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The Eighty-Dollar Champion: Snowman, The Horse That Inspired a Nation Kindle Edition
#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • The dramatic and inspiring story of a man and his horse, an unlikely duo whose rise to stardom in the sport of show jumping captivated the nation
Harry de Leyer first saw the horse he would name Snowman on a truck bound for the slaughterhouse. The recent Dutch immigrant recognized the spark in the eye of the beaten-up nag and bought him for eighty dollars. On Harry’s modest farm on Long Island, he ultimately taught Snowman how to fly. Here is the dramatic and inspiring rise to stardom of an unlikely duo. One show at a time, against extraordinary odds and some of the most expensive thoroughbreds alive, the pair climbed to the very top of the sport of show jumping. Their story captured the heart of Cold War–era America—a story of unstoppable hope, inconceivable dreams, and the chance to have it all. They were the longest of all longshots—and their win was the stuff of legend.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherBallantine Books
- Publication dateAugust 23, 2011
- File size7396 KB
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Editorial Reviews
Amazon.com Review
A writer is always on the lookout for a good story, but the first time I saw a striking old photograph, I didn’t realize that I had stumbled across a tale so extraordinary that it had the power to change lives.
The old black and white photo showed a horse and rider team in the midst of a crazy feat--jumping right over the back of another horse. What stopped me in my tracks was the expression on the jumping horse’s face. Even in the vintage picture I could see that the horse had absolute trust in the man who was asking him to make such a tricky leap. I wondered why.
Unable to forget the photograph, armed only with the rider’s name, I tracked down an address, not sure if I would find him there, or even if he was still alive. Just a few days after I mailed him a letter, my telephone rang and a voice on the other end said, “Hallo, this is Harry de Leyer.” The man in the photograph, now in his eighties, was on the phone. The first time we spoke, Harry told me a story that gave me butterflies in my stomach and made my palms sweat--that’s how badly I wanted to write about what he’d said to me and share it with the world.
Walter Farley, author of The Black Stallion, was once asked why horse stories were so popular. His answer was this: “When the books have been read and reread, it boils down to the horse, his human companion, and what goes on between them.” The story of Harry and Snowman, is at its essence, a love story. A man, a horse, and a lucky encounter on a bleak winter day that led to a second chance for both of them. Together, they shared a dream so big that only their combined courage and heart could get them to their destination.
That moment, when the pair of them stood under the spotlights of Madison Square Garden and listened to the thunder of the crowd, was simply unforgettable--the kind of triumph that ripples forward through time. I heard it coming across a crackling phone line, the first time Harry de Leyer told me about Snowman.
Read the book, and I’m sure you will hear it too.
Review
“This is a wonderful book—joyous, heartfelt, and an eloquent reminder that hope can be found in the unlikeliest of places. Most of all, it’s a moving testament to the incredible things that can grow from the bond between animals and humans. If you love a great animal tale, you’ll love this book!”—Gwen Cooper, author of Homer’s Odyssey
“The moving story of an indomitable immigrant farmer, his equally spirited horse, and their against-the-odds journey all the way to the winner’s circle, The Eighty-Dollar Champion fascinates from the first page to the last. Elizabeth Letts has uncovered a forgotten slice of American history and brought it to magical life.”—Karen Abbott, author of American Rose: A Nation Laid Bare: The Life and Times of Gypsy Rose Lee
“There is something magical about stories in which humans and animals team up to combine their courage, intelligence, determination, physical prowess, and instincts to scale the heights, touch our hearts deeply, and inspire us in the most profound ways. Those are the best stories there are, I think, and The Eighty-Dollar Champion joins their ranks. There is a lot of wonderful emotion in this book, and it left me awestruck once more at the wondrous things animals and people can do when they join together to make some great and beautiful noise in the world.”—Jon Katz,author ofMeet the Dogs of Bedlam Farm
“A real live fairy tale about an unlikely rider and an even unlikelier horse who soared over obstacles to capture the hearts of a nation. An eloquent story about near misses and impossible odds and what can happen with a little luck and a lot of determination. I fell in love with Snowman and Harry, and so will you.”—Susan Richards, author ofChosen by a Horse
“The perfect book at the perfect time. Snowman will lift you up and over.”—Rita Mae Brown, author of the “Sister” Jane Foxhunting Mysteries series
“A fun and wonderfully detailed story about a most remarkable bond between a man and his horse. You will fall in love with the eighty-dollar champion.”—W. Bruce Cameron, author of A Dog’s Purpose
"Not only a heartwarming tale of the bond between human and horse, but also a fascinating look at the the Eisenhower years, when faulty memory tells us that America was placid and conformist." —Mary Doria Russell, author of Doc
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The Kills
New Holland, Pennsylvania, 1956
The largest horse auction east of the Mississippi was held every Monday deep in Pennsylvania Amish Country. Anyone with the time to drive out to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and a good eye for a horse could find a decent mount at a reasonable price, especially if he arrived early.
The New Holland auction was founded in 1900 and hadn't changed much since. Farmers and their families drove to the auction in their buggies. Wives gossiped while children played and enjoyed the festive atmosphere. Vendors sold hot pretzels and sugared fasnacht doughnuts. Farmers gathered on benches around the sides of the big covered arena while the auctioneer called out the merits of the horses. Each prospective purchase trotted across the ring just once. The auctioneer had a habit of saying, "Yessiree, this horse is sound."
Horses arrived at the auction from near and far-the racetracks at Pimlico and Delaware Park unloaded thoroughbreds that were too slow to race. Trainers with sharp eyes and generous budgets scouted them out as show prospects. Farmers brought plow horses that could no longer plow; riding stable owners sold decent horses to raise quick cash. Sadly, many of the horses for sale arrived here only after having exchanged hands one too many times: they were good enough, but past their prime-tired hunters, outgrown ponies, shopworn show horses. Among these sturdy, well-trained hacks, Harry hoped to find a quiet lesson horse for his riding pupils at the Knox School.
For all of their size and strength, horses are surprisingly fragile creatures. Bearing tremendous weight on their slender legs, they are subject to all manner of lameness-bone spavins, pricked feet, broken knees, corns. Some have faults of confirmation that put unnecessary strain on their legs. Some have been ill used-jumped too much or ridden too hard.
A smart salesman knows how to camouflage some of these faults; he can hold a lead rope tight to hide the bobbing head of a lame horse. He can bandage to reduce swelling or mix a painkiller into the horse's bran mash. Most common of all, he can hope that in the blur of a fast trot across an auction ring, a potential buyer will be swayed by flashy coloring or a nicely set head, and overlook any flaws.
But Harry knew horses. He had confidence in his judgment. With a budget of only eighty dollars, he knew the thoroughbreds would be out of his reach. Even the slow ones sold in the hundreds, if not the thousands. But with his keen eye, Harry believed he could spot an older horse who was well trained and reasonably priced.
On a typical day outside the auction grounds, teams of horses still hitched to their buggies would be tied up alongside cars with out-of- state license plates. Big racetrack vans flanked two-horse trailers owned by hopeful backyard buyers.
By the end of the auction, two to three hundred horses would have been trotted through the arena, looked over, bid upon, and sold. For some horses, the transaction would be their salvation-a dud on the racetrack snatched up to be groomed as a horse show star. For others, it was a step down-a retired show horse might be sold as a lesson horse. At the end of every auction, there were always a few that found no buyers: the ones whose lameness couldn't be masked, the sour- tempered ones who lashed out with hooves and teeth, the broken-down ones who stumbled their way into the ring.
But no horse left New Holland unsold.
The same man always made the final bid: the kill buyer. He purchased horses for the slaughterhouse so that their carcasses could be ground up for dog food and their hooves boiled down into glue.
The auction lasted only three or four hours, a testament to how quickly the horseflesh would move through the arena. At the end of the morning the Amish farmers would clamber back into their buggies, the race vans would head back to the track, and the new horse owners would coax their horses into trailers and go home.
No one would be left on the grounds but the kill buyer, loading up the last of the horses to take to the slaughterhouse.
That Monday, in February 1956, Harry de Leyer was running late. The headlights didn't work on his beat-up old station wagon-not surprising, since he'd paid only twenty-five dollars for it. A new car, for close to fifteen hundred dollars, would have been far beyond the Dutch immigrant's modest budget. Although he had arisen long before dawn on this wintry morning, the snow and a flat tire had set him back.
By the time Harry finally arrived at the auction, the grounds were deserted and there were no horses to be seen. After the long drive down from New York, now he'd have nothing to show for it.
Only one vehicle remained, a battered old truck with slatted sides, more cattle car than horse van. A bunch of horses, fifteen or so, were crowded in its back. A rough man dressed in a barn jacket and dungarees was just closing up the ramp.
Unwilling to give up after his long drive, Harry leaned out his car window and called to him.
The man seemed as though he didn't want to be bothered. "Nothing left but the kills," he said.
Harry got out of his car, walked over, and peered through the vehicle's slatted sides. It was a cold day, and the horses' breath made steam rise up in the air. Anyone who has ever had the misfortune of seeing a horse bound for slaughter will attest that the animals seem to sense when they are hitting the end of the road. Sometimes, horses react with fear, feet scrambling for purchase on bare wooden floors, metal shoes clanging against the van's sides. Other times, they just look haunted, as if they know where they are headed.
A pit formed in Harry's stomach. He would never be able to think of a horse as a collection of body parts to be turned into horsehide, dog food, and glue. Back in Holland, old horses past their prime were put out to pasture. His father had taught him that a horse who had served man deserved to live out his days in peace.
Could none of these horses still serve some useful purpose? He peered into the truck's gloomy interior. In a proper horse van, horses travel in padded stalls, their legs bandaged in thick cotton batting, with fresh hay suspended within reach. But this van offered nothing like that. More than a dozen horses were packed together on the bare metal floor, fenced in by rough slats that did nothing to protect them from the elements or from one another. Harry could smell the fear rising up from them; the sound of hooves striking metal was almost deafening, and in the shadowy interior he saw flashes of white in their eyes.
But one of the horses stood quietly, crammed up against the bars, seeming to pay no mind to the chaos around him. Through the truck's side, Harry saw large brown eyes. When he reached out his palm, the horse stuck his nose up to the slats. Harry saw one eye looking at him. Asking.
"What about that one?" Harry asked.
The man was already loaded up and ready to drive away. "You don't want that one. He's missing a shoe and his front is all cut up from pulling a harness."
"I just want to take a look," Harry said.
Knackers generally paid sixty dollars a head. Was Harry prepared to pay more than that?
Harry hesitated, then nodded. The horse was still watching him.
Grudgingly, the man backed him out of the trailer. Scrambling down the steep ramp, the horse almost fell, but then righted himself.
Once the animal was off the trailer, Harry got a better picture, and it wasn't a pretty one.
The big horse was male, a gelding, as Harry had expected. His coat, the dull white color that horsemen call gray, was matted and caked with mud. Open wounds marred both knees. His hooves were grown out and cracked, and a shoe was missing. The horse was thin, but not completely undernourished-not as bad off as the horses normally seen on a killer van. The marks across his chest showed that he'd pulled a heavy harness. He had a deep chest; Harry noticed the strong gaskins and well-muscled shoulders, probably developed by pulling a plow. The man dropped the rope on the ground, but the horse made no move to run.
His teeth showed that he was "aged"-not younger than eight years old, and quite possibly older. Harry scanned his legs-pasterns, fetlocks, cannons, hocks-and found no obvious flaws. The auction roster sometimes read like an illustrated veterinary primer: bowed tendons, bone spavins, strangles, laminitis, swaybacks, broken wind-a compendium of ways that a horse can be lame, contagious, or otherwise unfit. But this horse had no such ailments: he was just undernourished, beat up, and broken down, an ordinary horse who had hit hard times.
The unfamiliar setting of an auction made most horses jittery, but this one seemed calm. He followed Harry with his eyes, and when Harry spoke a few words to him, he pricked his ears forward: they were small and well formed, curving inward at the tips.
Purebred horses are bred for looks and certain characteristics- thoroughbreds for speed, Arabians for their dished faces and high-set tails, Tennessee walking horses for a gait so smooth that a rider can carry a wine glass without spilling a drop. A horse's ears are an indicator of refinement. Harry took a harder look at the horse underneath the caked-up dirt.
This gelding, even cleaned up and well fed, would never be beautiful. He was as plain-faced and friendly as a favorite mutt-wide-eyed and eager to please, a man's-best-friend kind of horse.
The horse stretched out his neck and blew a soft greeting.
Harry reached out, sorry that he had nothing to offer but the palm of his hand.
Despite his sorry condition, a spark of life lit up the gray's eyes. He had a strong body that would fill out with proper care. Any horseman can recognize an animal whose spirit has been broken, from the listless head and dull eyes, the slack lips and shuffling gait. But this horse was not broken-he had an air of self-possession. All he needed was someone to care for him. Harry was sure that if he was given affection, this horse would return it in abundance.
But Harry knew he couldn't be that person. The de Leyers counted every penny. There was no room in his life for whims.
"You want him or not?"
Making it in the equestrian business meant being hard-hearted. For every prospect that might become a riding horse, a dozen nags were too old, too lame, or too ornery to stand a chance. Common sense told Harry he should cut his losses, keep his cash in his pocket, and head home.
The slaughter truck yawned open behind them. The horses were scrambling against each other; a few more minutes and a fight might break out. One sign from Harry and the truck driver would lead the big gray back up that ramp. The story would end quickly. First, a cold, crowded, terrifying ride. Then the short, brutal end: a captive bolt through his head. The thought made Harry flinch.
Back in Harry's village in Holland, the day when the Nazi soldiers had led the horses away, the villagers had stood with their hands clenched at their sides, trying to hide the tears in their eyes.
Harry knew what it felt like to be powerless.
Beat up or not, this horse seemed brave: Harry noted the quiet way he stood there, the gaze that said he was ready to trust. Horses are herd animals. They smell fear, and sense danger. But this horse held out hope; he seemed to put his trust in a strange man, even though it was clear that, thus far, men had treated him poorly.
The horse stood motionless, square on all four, looking straight at Harry.
"How much you want for him?" Harry asked.
The man said again that he would bring sixty dollars for dog food. Harry felt his resolve melting under the horse's steady gaze.
He repeated his question. "How much you want for him?"
The man grinned broadly, probably thinking he stood a chance to make a buck on this guy. "You can have him for eighty."
Harry averted his eyes, fingering the rolled-up bills in his pocket. He could buy a lot of meals for his family for eighty dollars, a lot of bales of hay and sacks of grain for the horses. It was hard to imagine facing his wife with his money spent and nothing but this broken-down ex-plow horse to show for it.
Hadn't Harry gotten over being a sucker for horses?
But there was something about this horse. Harry turned back and the horse was still watching him intently: he was wise, an old soul, a horse whose steady demeanor seemed to cover hidden depths.
Man or beast, Harry did not like to see a proud soul held in captivity.
"Might make a lesson horse, if we can fatten him up," Harry said.
He handed over the eighty dollars and never looked back.
2
On the Way Home
St. James, Long Island, 1956
Eighty dollars poorer, Harry had made a deal. Now it was time to hit the long road home. The truck driver was heading back to New York anyway-to the rendering plant up in Northport, not far from St. James. The eighty-dollar price tag included ten dollars to drop the horse at Harry's barn. Ten dollars in the pocket for the butcher's driver was enough incentive to spare the horse's life. Nothing left for Harry but the long drive back through the snow in his beat-up Ford. On the front seat of the car lay the flashlight he used when the headlights went on the blink. Maybe he could make good time and get home to his family before nightfall.
As he drove, Harry pondered his purchase. A horse for sale is more than a flesh-and-blood animal; he is also an embodiment of a promise. Along with his physical attributes-coat color, four legs, a strong back, a facial expression-he also carries hope: that he will be strong and brave, faithful and true. For a man in the horse business, a horse is a financial transaction as well. A good buy made a safe lesson horse; a better one made a profitable resale. Harry fell in love from time to time along the way-an occupational hazard. He considered himself sensible, though he also had to admit that he seldom met a horse he did not like.
Product details
- ASIN : B004J4WKY2
- Publisher : Ballantine Books; 1st edition (August 23, 2011)
- Publication date : August 23, 2011
- Language : English
- File size : 7396 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 352 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #136,515 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #5 in Biological Science of Horses
- #50 in Biology of Horses
- #80 in Horse Riding (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
If you want to know why I’m a writer, you’d have to thank Mrs. Barclay, the children’s librarian in the Malaga Cove Library in Palos Verdes, California, and my mother. who has read more books than anyone else I know, and who carted me to the library from the time I could barely walk. From the day I sounded out my first board book (Ann Likes Red), read my first poem (Block City, by Robert Louis Stevenson) and was swept up in my first long chapter book, (Little House in the Big Woods) I’ve been a passionate reader and fascinated by the lives and personalities of my favorite authors. But I was a late bloomer. I spent my twenties and thirties working as a nurse-midwife and raising four children. When I turned forty, I decided that I didn’t want to be one of those people who thought she had a book in her but never gave it a try, and I sat down to write my first novel. Now, writing is my full-time pursuit. My passions are horses and all animals, my children, singing in a choir, and long road trips through the backroads of America. I care deeply about issues that affect women and children, and especially those who are fleeing danger. But my favorite hobby is still the one that Mrs. Barclay and my mom got me started on-- reading.
www.elizabethletts.com
Twitter: @elizabethletts
Facebook: www.facebook.com/eightydollarchampion
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BTW I had a quarter-horse when I lived in Burbank in the 70's
What I loved about this story is how anyone can start from nothing and build a life with meaning, even if you're a horse. Snowman had heart, and along with talent, that what it takes to be the best. It's obvious that Snowman jumped, both to get back to Harry, and then for Harry at every show he was entered in. I've heard that this story is going to be a movie, and what I can't believe is that no one has seen the potential earlier. Surely enough bad movies have been made that movie people can tell the difference by now.
The book was written well, though there was a lot of repetition that got in the way of my enjoyment of the book. The class differences between Harry a Dutch immigrant, and the rich horse folk of the fifties got old. It's apparent from the start and didn't need to be repeated with every show Harry and Snowman entered. Along with this, is the use of the description of Snowman as a plow horse. Snowman didn't look like a plow horse to me, he looked like a warmblood, the combination of a draft horse and a thoroughbred, Arab, or any other 'hot' blooded horse. He was gorgeous and in fact looks a lot like my German Warmblood who has perfect conformation(in my eyes).
This book is well-worth reading, and the movie will hopefully be worth watching. It was a joy to read the story of how the love of a man for his horse, and the horse for his man, gave both everything they'd ever wanted. All you need is love.
This true story of a horse named Snowman was recommended by friends.I probably would not have read it without their suggestion because I knew nothing about show jumping (I know quite a bit now).
This book, however, is about more than an equestrian event that a lot of us think is the province of the elite. It's about triumph over adversity against all odds. It's about the unique and unusual bond that can be formed between man and animal.
I knew I was in for a treat when author Elizabeth Letts painted a vivid image of a dirty, flea-bitten nag looking through the board slats of a truck bound for the slaughter house at a man with only eighty dollars in his pocket--a man who needed a horse to train students to ride and jump horses at an all-girls school. The horse and man saw something in each other's eyes.
Sound overdone? Romanticized? Too sentimental? By the time I reached the part where Snowman shows up in his former owner's yard dragging an old tire and a piece of board fence, I was hooked on this story and this horse.
Maybe it's because my grandfather's horse returned in a similar fashion. I'll never forget the day he came back more than a month after being sold and taken more than a hundred miles away. But that's another story. That was Buddy. This is about Snowman.
I have always been fascinated by theories about an animal's ability to reason and love their human masters. I am still just a wannabe cowboy, but I was raised around horses and there have been only short periods in my life when I did not own at least one (I still own one today).
Most of the stories we hear about humans bonding with animals have been romanticized to the point of becoming pure fiction. Letts is careful not to do that. By sticking to the facts and careful detail of how this relationship develops, readers can believe in something that we all want to believe (and most of us want to achieve).
It is one of the ironies of life (at least mine) that we often learn how things should be done after it is too late (or we are too old). Also, I find it fascinating that we all have aha moments when we are trying to master a skill, a subject, or a relationship--those moments when we read or hear the exact words that explain something that has been confusing before. Even the best of teachers don't always speak to all students.
Some of us listen and absorb in different ways. I have had many aha moments with horses. One was when I read that a woman's heart rate will match a horse's within sixty seconds after putting a hand on the horse. That simple revelation spoke volumes to me.
I discovered by trial and error that my horse would do just about what I expected of him. If I expected bad behavior when we team-roped, I got it and vice-versa. Even though there were many hits and misses, the discovery came in an "aha!" moment.
I concluded at first that the horse was just reacting to my physical movements--the way I sat in the saddle, the way my legs relaxed or tensed, the way my hands held the reins. However, I came to believe that it was also a mental thing.
When you ride and train a horse almost every day, he learns your moods, can read the expression on your face, and can correctly analyze every gesture. People generally know that about dogs and smaller pets, but not so much about horses. I now think that animals also communicate on a much higher mental and emotional level than I first thought.
I have been to a lot of horse training clinics and watched a lot of videos where the trainer tries to get this point across. But few ever come right out and say how they are communicating on a silent, mental level with the horse in addition to sounds and physical movements. Some are just not articulate enough, but most are doing something that comes natural to them. That may not realize that is not natural to everyone, but can be learned by most. This book proves the point.
Although the bonding between Harry le Feyer and Snowman develops through trial and error, failure and success, this is not a clinical description of training. There is definitely something intangible working between Snowman and Harry (a mental, emotional thing).
A survivor of Nazi-occupied Holland of WWII, this immigrant farmer, husband and father has a background that also makes the story more believable and more emotional. The pair develops what we all want to feel and share. You will soar inside the head of Harry and Snowman as well as over the jumps as they achieve the near-impossible. Go Down Looking
Brought back memories of going to horse show with my dad.
account of Snowman after Harry purchased him I could almost feel as though I was riding Snowman. A horse lovers book..
Top reviews from other countries
A great reading for all horse lovers, but also as an inspireing, motivational story in itself.
It was an interesting view of the times and the whole book left you feeling uplifted and glad to be alive.
The first chapter was extremely upsetting with such an eloquent description of the horses travelling on to the slaughterhouse and their awareness of their impending doom.
However, it shows the wasted talent that would have been if this horse had not been taken by someone with the knowledge and sensibility to see further into his character.
We can only hope that in the future their will be no need for such places to exist and that this type of story will become the rule not the exception.