kept talking as one beer became another. His smile became a frown as he shared the details of how his first gay relationship slowly went south. From the beginning, Chet acknowledged that he'd "been in trouble" in California and Arizona. Unfortunately for Coogan, Chet wasn't done being in trouble. Over the next several months Chet became less involved in helping out around the house. He lost his job and didn't seem motivated to find another. During that same period, Coogan and Ms Donni became good friends despite being complete opposites. Unfortunately, the more time they spent together, the more the two of them became aware that something was very wrong. In January, Coogan began discovering financial inconsistencies, including credit cards opened under Chet's name using Coogan's credit. Stories didn't add up. "Things didn't quite make sense. I started getting suspicious. Someone was stealing my mail. My statements would disappear. And Chet would lie about the stupidest things. But he was always surrounded by so many people that there was always someone else to blame when things didn't add up. I discovered that he'd charged over twenty thousand dollars on accounts he opened in my name. I confronted Chet and he said he'd done it to try to push me away because he didn't think I was happy. At first I thought we could work it out, but one big thing I learned, and you hear this over and over again, is that people don't change. I've heard all the lies and seen all the tears but there is no excuse for stealing." While all this was going on, Chet was extradited to California to serve time in prison for a parole violation. As the evidence mounted that Chet had committed further crimes in Oregon, Coogan sought relief from the local prosecutor. Unfortunately the prosecutor considered the matter a domestic affair and in spite of numerous similar activities committed in Arizona and California, the state of Oregon refused to press further charges. Coogan was ultimately thrown into bankruptcy. "When you're the one in the relationship, it's hard to see. It's a lot easier to see things for what they are when you are on the outside looking in. My first experience wasn't a good one. I even wondered if maybe I should go back to women…” I guess I gave Coogan a surprised look because he immediately changed the subject. “I know I am a lot better person. I am a bigger person than Chet and I just don't want to ever be associated with anyone like him again. I've moved on. I'm not looking back. And, I haven't given up." Eventually the high mountain air becomes too chilly and Coogan and I retire into the warmth of the house. Mike's eyes still dance as we talk about the unknown. The what next. I never once detected any note of bitterness. I try to follow his back and forth comparison between horse sense and people sense. He has known horses all his life. He has known the love of women, and now he has loved a man. "I don't know how to explain it. But being with a man is a totally different feeling. Breaking a new horse, once you get the feel of them, you know they aren't going to surprise you a whole lot. If the horse gets carried away, I just 'cut em back,' hitting them lightly with a stick. With a new horse, I try to get 'em to move. It doesn't matter which direction. I let them go whichever direction they're most comfortable and most of the time they just put their head down and buck. If you get right after them in the beginning, they learn respect. Horses are creatures of habit. Men are a totally different ride. Being in a relationship with a guy is the same adrenaline rush as riding on the track but it's also uncontrolled. Being with a guy is harder to describe. I can explain loving horses. But explaining why I love guys is more complicated. And trying to fathom why I didn't make the switch until I was in my late thirties is toughest of all. I guess I had to get stomped on by women before I was ready to try it with men!" He chuckles to himself at the absurdity of comparing horses to women and then women to men. I don't know where he's going with this, but I have to say it's been one of the most confusing discussions I've had. The controversial nature of his statements are difficult to digest. “The biggest difference between horses and people is that you can't really change people. If a man pretends to be someone they aren't, it will all come out in the end. People don't change unless they want to and the most important lesson I've learned is you can't change another person's heart. But you can learn good traits and values from good people. I have an easier time recognizing good and bad personalities now.” I'd like to find a guy that I have a lot in common with. Having sex is more than just feeling good. There is nothing better than meeting somebody who wants you, and you feel the same toward them. Those mutual feelings are what makes you feel good on the inside. I am hoping I find someone laid back, who isn't an emotional wreck. Oh yeah. And he's got to be honest." I can't help wandering off into my own mind. We all want the same things. It's so damn simple but it gets so complicated. Someone to love. Someone to love us. Someone to share our walk. The litmus test reads nearly the same from personal ad to personal ad: “Seeking a person of character, who is honest with good values and ethics.” What many people want is a partner who can rock our world while at the same time keeping us grounded. A partner who will age with grace and remind us of our youth. A partner who will be our partner no matter what, whose faithfulness will never waver and who will accept our flaws and imperfections. It never occurred to me that the same rules might apply toward bisexuals. Unfortunately getting bucked off now and then is part of the deal. So is remounting and getting back into the saddle. How do we keep getting back up there without becoming bitter and always conscious of our previous wounds? How do we approach the next ride without constantly looking over our shoulder, or hitting the open trail with more tentativeness than sense of adventure? Once again Mike seemed to read my mind. "My philosophy about life is if you aren't having fun, you're not living. Life is short so you might as well enjoy it. I am not afraid of getting into another relationship but I am a lot more careful now. I realize that the first six months that you know someone is really a learning experience. About all those little things that didn't come out at first or that you didn't see.” “It's like getting bucked off. You have to get back on in spite of what's happened before. Sometimes that's scary. It's like when you are working for a barn and they have a string of horses you have to ride every day. There is always one or two you just dread to ride. You get through the hateful ones because it's worth it because of the good rides you get from the other horses. I live for the good rides. With horses I often don't get to choose which ones I get to ride. But with men, I get to choose which ones I'm going to be involved with. I'm going to have fun. I'm not going to be miserable, no matter what happens. Misery is a choice and I am not signing on that dotted line. I'm choosing fun. I'm getting out and meeting different men. I'm making up for lost time and getting to be friends with a variety of people. I used to be a nobody's somebody. Not anymore.” I can still see him putting his crutches on the seat of his 4x4 as he gets ready to hit the road. I can still hear him talk about his horses, anticipating the next ride, the next winner's circle. The injuries mean nothing to him. It's the ride that counts, even in the most dangerous of worlds. I think back to one night when Mike described some of his favorite horses to me. He calls those horses a “dude.” “A “dude” is the kind of horse that will get out there and nod his head, pulling a little bit on the bit, and looking like a million bucks.” Mike Coogan lives out his own definitions. He's a dude who lives in a world of fast breaks and charging hooves. He's impatient for his body to heal, counting the days until he can lose the crutches, remount, and ride the rail. No matter what he's riding, he too looks like a million bucks. With a nod of his head and a handful of mane, he charges the horizon. Coogan is impatient. He lives like he means it. He dreams like he means it. And most importantly, he rides like he means it. Editor's note: In August 2002, Coogan resumed galloping horses. Although he now walks with a slight limp, he's working roughly the same string of racehorses he was exercising prior to his most recent track accident.. © 2002 Timothy Anderson |
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