The Theft of History

Los Angeles, 1954.

The noble equine, in all its forms, caught my eye when I was quite young. Movies with knights on horseback fascinated me. Ladies riding sidesaddle seemed graceful, if a bit awkward. The horses were magical. They had the true grace. And true grit.

I could not know at 6 that history would be my passion, and my bread and butter. That’s why those individuals on horses caught my eye. My soul was back there…

I wanted to ride a horse, so my mother took me to Griffith Park to ride a pony. The affair with horses then began in earnest. I recall the gent who raised me up to sit me securely in the saddle. He strapped me in. The pony ride venue was interested in the safety of its customers. I also recall the smell of the pony, and the feel of the saddle. And the sight of those ears framing the world in front of me.

Did my feet reach the stirrups? They must have. Still, being strapped in, nothing untoward would happen to me, except perhaps the tingle that comes with a new experience.

The ride was too slow, and too quickly over.

At the end of that oh-so-short road, my mom asked me how I like it.

“I want to go faster.”

“Are you sure?” the pony guy asked.

“Yes.”

My proclivity to try out a little danger began when I was young.  So off I went, and the pony guy kept me firmly in his radar. I was a beginner, but then, I wasn’t. More on that later.

The Griffith Park Pony Rides was a fantastic place for a kid to try on a little danger.  But now it’s gone, gone because a group of ‘protesters,” aka bullies, have decided, for the entire city, what is good and what is bad, in the way we interact with animals.

Call them the new dictators. Now that the pony ride is successfully closed, they are off to the Bunny Cafe, because they don’t like the way the rabbits are cared for. No one else complains, or voices concerns, just a group of protestors. They have no evidence that the rabbits are mistreated, but that does not matter to them.  They just don’t like the mixed use of having a cup of coffee, while watching real live bunnies that you can take home with you. So they decided that you cannot decide for yourselves.

The Bunny Cafe is a too sweet idea. Therefore, like the pony rides, it must end. That is the attitude of the so-called protestors.

I will digress a bit here, because referring to these individuals as “protestors” is the wrong way to address them. I need to give them a new handle. It must be historical, as history is what we do at the History Desk. Since the Italians have, historically, had the best insults, I’ve come up with a new name for these folks. It comes from the insult, “stupid” in English, stupido in Italian. Calling the folks stupido, is too understood, and, it isn’t appropriate. We have to use a word that comes from the world of the equine. And that word is, asino. Asino is Italian for donkey. Some of you readers may think that is an insult to the donkey. The dear donkey, aka, ass, has his reputation for a reason. I could go with stronzi, which is Italian for a-hole. The History Desk will not got there. Ergo, I choose asino because a donkey will bray with, much ado about nothing, and that is what these folks do. Bray! Endlessly, over nothing important.

Let me be clear about this: any animal that is being abused must be defended. But the Asinos lie, which is to break a commandment of God, and of civilized human beings, when they said the ponies were being absued.

It is not only the lies of the Asinos that I detest. The Asinos are the thieves of history. Our history. My history. Especially mid-century history, when Los Angeles exploded as one of the places to live in the United States. This is a place were innovations took place, in all sorts of industries. Angelenos still attract innovators. But the innovators will not live here if groups, like the Asinos, are allowed free rein over what is allowed, and what is not allowed. They are religious in their fervor, and if you have read your history, you know religious fervor can kill.

Taking away the pony rides took away the past, and a tradition. I wanted to bring my grandsons over for a ride. A classmate from high school (John Marshall) planned on bringing her grandchildren as well. Now we, all of us, have been deprived of this sweet experience, and a local tradition.

I wonder how many of the Asinos are grandparents to third generation Angelenos?

The memories I have of Atwater Village, and the “horsey section” will always remain with me. But history is best served when those who were brought up in a location can share traditions with the succeeding generations. That is why I ask the question about the Asinos belonging to any tradition. My son, and his family, live in my mother’s duplex on Brunswick, so this is a fourth generation living in this area.

A part of the charm of living in Atwater Village is the horses that live within walking distance. The horses have been there for a hundred years. The Asinos are Johnnies-come-lately that want things made over in their image.

Did any of the Asinos ever ride a pony? Any pony? What is their history that they are so angry at the world?

Back to that little girl on the pony. When the pony went into his trot, I received my first riding lesson. A trotting equine can jiggle the brains in a most unpleasant manner.  When I graduated to horses, I would walk, or I would canter. No trotting allowed. Until my mom introduced my brother and me, to Eric.

Eric was from Ireland, so he rode in the traditional English style. He was a budding horse girl’s dream. My brother remained a Westerner, but my ideas were the product of watching movies that featured ladies riding gracefully. Yes, I wanted to wear the hats, with the veils, grey jodhpurs, with highly polished black boots up to my knees, and a black wool jacket, with a white silk shirt underneath.

But first, I needed to learn how to really ride a horse, to develop a good seat, and not get my brains tossed whilst trotting.

Eric to the rescue. He taught me how to post properly, and all of a sudden, a trotting horse beneath me did not rattle my brains.

Image that!

Those are my memories, my history, of mid-century Los Angeles, in Atwater Village and Griffith Park.

All children that want to, need to take a pony ride. No living being is hurt by a kid on a pony going around a track. Indeed, Jimmy Kim, Los Angeles Recreation and Parks director, had this to say about the pony rides: “…after conducting a thorough investigation, our city veterinarians have determined that there is no evidence of abuse or neglect of these ponies…I have in no way been influenced by the protestors.”

The question is then, who, in the city council, wanted the pony ride closed? Who owed what Asino a favor for money donated to a cause or campaign? Because, like all cities, coercion, bribery, and favors bought and paid for, are the business of the day.

Never kid yourself, corruption is everywhere. And right here in Los Angeles city.

Asinos in any city have, and will in the future, bring a business down for a goal that may, or may not, be mentioned. Look at Tammany Hall in old New York, or the mayors of Chicago, and the developers mixing it up with the political classes  in Los Angeles. Throughout the city there is a push for multifamily dwellings. Horses that take up space that could be housing, are a target. Isn’t that a developer’s dream?

The owners of properties in that horsey area, have to take their cue from the lessons of the past.

Firstly, leadership is the name of a successful game. A leader that can develop a game plan, and build partnerships with other organizations interested in the preservation of the history of the city, its traditions, and its parks as places of recreation, for all athletes, which includes those who ride horses, is a necessary component in this fight to keep Los Angeles charming.

Before I left for university in 1968, the stables along Los Feliz were to be torn down, and apartments erected. This portended the unfolding of a plan to turn the horse places into people places.

After university, I left California to live in other states. When I returned, my husband and I moved into the Townhorses on Allen. I could see stables and a training rink from my back bedroom.

The Townhorses were located in Glendale, which also claims a part of the horsey section of Greater Los Angeles. The city of Burbank has a stake in it as well. Once again, I would ride in the hills of Griffith Park, and along the trails that bordered the 5 Freeway and the Los Angeles River. I felt at home.

Once again, new living spaces for humans took over horse space, off of Riverside Drive. It was multi-family dwellings with stables. At least the attempt of catering to the equine class was made. However, times are different. The Asinos, and others like them, animal rights organizations, have become the bane of those of us who think horses are to have a relationship with humans, one without violence. And that equines can live in the city, among us. That it enriches the city to have this extra sport practiced here. One that requires a relationship between horse and human.

I wonder if the Asinos are also against sheep dogs herding sheep?

The Asinos would rob us of our history. They would strip us of our ancient practices and athletics that we humans, and horses, have engaged in for thousands of years. Horses challenge us, have always challenged us. I think of them as more like cats, as they let us tame them. With a good human, life is good for the equines. No foraging, no surviving blizzards, no prey. A human will feed, groom, keep warm, and shoot a predator to keep his noble beast healthy, alive, and looking good. Poseidon’s beasts are the companions that could kill humans, but choose not to. It is we who are at their mercy, not the other way around.

Let the Asinos take on the owners that really do harm horses. Santa Anita comes to mind. If the Asinos are really brave, then let’s see if they can bring down the mob, and their drugging of horses so that an injured horse can race. And die.

Go ahead, Asinos. I dare you. Let’s see how brave you really are where it matters.

I have this suspicion that horse lovers were, in another lifetime, a horse. Therefore, in this lifetime, we have to have a relationship with a horse. I am convinced, because of dreams, and visions I’ve had, that I was the steed of a knight. I was his war horse. It is why I love horses, hate war, but am willing to do battle against those liars, who steal our history.