Ronald Tatum

Ronald Tatum wrote in to American Farriers Journal: "The University of North Texas has just published my book, 'Confessions of a Horseshoer.' Strongly endorsed by Baxter Black and Jim Lehrer, among others. The book is out there everywhere, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Powells and dozens of other places."

Tatum also submitted the following book review from The Oregonian:

[Excerpt] In his new memoir, "Confessions of a Horseshoer," Tatum, now 79, tells four decades' worth of stories gathered at the feet of animals who could squash him if they "hadn't been tricked into thinking that people were stronger and smarter" than they are. The book comes out May 10 on the University of North Texas Press and will be available from Amazon.com and Powell's Books.

Tatum is 5-foot-6 with thick biceps, a strong neck and cauliflower ear. The Aloha resident coached high school wrestling until he was 77, so sometimes he can't remember where his injuries came from -- the barn or the mat.

The height is just luck. Short horseshoers have an easier time getting under a horse. But Tatum has worked on the strength his whole life. Tatum's dad, a former Texas cattle rancher, started his son doing pushups "probably about the time I first opened my eyes," Tatum remembers.

"I could pound the stuffings out of all my friends by the time I was six months old," he writes in the memoir. "No one messed with me!"

The family lived in a small house on 2,000 wooded acres outside Tacoma. Tatum's room was a little cowboy bunkhouse. He never owned a horse himself, but he rode often as a boy. He worked summers as a camp counselor on a horse ranch.

The cowboy father -- whom Tatum calls Daddy throughout his book -- never encouraged the son to follow his footsteps. He wanted him to make something more of himself.

Tatum tried most of his life to impress his father. He excelled in sports, made good grades and eventually earned three master's degrees and a Ph.D. His dad was left-handed, so, even as an adult, Tatum tried to become a lefty. After stints as a Marine Corps officer and as a juvenile probation officer, Tatum still felt empty.

At the end of the workday, he writes, "I never had a sense of accomplishment or completion. I had no way of measuring the value of my time. Did I help anyone, or not? I never knew for sure."

To read the full review, click here.