Rowan wanted 50 blankets in a hurry. He got them by driving 20 miles in the stormy night. Ryan started driving the surviving horses back to Manhattan. It was then approximately three in the morning. Fifteen horses lived. In Manhattan, Ryan really got down to business. The veterinarians on emergency call had reported in. Ryan worked shoulder to shoulder with them, examining, treating; no one needed to tell him what to do. He had known for a long time. The vets were very good at their job. Beside Ryan, they also looked surprisingly young. There are not too many horses in New York now and it takes perhaps a split second to adjust to them. Ryan did not require that split second. His hands moved with practice and intuition. He had done it all before. In one way or another. Horses. Dogs, cats, lions, elephants. The whole Arkful. For fifty years he had done this. He would keep on doing it. The only thing different was the ambulance.
On May 28, 1962, at the Society's Annual Meeting, President William Rockefeller presented a citation to William Michael Ryan. In part, the document read: For 50 years William Michael Ryan has diligently and with heart served the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and the animal population of New York State....Tonight, we recognize this workaday humanitarian to whom animal lovers everywhere are indebted. William Ryan had devoted his life to the welfare of the entire animal kingdom, not because it was a duty, but because he is their friend. Ryan is unique; to the extent that all things living are unique, individual, special in their own special ways.
There are no exact duplicates among humans-or animals. "When I first joined the Society," says William Mapel, "Mr. Rockefeller told me: there's a great old fellow named Ryan down there. You ought to get to know him. You'll like him. He can probably tell you more about humane work than anybody in the place." Mapel adds, "I did. And he did." Ryan is unique. Very seldom does a way with animals show itself so clearly in one person. Or, if it does show up, it may take a number of different forms. Ryan is unique-but he is not alone. Each year, the Society awards its Medal of Honor to an animal that has rescued a person and to a person who has performed a heroic service for an animal. Recently honored was a Seeing Eye dog that saved three humans from asphyxiation. A railroad brakeman received the medal for driving 120 miles, through deep snow in the middle of the night, to rescue a dog caught on a fence. Another honored was a volunteer fireman who rescued a kitten from a blaze and revived it with mouth-to-mouth respiration.
These are some of the reasons why Ryan is not alone. 'In truth', reads Ryan's citation, the ASPCA honors itself in citing you for 50 years of devoted service, but even more so because you personify the meaning of the word 'care.' This may be the whole point. Ryan does what most humans would do-if we knew how. And, also, if we were willing to take the time, to go a little out of our way. Some of us are overwhelmed at the task of giving a vitamin pill to a cat-justifiably, perhaps, depending on the cat. Very few of us would care to escort a wandering lion back to its cage. To this extent, Ryan is way ahead of us and we don't have much chance of catching up. Half a million animals in one lifetime isn't an easy record of match. However, we can learn something that Ryan and the Society already know. Laws assure animals of protection-formally, officially, set down in black and white. But in the long run, the best protection is the human heart.
Lloyd Alexander, Fifty Years in the Doghouse
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