He was literally standing on the slat-sided kill trailer at New Holland when a young Dutch emigrant, too late for the auction itself, looked through the bars and decided he couldn't let the skinny plow horse with scars on his chest and torn-up feet end up with a bolt in the head.
Thus began the improbable story of Snowman and Harry de Leyer. And if you don't read it, you are missing a magical piece of history about two characters who literally had nothing, yet, without any benefactors and sponsors or grants, became everything.
Harry was the son of a successful brewer in Holland and rode his own mare, carrying the flag for queen and country in international competition as a teenager. But then the 1940's happened -- the Nazis occupied Holland, Harry's father joined the resistance and had to go into hiding lest he be sent to a concentration camp, and Harry had to forget about riding and focus on surviving the horrific conditions of occupation.
Following liberation, Harry married and emigrated to the US, where he did a stint as a sharecropper in High Point, NC (only about an hour from where I live now!) and ended up teaching riding at strict girl's school on Long Island. He was proudly able to purchase his own 1.5 acre farm and prided himself on finally becoming his own man. During the school year, he taught riding to the girls, giving them the one place they could truly be free and be themselves, on the backs of the horses, and during the summer, he showed the school's horses to try and earn money to support his growing family.
Aside from being the story of a gentle grey plowhorse who took children swimming in the morning and jumped six-foot open jumper championship in the afternoons alongside Frank Chapot and Bill Steinkraus,
The Eighty-Dollar Champion: Snowman, the Horse that Inspired a Nation, is the story about making dreams out of difficult situations, about making your goals happen, and about taking chances and following your heart.
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Sinjon and GM at the 1960 Rome Olympics |
Harry was (IS!) a kind man and a soft rider; he turned many of the shiny Thoroughbreds owned by his students parents' into jumper champions. Most amusing is his memory of selling one such horse, a hot but talented young jumper named Sinjon whom Harry had brought up through the ranks, to the USET, where Sinjon was paired with a young, upstart kid named George Morris. I don't think much ever became of them, though...
He even sold Snowman once, as a child's gentle mount. And the horse jumped miles of pasture fences to come home for several months, even after a truck tire was tied to his neck, before Harry gave in and bought him back, even though he never thought the horse would be anything more than a good school mount. After all, he stumbled hopelessly over crossrails and ground poles and never went faster than an easy lope. He took a chance one day though, feeling unmotivated to get off and lower jumps set at four feet, and rode towards a single vertical. The plow horse transformed into a pegasus, having finally been set at something worth his effort.
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Harry and Snowman |
They never looked back. Summers were their chance to shine. The placid plow horse would trot quietly into the show ring on a loose rein and proceed to gallop around six foot jump-offs while crowds gasped in amazement. Snowman, destined for a dinner plate, instead won a hefty amount of his own plates, cups, and ribbons. Once fall came, it was a back to school and to gently carrying the frightened beginners over their first crossrails.
It never mattered that horse shows were the realm of the Vanderbilts and the Roosevelts, the upper crust of society whose ranks were NOT permeable to commoners. In the 1950s, sport was considered to be firmly the territory of the monied amateur, who didn't have to work and could devote all his time to play and training. It was even thought to be in bad taste to have a cash prize and if there was, you certainly didn't accept it! The professional trainer and instructor was looked down upon as a poor underling who had to do the dirty work to earn a living and for quite some time, was not even permitted to ride in shows at all. Fortunately for Harry, a recent rule change permitted him to do the one thing he always wanted: to ride his OWN horse over those white poles.
Oh, how times change and how hilarious the paradigm shifts can be.
I haven't finished the book yet, but I have already been inspired by the incredible amount of hard work, dedication, and thoughtful fairness that Harry brought to everything he did. With no money, little time to call his own, and a horse who came with nothing more than wise brown eyes, cut-up knees and harness scars, Harry brought his dreams to life.
So why can't we?