Brass Ring: Teaching Disabled the Joys of Riding Horseback

Six nights a week the public sees Paul Lukather as a tough-talking Fascist thug. In the hit play “Tamara,” now in its third year at Hollywood’s Il Vittoriale, he terrorizes the other characters and even the audience. But on Sunday afternoons he can be found gently lifting disabled children onto horses at Ontario’s Jubilee Ranch.

Lukather has always loved horses. His wife, Elizabeth, loves them, too--but for different reasons. Because of a childhood bout with polio, Liz Lukather wears metal braces on her legs and walks only with crutches.

Her determination to ride horseback finally paid off when she discovered the smooth-gaited Tennessee walking horse. Now both Lukathers work to introduce other disabled people to the joys of riding.

One of the First

The Brass Ring, a nonprofit riding facility and one of the first of its kind in the United States, was founded by the Lukathers in 1973. Each Sunday they offer free riding instruction to those with Down’s syndrome, cerebral palsy, spina bifida and a host of other mental and physical disabilities.

As Paul Lukather puts it, “I’m not interested in what you can’t do; I’m interested in what you can do.”

On a typical Sunday early afternoon the Brass Ring hums with activity. Volunteers, several in official blue-and-white T-shirts, saddle up the Brass Ring’s six horses. Betty Pfeifer, blind since birth and a serious rider for 13 years, curries her own gelding and exults to anyone within earshot, “Look at the prettiest horse we’ve got!” Other regulars are arriving, along with their parents and escorts, and wait impatiently for their turn to ride.

In the midst of the hubbub sits Elizabeth Burt Lukather, crutches at her side, her blond hair swept into a stylish chignon. She is queen bee and mother confessor here, and she serenely greets everyone by name, inquiring about the progress they’ve made since last week.

Husband Paul is a more boisterous presence, quick with a quip and a hug. He loves pointing out Brass Ring success stories, like Toni Williams, born with Down’s syndrome about 40 years ago. A self-proclaimed “excellent rider,” Williams guides her mount around the show ring unaided. Paul Lukather’s pride in her manifests itself as good-natured ribbing: “Come on, Toni, don’t laze around. Move!”

Joe Martinez and his parents approach now, all three in full Western regalia. Joe, a teen-ager who has been diagnosed as severely retarded, shakes hands with Paul Lukather and then excitedly bobs up and down in a riding motion. Says Lukather bluntly, “You have to say it, Joe. You can’t sign for me.” He wants Joe to speak the word ride , but seems satisfied when Joe finally grunts out an unintelligible sound.

The goal of Brass Ring, Liz Lukather explains, is “not just to teach people to ride but to lead them to a more socially interactive life.” Riders are urged to talk clearly, without resorting to the hand signals many use at home. A punch-and-cookies social hour after riding each week encourages friendly interaction between the disabled and the able-bodied. As a result, riders find themselves more comfortable when dealing with the outside world, Paul Lukather maintains. “It changes their personalities. It’s magic.”

New to riding is Diana Alger, a first-grader who suffers from cerebral palsy. Lukather cradles her in his arms, then carefully sets her atop the Brass Ring’s gentlest horse. Unable to sit on her own, she bends forward, her head sagging nearly to the horse’s mane. But she’s grinning.

Hovering Mother

“Look at you!” coos the helper close by. Lukather makes sure Diana is comfortable, then growls to her hovering mother, “All right, Mom. Get lost!” This is, he notes, “another one of our rules. We get rid of the parents as quickly as possible.” Parents, however well-meaning, tend to overprotect their disabled children, or cause them to become distracted from the task at hand, he says.

Yet, understandably, Diana’s mother looks a bit anxious. Her daughter is wearing no protective helmet and sits on no special saddle. Riders are never strapped onto their mounts, because, Liz Lukather explains, “We’re dead set against anything that smacks of the clinical.” During much of her week, Diana is restrained by belts and protective devices. While riding she is free--though two volunteers flank her as a third leads her horse around the ring.

Like Diana, John Brajevich is 6 years old; cerebral palsy is just one of his problems. He’s been a rider for six months now, surmounting his early fear. Now he rides propped in front of an able-bodied volunteer, thrilling to the horse’s speed as it changes gaits.

Says his mother, Julia: “This is the biggest thing for him every week. He’s straightened up quite a bit since he started coming here. He’s started to talk more.” Among his new words: Mom , eat , and ride. Julia Brajevich is heartened at what the Brass Ring has done for her son: “They said when he had his neurological damage that he’d be a vegetable. But he’s far from that right now.”

The origin of the Brass Ring dates back to 1966 when the Lukathers wanted a way to ride together. “When you’re married to a handicapped person,” Paul explains, “you don’t go out dancing.” The Tennessee walking horse, which moves smoothly from a walk to a running walk to a canter without jolting the rider, proved ideal for his wife’s needs. They purchased Blondie from Paul Hughes of Jubilee Ranch, who retrained her to respond to voice commands. Eight months later, Liz Lukather was the star of a benefit horse show.

After reading about her equestrian feats, many disabled people began clamoring for the opportunity to mount a horse. And so the Brass Ring was born. Because it was first operated out of Whittier’s Carousel Stables, the name was apt; grabbing the merry-go-round’s brass ring entitles you to a free ride. But, Paul Lukather says, “it’s not a pony ride. It’s an education.” The late Dr. Charles LeRoy Lowman, founder of Orthopaedic Hospital in Los Angeles and a lifelong horse enthusiast who served as the Brass Ring’s first medical adviser, believed that the “involuntary isometrics” experienced during horseback riding could stimulate damaged muscles.

Perhaps even more important are the psychological benefits, says Liz Lukather, a psychotherapist in private practice. Riding, she notes, “gives people a sense of adequacy, well-being.” In the saddle, the disabled “are participants, for a change, and not audience. Most of them have been audience all their lives.”

As an actor, Lukather sometimes runs into scheduling conflicts that limit his time with the Brass Ring. But he feels that both parts of his life are important. Acting, he says, is inevitably, “a self business.” Desperate for approval, the typical actor is forever fussing with his appearance, and wondering, “Did you like me? Was I all right?” It takes a project like the Brass Ring to “help you get away from yourself.”

Few Rewards

In the early days of the Brass Ring, when there was much hard physical work and sparse attendance, the rewards were few, he says. But ultimately “you saw something happen to these people,” Lukather says now. “It makes you feel good, not just because you do it but because you see the results.”

Says Liz Lukather about the Brass Ring: “My parents and the very fine doctors I had notwithstanding, the greatest contribution to my rehabilitation has been the horse.” She finds “vicarious pleasure in seeing someone else find the same freedom in the horse that I have found.”

The Brass Ring can accommodate up to 25 riders each Sunday. Its staff welcomes new riders, from tots to senior citizens, but stresses the importance of regular attendance. For further information, contact the Lukathers at (213) 698-4164.