The Eighty-Dollar Champion - Elizabeth Letts [105]
There was so much to distract a horse here in the armory—the Army Marching Band; the thousands of spectators; the ring steward, clad in a bright red waistcoat, who sounded out the beginning of each class on his long brass horn known as the “yard of tin.” The spotlights made a stippled pattern of golden streaks interspersed with patches of darkness—not an easy place to ride a jumper course.
But Dave had a job to do, and Snowman seemed to sense it. As the honest gelding soared brilliantly over each fence under the gleaming spotlights, he captivated the crowd. Like Trail Guide, Snowman’s dignity had nothing to do with class or breeding, and everything to do with heart. None of the other horses—not Windsor Castle, not First Chance—could match the gray horse’s performance that night. In the last class of the night, with the president of the United States of America in attendance, Snowman brought home the championship.
Snowman was now assured of the leading spot for Horse of the Year going into the National. The rest of the horses on the circuit would go straight from Washington up to Harrisburg for another week of chances at the Pennsylvania National. Only Snowman would miss the show, returning home to the de Leyers’ and the lessons at Knox.
The culminating event of the last night of the show was the Parade of Champions. Into the ring came the show’s top performers—the best ponies and roadsters, hunters and jumpers, paraded around the ring and in front of the presidential box. The horses lined up in order, each gleaming blue-blooded champion seemingly more beautiful than the last. Snowman, the ex–plow horse, was the final horse to enter.
He walked around the ring, head low, pace relaxed, not spooking at the flashing lights or loud music or cheers of the crowds, but turning to look at the stands as though to acknowledge his fans. He might have been mistaken for a fish out of water—a rube who had stumbled by accident into a high-society party—were it not for the tricolor that hung from his bridle, marking him as a champion. Dave was not the showman Harry was, but he waved to the crowd as they paraded by, a crowd whose applause turned to cheers as the announcer referred to Snowman as the eighty-dollar wonder horse.
When Dave Kelley called St. James long-distance that night, the de Leyer clan, clustered near the phone waiting for news, let out whoops of delight. Winner of the stakes and reserve champion of the show? At the Washington International?
If only they had been able to go along, no doubt he would have been champion.
Johanna quieted the children and got them tucked into bed, but Harry was too elated to sleep. He remembered the honor of parading in front of the queen of Holland as the country celebrated her return from exile in London. Now his horse had paraded in front of the president of his new country. He regretted only that he had not been in the armory to share that moment with his big gray companion. That night, Harry vowed to himself that someday he himself would ride for the president on Snowman.
19
The Diamond Jubilee
New York City, November 1958
In Manhattan, you could always tell when it was time for the National Horse Show. In the first week of November, the New Yorker sported a horse-show-themed cover. Maids bustled along Fifth Avenue, opening townhomes as society people closed up their Long Island estates to spend the winter “in town.” The Herald Tribune devoted half-page spreads to photographs of men in black tie and women wearing evening gowns. Newspaper society columns carried daily talk of the parties, relating who was going where with whom in exhaustive laundry lists of families—Knickerbocker, Whitney, Vanderbilt, Morgan—whose names read like