It is perhaps important to see that every New York carriage horse driver is not like Ariel Fitzi, I doubt I will meet another person like him anywhere. He is a creature of the horses, he has been working and talking with them all of his life, and he is also a creature of the park, he always works as late as he is legally allowed to work, he knows every inch of the park, day or night. It is beautiful to see his connection to his horses, and how he and they and the park melt to gather almost magically, they become one thing, especially at night..
As we were crossing from Eleventh Avenue towards 58th street, we heard sirens coming up behind us. It was a narrow street, the two engines and a chief’s car – all rushing with sirens and lights on full tilt came up behind us and passed about two feet to the left of the carriage. The din was ear-splitting, Rebecca didn’t move a muscle. Minutes later, a woman who works in a garage came rushing out with her black Lab, he was excited and started barking right under the horse’s nose. Rebecca turned and looked at Ariel. “Really?,” she seemed to be asking. The woman hugged Ariel and thanked him for the training opportunity.
We passed a grinding garbage truck to the right. Rebecca is a city animal, she knows what she is doing, she is a New Yorker through and through. The noise and din of New York was home to her. This is why the biologist Jared Diamond says that draft horses are the most domesticable animal on the earth to live in urban areas, they rarely spook and are tolerant of noise and other species. They are gentle with people and trainable. Because they are herd animals, they stay close to their people, to other horses and to their home stables. I’ve seen that again and again.
Ariel gives the lie to the idea that riding a carriage horse is like any other job. It makes no difference, says the mayor, if people like Ariel are driving a horse carriage or a green taxi in the outer boroughs. Nobody will suffer. That is the oblivious arrogance of an elitist, not a political leader who cares about working people. Horses are as central to Ariel as breathing, he even took his horse to training camp when he left home to serve in the military.
The only word I can think of for our journey into the park at night was magical, perhaps mystical. The park is beautiful anytime, but Olmstead’s brilliant and rich vision for it is more accessible at night, where there are not hordes of people, and joggers and bicycles and pedicabs and cars. The pedicabs flood the park in the daytime, many have secretly- and illegally – installed motors in their bicycles and they charge at least $3 a minute, maybe more. They actually cost much more than a horse carriage ride and the tourists are often confused by the aggressive pitching of the young and hungry drivers.
It is a curious thing to see these big and beautiful horses walking slowly through the park, breathing easily, not sweating or panting while the mostly immigrant teenagers on the pedicabs sweat and gasp as they pedal their cabs and pull three or four tourists. Why, I wonder, is it abuse for a 2,000 pound horse to pull a light carriage on level ground over asphalt, but fine for a skinny teenager to pull a bunch of people on the same route?
All of this noise and drama recedes at night, the park is transformed, it returns to it’s purest and most pristine state. The lakes in the park shimmer and reflect the city lights, there are quiet and secret paths to walk on that are invisible from the roads and walkways. Olmstead built the park in part for the carriage horses, the only straight walkway in the park was built for them to run on. The landscape is alive, twisting and turning, changing and surprising, soothing and dramatica.
At night, the park enveloped us in it’s gorgeous hug, we stopped at the Bethesda and Cherry Hill Fountain, this built for the carriage horses to drink from, and Ariel sat in the carriage while we walked around the plazas, into the woods, around the water and under the beautifully landscaped paths. The park’s gardens were all coming to life, the flowers and the bushes and the Cherry trees. We could hear the distant sirens of the city, the rumble of traffic and trucks, and all around us, like friendly spirits, towered the big and beautiful apartment complexes and skyscrapers.
The big buildings stood around us and towered over us like grand sentries in a momentous parade of lights.
Ariel kept us wrapped in blankets, sipping tea, he talked of his life with the horses, the sick and handicapped people he and Rebecca meet in the park – they call him all day and he arranges to meet with them. The horses, he says, talk of healing, of doing good, the park is their home and sanctuary, their place in the world. Ariel says the horses are safe or he wouldn’t bring them to the park, but the city could make them even safer by putting up some stop signs and turn-arounds for them. But the mayor of the city isn’t interested in making the horses safer, only in banning them.
Ariel’s horses know exactly where to go, they stop if there is traffic, they know the turn offs and the fountains, Ariel is gentle with them, he is one with them. You never have to yell at a horse, he says, or pull sharply on the rains. They get to know their people, and once there is trust, they will do anything for you. He trains them carefully and very slowly. They seem to react to his clarity and gentleness, I’m sure any horse could sense and smell Ariel’s big heart.
Part of the tension of driving a carriage horse in New York is that there seem to be different rules for animals than there are for people. In the great city, people have accidents all the time – 16,000 vehicle accidents last year, 155 deaths. In the past thirty years, three carriage horses have been killed in accidents, but every time a horse is in an accident, it is major news for days, in the papers, on TV and on blogs, politicians hold press conferences, animal rights groups march and demand that the horses be taken from the city. Two children were killed in Brooklyn the same night we took Ariel’s ride, their deaths were barely mentioned on the news, not at all on television.
There is an air of madness and unreality about this controversy. Is it really so cruel for the big horses to share the life of the city with the people who live there? Isn’t that their history and destiny? Can we imagine a life for animals where there is no pain and suffering, not struggles or mishaps?
Ariel reminds me that driving a carriage horse is a way of life for so many of the carriage drivers, not just a job. They are not all perfect people, not all saints, I am sure some horses have been mistreated over the years, just as human beings are every day, all over New York City. There are wonderful carriage drivers, and some jerks, I’ve met both. I’ve never seen a horse mistreated.
But Ariel’s midnight rides speak to us of the beauty and power of these horses, they are an integral part of the park, and it’s bridges and walkways and twists and turns, they look as natural to the park as the fountains and gardens and stone work.
Sitting by the Bethesda Fountain looking back at Ariel and his horse Whiskey (Rebecca was resting for the night), I saw just how many hearts would be broken, how many dreams and memories would die, how much romance would be gone forever if these horses were taken away, against their will, the will of the people in the city, the countless visitors, and the hundreds of people whose way of life centers around them. I can’t imagine an act of greater abuse, to an animal, to human beings.
The Indians say that if the horses leave, they will take the wind and the rain with them. The mystery and magic also.
How sad that the mayor of New York is no enough of a human being – man or woman – to take this midnight with Ariel. He would be happy to take him, he has made the offer. The mayor might finally understand what all of the uncertainty, fear and pain that he has caused if really about, not only in the carriage trade but from the countless people from all over the world who loves the horses as well.
He might just awaken, listen rather than talk, learn rather than declare, and just leave the horses and their people alone, give them some peace and security for themselves and their children, and find something important and useful to do for the people of this city.
Maria and I will always be grateful for Ariel’s midnight ride. There, even an old man like me felt like a newlywed, like a young lover whose heart was filled to bursting with feeling and love. Fear and cynicism and fatigue melted away. I heard the horses, again and again, their spirits echo through the park: We must never be taken away from people again.