Johnny Kriz

In tribute to Johnny Kriz, a draft horse legend, Johnny was a great ambassador for draft horses, for farriers, and for the human race.  I decided to reprint a little something Norma Kriz, Johnny's wife, wrote after Johnny's passing.

This past week I attended a wake and funeral.  I arrived early at the wake, anticipating a fairly large crowd.  As I entered the funeral home, a little before calling hours, there was a line of people waiting to pay their last respects.  Among them were policemen from the New Haven (CT) Mounted Police.  Who was this man?  By seven o'clock, the line of mourners was already out the front door and into the street in the pouring rain.  Who was this man?  As the evening went on, I saw young men in uniform lettered "Anheuser-Busch Eight Horse Hitch".  Another group of men's shirts read "Hallamore Clydesdale Hitch".  A mountain of a man was reduced to tears, his name was Dick Sparrow from Iowa, famous for driving a forty-horse hitch.  I recognized our town selectman, our town clerk, and several other town officials.  Who was this man?  As the line continued to grow and extend  up the street and around teh corner, I saw the mourners point to the floor.  There at the foot of the casket, lay an old shoeing box full of horseshoeing tools (some rusted) and an old shoeing apron.  In the casket lay a medium-sized man with enormous hands.  He was dressed in levis, a cowboy shirt, and red suspenders, and had a red bandanna tied around his neck.  A cowboy has sat at the foot of the casket.  Who was this man?  As the evening went on, the wet mourners continued to file in.  I heard people saying, "I've been in line an hour...an hour and a half...two hours...  My car is almost in the next town..." and "I'm not leaving until I see him, and pay my last respects."  Who was this man?  As 10:30 approached, I was aware of the two young men who were so obviously broken up.  As they greeted each of the mourners, they hugged and cried with each of them.  There is no shame in a man crying; they obviously loved this man.  There was the young red-headed man, and the dark-haired one, too.  It appeared their world had been shattered.  And what of the old man in the cowboy hat who so much resembled the man in the casket?  Old men cry too.  Who was this man?  As the hour approached 11 p.m., the last mourners left.  The immediate family and the two young men approached the casket.  The young man called Tim reached down to the old shoeing box and removed the tools.  Under the watchful eye of the one called Glenn, Tim rolled out the old apron and carefully placed the tools inside.  Together, they rolled the tools inside and gently placed them in the casket along side the man in the red suspenders. Who was this man?  (He was my husband and I loved him.) ~ Norma Kriz

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