Oats, Hay and the Big Apple

On a steamy morning, traffic is backed up on West 89th Street near Central Park.

Moving vans and garbage trucks screech to a halt. Motorists fume. All they can do is honk their horns and watch as a line of eight horses and riders plods out of the Claremont Riding Academy up ahead, and enters the busy street.

“Look out for taxis!” shouts the leader to seven girls riding behind her. The horses walk serenely in front of the congestion. They clip-clop past a housing project and turn right at a pizza parlor. Minutes later, they disappear into the park.

The traffic begins to flow again.

Horses have been fixtures here since 1892, when a carriage depot was first constructed on the site. Today, the Claremont academy is the oldest continuously operated stable in the United States -- and the last public stable left in Manhattan.

“We have a strong whiff of tradition,” says Paul Novograd, whose family has owned the landmark structure for 62 years. “The idea of running a stable in the heart of New York may sound unusual, but this place is truly our home.”

The beige-brick building, filled with hay and oats, sits on a street less than two blocks from Broadway, where elegant brownstones and condos sell for millions. On one side of the stable is a luxury apartment building, on the other is a multistory garage.

Claremont’s 50 horses are kept on the second floor and in the basement. On the ground floor is a riding ring measuring 75 feet by 65 feet.

A few people begin their mornings here with a gentle trot into Central Park; teenagers learn to groom horses and handicapped adults combine riding with physical therapy. Children flock to an equestrian summer camp; underprivileged children get their first chance to mount an Appaloosa. People who board their own horses at the stable filter in and out.

The years when Manhattan was teeming with horses -- more than 100,000 filled the streets in 1900 -- are long gone. As the automobile gained in popularity, stables like Claremont began disappearing. They were either torn down and replaced by apartments, or converted into parking garages.

The Novograd family has no such plans, although it briefly contemplated putting the stable on the market this year, then changed its mind. The Claremont, a Romanesque-style structure with soaring gables, and arched bays and windows, will continue to operate -- at its leisurely pace.

“Nobody here is in a hurry,” Novograd says, “because we value what we have.”

*

By 6:30 a.m., large floor fans are humming to keep animals and people cool on yet another scorching day in mid-July. Over the next 14 hours, the horses will experience a day with highs and lows similar to those of many New Yorkers.

Tonka, a brown and white pony, looks tired and walks with difficulty. The schedule calls for him to go riding in the park with young campers, but stable attendants don’t think it’s going to happen.

“He’s got asthma; he’s not breathing too well,” says Rachel Easton, camp director, patting Tonka gently on his neck. “In this heat, he’ll just have to rest.”

Every morning, Easton visits her pals: Mozart, Django, Rigatoni, Patches, Blossom, Bambi, Maxine, Tyler, Gillespie, Tugger and about 40 others. They’re jammed into a building smaller than most rural stables, and getting outside is a must.

Brutus, a perky brown quarter horse, holds his head high and looks happy as he saunters out of the building with his longtime owner. Richard Feldman, 70, vice president of Lehman Bros., has been taking him to Central Park every day for seven years.

“There’s something about the outside of a horse that’s good for the inside of a man,” he says, quoting Winston Churchill.

Feldman, who took lessons here as a boy, returns with Brutus 30 minutes later. He gives Brutus apples, then feeds all the other horses in the upstairs stable.

“My day goes downhill from here,” he jokes, getting into a cab outside the riding academy. “Nothing else I do today at work will even remotely compare to this.”

By midmorning, most of the animals have had breakfast. Some eat far more than others; Casco, the largest horse in the stable, puts away 16 quarts of feed a day.

Stable attendants are constantly cleaning the stalls and unloading deliveries of fresh hay. The waste at Claremont easily fills about 15 drums a day. Twice a week, attendants drag drums full of straw and manure next to a second-story window. A chute is raised from the street and the waste is poured into it, tumbling into a truck parked below.

Straw fills the air. The temperature hits 94. Fumes rise from the manure.

“Oh, my god!” mutters a pedestrian, passing by.

The disposal takes about an hour. After the waste is collected, it’s hauled to Pennsylvania farms and used as fertilizer for white-button mushrooms.

*

By noon, a group of campers -- ages 7 to 13 -- is hard at work. Some are learning how to groom horses, brushing coats, manes and tails. Others are wrapping the horses’ legs with bandages, so they can walk on the paved streets.

Soon, the younger campers begin riding lessons in the ring, trotting clockwise; older children mount up for a ride into Central Park.

As the eight horses head out of the driveway and into the crowded street, Easton and another instructor are at the front and rear of the line, calling out directions.

Seconds later, a truck darts out of a parking place, oblivious to the horses behind him. Easton halts the line and hollers to get the driver’s attention. He slams on the brakes; she signals to get the line moving again.

The horses turn right onto a residential street, walking past schoolyards, huge apartment buildings and community gardens. They pass a small park, where construction workers and nannies with strollers are taking a break.

“Hey, baby!” shouts one worker, admiring one of the riders.

“Hi, horsey!” shouts a toddler, admiring one of the mounts.

Once in Central Park, the riders make their way onto a tree-lined bridle path. Even here they need to pay close attention. Horses cannot graze on the grass because the city puts rat poison on the ground.

The group returns half an hour later. By early afternoon, the heat is stultifying. One by one, horses are given showers in the street, where it’s cooler than in the stable. Then they pad back to their stalls.

Some days, life at the riding academy can be glamorous.

For nearly 10 years, the stable’s horses have appeared in Metropolitan Opera productions. This fall, Tyler, a little gray pony, will be reprising his star turn as a unicorn in Verdi’s “Falstaff.” Casco, a white gelding, will be cast in Puccini’s “La Boheme.” Other horses will appear in “Carmen” and “Rodelinda.”

“Not every animal can do this,” says Novograd.

“Imagine being a horse on stage with hundreds of people singing at the top of their lungs. There are cannons booming offstage. An orchestra is playing in the pit. You’re looking at bright spotlights.”

*

Riding in the Big Apple is not for everybody. An excitable horse can panic at the sound of a police siren or a yapping dog. A jittery rider could easily lose control and be thrown in an instant. At the Claremont academy, finding the right match is often a delicate task.

“You don’t want to make a mistake,” says Novograd. “Not in this city.”

The stable is forever rotating horses to farms for annual vacations, and replacing them with ones that are well-rested.

Some thrive in Manhattan, lasting as long as 10 years. But there comes a time when the city grind gets to be too much, and age takes a toll.

A sign on the stable’s bulletin board urges contributions to the Willow Fund, an organization that takes horses and puts them in “retirement” homes.

About 35 horses from Claremont have benefited. There are snapshots of three alumni, Milky Way, Trigger and Essex, now living happily on a Florida farm.

“We’re like a family here,” Novograd says. “We remember the good times.”

There also has been tragedy.

A week earlier, during an adult riding class, six horses had been trotting around the indoor ring. Under the watchful eye of instructor Karen Feldgus, the riders kept their animals at a safe distance from each other, so there would not be a collision.

Then Hermes, a spirited Appaloosa, moved too close to Forrester, a mellow, gray-white gelding. The two animals collided and Hermes kicked back. It sounded like the crack of a baseball bat.

Forrester held up his shattered left front leg in pain. He collapsed, thrashing on the floor.

Feldgus rushed to his side, shuddering at the sight of Forrester’s bruised, bleeding leg. As Novograd hurried over, the instructor raced down the street to a bodega and came back with a big bag of ice for the leg. Attendants gave the horse tranquilizers, but he continued to thrash.

The stable called for a veterinarian, who had to rush in from Long Island. Normally, there wouldn’t have been much traffic around noon. But hours before, a building had collapsed nearby on the Upper West Side, shutting down some major highways.

“Easy, easy,” said Novograd, patting Forrester on the neck. “We’re here.”

When the doctor finally arrived, he examined the horse and shook his head. Riders hugged each other in the office; some cried.

A week after the accident, as twilight falls on the stable, voices are still hushed when talk turns to Forrester. Campers and instructors grieve. But it doesn’t shake their work routine.

There are horses to groom. Stalls to clean. A group would soon show up for an early evening riding lesson. Office workers busily check the next day’s riding schedule.

Leah Bamman, 12, gently brushes down her horse, as it nuzzles her face.

“I feel so proud riding in the streets,” she says. “If you can ride ‘em here, you can ride ‘em anywhere.”