Читать книгу Four Legs Move My Soul - Isabell Werth - Страница 10

Dr. Uwe Schulten-Baumer—known by many as simply “The Doctor”—could be easily recognized from behind due to his characteristically round head and distinctive ears. On top you might find a borsalino of soft felt or, in the summer, a breathable Panama straw hat. At shows, he often wore a trench coat, with the belt pulled tightly around his classic belly and the pant legs of a suit, tailored at one of the finest addresses in Düsseldorf, peeking from underneath. On his feet: expensive, correctly polished leather shoes, with a few sandy traces—at most—from the outdoor arena. In one hand: a large umbrella or maybe a folding chair for tedious training rounds. He stood, or sat, on the side of the training arena and intently watched Isabell ride. When she finished and rode on a long rein, he might turn around, at which point one could see a flash of his silk tie from the luxury brand Hermès under his shirt collar. He collected these ties; he owned dozens. For him, correct appearance was a must. He wanted to be perceived as an accomplished gentleman and was never lacking the appropriate outfit.

Friends, said Dr. Uwe Schulten-Baumer sometimes, he did not need. He was hardly on a first-name basis with anyone.

It was foreign to him to confide in another person. This showed in the smile that he wore for the general public. At first sight this smile might almost seem distanced in a shy way. On second look, it was only distancing. Almost wary. It would seem he considered each potential interaction before it happened: Could this person engage with him in a serious conversation about horses? No, likely not. Did this person at least show the necessary respect that a gentleman like The Doctor deserved? Did this individual honor The Doctor’s social standing and his success? Did the person know his schooling of Nicole Uphoff and Rembrandt had revolutionized dressage riding? That he had been the initiator and manager of the greatest career ever known in the sport of dressage for years—that of Isabell Werth? Also unlikely.

Those who looked deep into his universal smile, recognized the danger lurking behind it. The Doctor was incredibly sensitive; he was a person who could snap for any minor reason—especially if he felt that somebody who was clearly inferior to him met him boldly at eye level…and it was worse if the person dared pat him “pal-like” on the shoulder. Or, if somebody referred to him as Isabell’s “trainer,” even though he was far more than that—mentor, patron, master. In those moments, it was best to rely on his formal politeness, and then to disappear quickly.

Life experience teaches us that those who snap quickly are also quick-tempered. That was the case with The Doctor. Rumor had it that he always traveled with two identically packed suitcases, so that he could leave immediately should the need arise. It would have been very much like him to be prepared for such an event. But the truth, in the end, was different. He may have often threatened to leave—but he always stayed.

The Doctor could be a charming man, sometimes almost coy, and he was a first-rate connoisseur of horses who could speak about the subject that had dominated his life in a wonderfully clear and precise diction, which demonstrated his respect for the horse. He was also choleric, with fits of rage that often provoked resistance in those people closest to him.

And Isabell was particularly close to him.

The Doctor held an incredible fascination for me. From the first day, I had the feeling that his usual distance, which he maintained with most people, didn’t apply to me. The chemistry between us was just right. I looked forward to riding with him every day. I soaked up everything he taught me and enjoyed my time with him immensely. At shows, in the warm-up ring, I watched all the riders at that time with wide eyes. I might bring those lessons learned in the warm-up ring home with me and try them out on Monday mornings, and The Doctor would laugh and say: “So, what is it that you learned this weekend?” You steal a third of your riding skills with your eyes, was one of his conclusions. Dr. Schulten-Baumer shaped and facilitated my entire athletic and professional career. I have since progressed, of course, but he laid the foundation. We had a great fundamental trust in each other and a deep emotional connection. I had the same passion he had in me; I think he realized a bit of him ran through me. When I think about The Doctor today, it is only with a feeling of great warmth and gratitude.

Dr. Schulten-Baumer must have had an eye on the young rider Isabell was becoming for a long time before he, in a sense, won her over to pursue his own ambitions. She and his youngest daughter, Verena, went to the same school for a while. Both girls were members of the same riding club and participated in the German riding examinations together. There is even a photo of the two of them, Isabell on Funny, her pony, and Verena on Wisby, a big veteran schoolmaster. Tiny horse and big, stolid veteran stand next to each other in the picture, like ambassadors from two different equestrian worlds; they had just competed against each other in a class and Isabell, the girl from the metaphorical “ground floor,” had won against Verena, the girl from the floor above.

Compared to what The Doctor represented to me back then, I felt like a “country girl.” When he and his family arrived at the riding club’s indoor arena on Sunday mornings, I stood curiously on the side and watched how this man, with his equestrian-world panache, trained his oldest daughter, Alexa, who rode his horses at the classiest shows during those years. I saw the level at which he was teaching her and tried to learn everything that he offered, simply by watching. There were rumors in the neighborhood about how their training sessions often took place with raised voices. I would later experience this first-hand—but I also helped initiate those interactions, of course.

Yelling was the norm in any arena back then. The harsh tone of the cavalry was still part of the general repertoire of riding education in the seventies and eighties. In general, it is quite astonishing how a lot of people were treated back then at their lesson barns and home arenas. They had to pay to basically be hassled like many grooms were—something that would most likely not be tolerated today. The “old-world” view of trainers, who could afford to “have a go” at their students and “dress them down” when they did not follow instructions, still prevailed. The greatest riding masters of all time were understood to have conducted themselves that way; The Doctor’s teachers lashed out at him whenever they felt like it, for example. The times were still true to the motto: “Shut up and ride.” If somebody tried to say that his or her horse was not feeling quite right on a particular day, even if it was mentioned hesitantly, the trainer would, more often than not, tear into the student with scorn.

The tough life of a “protégé” didn’t scare me. Rather, I perceived it to be an honor if I was yelled at. It showed that somebody was actively paying attention to me. Nothing of the sort would have lessened my unconditional thirst for knowledge and my enthusiasm for horses. On the contrary. I was mesmerized listening to and watching The Doctor, and through him I experienced a completely different quality of riding. And I wanted to be able to do the same thing.

When she was a teenager, the course that Isabell wanted to use to prepare for her riding badge exam (as they have in Germany) was held by a former soldier—a retired colonel, who directed the children in the arena like soldiers during drills at the army barracks.

“Ride…march!”

“Ride..turrrrrn right!”

Isabell rode Funny’s successor then—a smallish, formerly retired horse called Abendwind (Evening Wind) that her father Heinrich had brought back to work for his daughter. Abendwind, known around the barn as Sammy, was an experienced schoolmaster—the type that some call a “professor,” because he fancies that he is smarter than everyone else. Especially humans.

When our trainer instructed everyone to pick up the canter—“Ride…canter-march!”—he only had to start saying the syllable, “Can…” and Sammy knew what he was supposed to do. However, he was not suited to go last in a group. When it came his turn to canter, he started to buck, unless he was in the lead. And he did this so reliably that he bucked during the “audition” for the riding course, as soon as the colonel had called out “Can…” Sammy’s bucking was so impressive the old officer kicked us out. Not good enough.

That’s how my relationship with Dr. Uwe Schulten-Baumer began. His first wife saw what happened with the Colonel and decided I should take lessons from her husband at the same time as the course. And so, I eventually took the exam…with the best dressage score.

This inner grit and ability to come back and fight when down is innate to every true athlete. The Isabell Werth “punch,” which the entire equestrian world got to know later, began to show up during these early years. The Doctor called her parents and asked whether she could come and ride with him more often. They declined, at first, without informing their daughter about the offer. Their wish for Isabell was to grow up in a harmonious environment and decide for herself about serious training when she turned eighteen.

But Isabell already knew very well what she wanted.

Isabell was seventeen in December 1986 when she celebrated New Year’s Eve at the Scheepers Family Farm located in Rheinberg, very close to the seventies-style white villa where Dr. Schulten-Baumer resided with his family.

That is where the fatal party happened. Where it all began.

The Doctor was also there. He took the opportunity and talked to Isabell, telling her he was in a bit of a spot as his usual rider was in the hospital and now his horses did not have enough exercise—he was looking for help. Isabell went to his stable the next day. And, when Dr. Schulten-Baumer’s rider had recovered, The Doctor still wanted Isabell to ride for him and asked if she would continue. She had hoped for this offer and agreed immediately.

It was as if a door opened for me into a world that, thus far, I had only known from television. I listened to him, in awe, deeply impressed, and wide-eyed. I saw him to be a sort of guru, and believed, finally, I had found a teacher worth following.

It must have already been clear to The Doctor how much potential was in the new relationship with the young rider: He, with his passion, his knowledge, and his financial means, and she, with her unique feel for the inner state of horses, her irrepressible ambition, and her immense courage.

The first horse he gave her to ride was one that nobody enjoyed.

Posilippo was a large chestnut that everybody was scared of. He was not really mean, but very sassy, unruly, and he had a buck in him.

Posilippo was fresh, as horse people say. He soaked up energy and released it in a way that regularly sent riders to the ground. But not Isabell. Back when she had been in the hospital, at seven years old, she had not sworn for no reason to show her sassy gray mare, at the next opportunity, that her rider was not one to give up so easily. She had not been catapulted from her mount, cleaned the dirt off her breeches, and got back in the saddle, sometimes even multiple times during the day, in vain. Allowing fear to take hold was never an option for her. Posilippo? He was business as usual. She thought it normal to ride such a bucking freak. She rode him with total devotion and focus, and the more she committed herself, the more horses The Doctor gave to her to ride, especially, as his children—his son Uwe, a successful doctor, and his daughter Alexa—withdrew more and more from the competition circuit. Isabell was able to learn from their experienced horses. She took over the ride on the mare Fabienne, among others, who was to carry her to the World Cup victory in Gothenburg, Sweden, in 1992.

I was deeply happy and grateful that I was allowed to ride all these horses, and it would have never occurred to me that I was doing The Doctor a favor. I only figured out later that while I may have made my dreams come true with his help, he also realized his dreams with me. The mutual passion for horses and success bound us tightly together over the years.

Uwe Schulten-Baumer was a self-made man—a farmer’s son, born on January 14, 1926, in Kettwig, Germany. Horses fascinated him from an early age. As a child, he helped to brush, feed, and water the horses at a nearby barn and received his first riding lessons in return. Dr. Schulten-Baumer did his military service with the marines, going to a cadet school where he was allowed to ride the horses at the commander’s headquarters on the weekends. He had to serve for six months during the Second World War and was stationed on the cruiser Nürnberg in the Baltic Sea. He completed a commercial apprenticeship after the war, then went back to complete high school, studied economy in Würzburg and Bonn, and wrote his doctoral thesis on the cement industry. He found employment at the Raw Iron Association, became a board member, and eventually, a director.

His job was challenging, and he had to travel often. But it seemed as if all his life, all of that was just a means to an end, so that he could follow his passion for horses. The “blind passion,” as he called it. He acquired his outstanding skills in training and schooling horses himself, simply by being a meticulous observer and by dealing with the best teachers of his time. Fritz Tempelmann, for example, and Major General Albert Stecken. Dr. Schulten-Baumer never completed a classical professional rider apprenticeship of his own. He was a highly specialized autodidact, who never stopped to continue his education.

He regularly met with Major Stecken over dinner to philosophize about the schooling of horses. It bothers me when things that such experts continuously developed over time and through intensive discussion and passionate exchange are judged so carelessly today.

It is said that The Doctor was an excellent jumper rider and even dared tackle the then still extremely massive Parcours des Concours Hippique International Officiel, short CHIO, in Aachen, with his erratic mare Senta. He was also inspired by Olympic show-jumping winner Alwin Schockemöhle. Those who saw him ride speak respectfully of his time in the jumping saddle. Later he focused on dressage, and of course, very soon, he no longer had time to make a name for himself on the back of a horse. He let others ride for him: first his children (especially his son Uwe and his daughter Alexa); then Isabell.

When Dr. Schulten-Baumer came home from a business trip to Switzerland or Brazil, the entire household and barn staff remained in a tense silence. Everyone listened for the next sound as he went to the mailbox, took his letters, and closed it again. If he slammed it shut, everyone in the house and in the arena cringed. Uh-oh. In a bad mood. Sometimes, three horses would still be ridden until late in the evening—his chance to relax and recharge his batteries. His lifeline.

The horses were always on his mind, twenty-four hours a day. He never stopped thinking about them, about their general character traits and particularities and needs. And about which methods might make them successful? That, too. All his life he didn’t seek out a horse’s weakness but his potential. To focus on that…that was the source of his happiness. That, and to discover talented horses.

The Doctor loved shopping at horse auctions. There was hardly an auction in Verden, the heart of Hanoverian breeding, that he did not visit. Very often, we didn’t even try the horses that he was interested in. If we did try them, we always rode several horses to throw others off our track, since he was always worried that otherwise the bidding for a horse would go too high. He always went to the auction before the presentation of the sale horses, sat down (sometimes we sat there together), and observed every single prospect. How intently he looked at them! How meticulously he applied his standards! I listened and learned. A day like that was like a study trip for me. Back then, the breeding association auctions still offered the top horses for their respective age groups. Today, the best prices are already fetched beforehand.