Ariel Fintzi has the name of an angel, and he is an angel, even though a close friend described him as a “shamanic elf,” which is also a fitting description of him. Ariel grew up with horses on a kibbutz in Israel, he came to New York as a young immigrant and was, like so many of the carriage drivers, hired as a stable hand, cleaning out the stables. He has been with horses all of his life, driving them through Central Park for decades, and loves them dearly. He is a horse mystic, a generous spirit.
Ariel believes the horses should be used for healing and for good, and he has devoted much of his to using horses to help people who are sick, injured troubled. I first met him when he came into the park to meet a young quadraplegic woman who comes into the park every morning to meet with Ariel and his horse Rebecca. The meetings, she says, give her a reason to live.
If you spent any time with Ariel, you will see one person after another come up to him, hug him, thank him, love him. He is, in fact, a love machine. When the mayor of New York says none of the drivers will suffer if their job are taken from them and they are forced to drive green cabs in the outer boroughs, his elitism and ignorance of the carriage trade are all too visible.
Ariel will never drive a green car in Brooklyn, shame on the mayor for pretending he knows these people or is a common man. Ariel is in the park day and night, and late Saturday, after my daughter’s wedding, at midnight, we met him at Central Park South and he took us on the ride of our lives, a magical tour of the beautiful and deserted park. Ariel wanted to celebrate Emma’s wedding, also to thank me for my writing about the carriage horses, also to connect Maria to the spirit of the horses.
Ariel is addicted to good deeds, including hiring some of the first people of color to drive the horse carriages. Earlier in the day, we met at the Clinton Park stables, drove through Manhattan (Rebecca paid no attention to the fire engines that shrieked right past us, to the dog who came up and barked, to the traffic and honking horns, toured the stables, went through the park.
Then we gathered again at night, at midnight. We ended up driving around the park until 2:30. I will write about this remarkable journey more. Fitzi is a very rare human being. We both fell in love with him instantly.
A young African-American teenager came up to him outside of the carriage, hugged him and said Ariel had helped him so much to give up drugs, stay in school, think about his future. He said he comes every night to the park to talk to him, tell him how he is doing, seek out his help.
“He is the most wonderful man,” he said, “I wish he was my father.” Me, too.
Our night was magical, it was in so many ways what we needed that night, Ariel is a psychic too, he can see into hearts and souls. We stopped in the heart of the empty and beautiful park, we said a prayer, Ariel gave us fruit and warm tea, he showered us with rose petals, and strawberries with Nutella. By the Dakota, where John Lennon was killed, he arranged for a young musician to come aboard the carriage and serenade us for a half mile through the gorgeous and empty park. We stopped at got out at fountains, paths and vistas I did not even know existed.
“This is too much!,” we protested, overwhelmed. “You have done so much for us,” he said, smiling. I love writing about the carriage horses, and I appreciated the thanks, even though I don’t need it. More than a year ago, I put aside the writing I was being paid to do, and took up the issue of the carriage horses.
They are not a simple, unified group, they are wary of outsiders. The carriage trade is a close and sometimes tribal universe. One person recently suggested I was making money off of the issue, I was blocked from one of their private groups because, they said, I was in the “media.” Another person didn’t like some of the words I used in my writing. I am used to this to be honest, I am not much of a joiner.
People are like that, I have found, they will always find fault, and I am far from perfect. But I have always felt closely connected to the drivers, I hear from them all the time, they very much appreciate whatever support they are given. They know me by sight, they wave to me on the street and shout out their thanks.
I have no idea what role I have played in their long and hard struggle, I doubt that the mayor of New York reads my blog, but i hope it has done them some good, they need relief and support. My heart is in it, and I will hang in there with them for as long as it makes sense. Their fight to survive will go on a good long time I suspect, and it has been nothing but a gift to me.
I will write more about Ariel’s Midnight Ride tonight and tomorrow, it was a stunning and magical experience for Maria and I, we haven’t yet stopped talking about it. Photos and words later. Ariel is an angel, I am so grateful to have him in my life as a friend and shamanic spirit.
If you spend five minutes with him, you will see that he would never harm or mistreat a horse and the carriage trade is woven deeply into the heart and soul of New York City. It would be an absolute crime to banish it for no good reason other than the fact an animal rights fanatic gave the mayor a suitcase full of money.