Musings of an Aging Nobody

February 2, 2012 was the birthday of American Pharoah, thoroughbred horse racing’s last Triple Crown winner. American Pharaoh, in 2015, was the first Triple Crown winner (i.e., winner of the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont Stakes) since Affirmed in 1978.  There have only been twelve Triple Crown winners since Sir Barton did it in 1919 and so, for a brief moment in time, the eyes of our country were once again watching a horse in a sport longing for the days when it truly did capture the attention of a nation.

In Laura Hillenbrand’s book Seabiscuit, An American Legend, Seabiscuit was described as “a runty little thing” whose favorite pastime was sleeping and was “inclined toward portliness.”

Yet Seabiscuit had already started fifty races, many more than horses now a days will run in a lifetime, before it is said, that he finally figured it out.

It was the mid to late 1930’s, a time when a country needed a good diversion.  Still in the grips of the Great Depression, Americans found something else to capture their attention.  It was funny looking Cinderella of a horse named Seabiscuit who became…a national obsession.

In the early 1960’s, with the ever looming threat of a nuclear bomb attack during the Cold War that was way beyond our ability to comprehend at such a young age, an entire elementary school of kids and their teachers made the trek from the thought to be not safe environment of our school building to the massive Monmouth Park Race course facility.  The large track building would provide us a better bomb shelter in the nuclear bomb attack we were practicing to survive.  At the end of the drill the fire department would use their fire trucks to help transport some of the kids back to the school.  I got my picture in the newspaper that day, as I was returned to Wolf Hill School on the back of a fire truck.

My grandparent’s house sat adjacent to the outer parking areas of the track in a part of Oceanport,  New Jersey called Hillcrest.  As kids we would go out into the parking lots and pick up the discarded racing programs that littered the ground and became absorbed in all the unusual horse names and the odd cryptic pencil markings of the patrons.

In spite of having grown up listening to the race announcer and the bugler from my back yard, the nuclear bomb drill that day was the only time I had ever entered the Monmouth Park Grandstand and Clubhouse facility until I got a job with the racetrack Fire Department at the age of 20.  For the next couple years and three racing seasons, I would ride an ambulance picking up jockeys and patrons track side or from the Firehouse in the stable area, referred to as the “backside.”

The thoroughbred horse racing industry is a world all its own and my brief experience of working at Monmouth Park was all it took, I was hooked.

From the rich and famous to the transient circus like nature of the backside community, the firehouse was the hub of activity for the stable area.  It had frequent visitors, including track owners and owners of the football Jets in Leon Hess and Sonny Werblin; famous trainers like Jimmy Jones of Calumet Farms and 1948 Triple Crown winner Citation fame; low level gangsters; and many, many other colorful characters.  One evening, I walked into the bowling alley located just outside the stable (backside) gate and found a kid I knew from high school on the floor with two bullet holes in his face, a victim of an argument over a game of pool with a member of the stable community, a reminder that in spite of the outward appearance of money and fortune, the racing industry had its dark side too.

I have stood in the paddock of Churchill Downs on Derby Day, cigar in hand; and on the infield rail next to the winners circle and watched Bob Baffert lend a helping lift to Victor Espinoza with “riders up” on American Pharoah just before the skies opened up with a torrential rain and American Pharoah romped to victory in his second leg of the Triple Crown.

I have learned a little about how to pour over figures and attempt to find the winner out of the Racing Form, racing’s past performances newspaper; and I have learned a lot about restraint and moderation after losing my entire paycheck one day while working at Monmouth.  I made twenty five dollars a day at the time and had to borrow money from my brother to pay my auto insurance bill.  That was good lesson and one never forgotten.

I have used Secretariat’s stretch run winning the Belmont by 31 lengths and never looking back to describe my marriage.

My experience and the story of Sir Sidney, who was my vote for 2014 Horse of the Year, California Chrome, and the 2014 Preakness, still makes me laugh.

So you see for me, the whole industry is fascinating, very entertaining and has served as a good diversion for me in my life.

That is why this time of the year when all two year old horses become three year old horses regardless of their actual birth dates, and the prep races for the Triple Crown begin once again, I get excited.  Could this be the year that we may be watching the 13^th Triple Crown winner develop before our eyes and grab the attention of not only the die-hards but the nation’s masses as well?

I understand the allure.  It’s like sitting in that movie theater, having the house lights go down and for the next couple of hours you are transported to another world.  I can recall some really bad days in my life when I found myself standing at the rail at Laurel or Monmouth just to escape.   I understand why in 1937 and 1938 a small, unlikely looking race horse could represent something positive in a time filled with hardship and draw a hundred thousand people to a race course with hundreds of thousands more glued to their radios.

On November 1, 1938 forty thousand people showed up to watch a match race between Seabiscuit and War Admiral.  The official capacity of Pimilico Racecourse at the time was 16,000.  War Admiral had won the Triple Crown the year before and was thought to be the best horse in the world.  Fans hung from the rafters as they watched Seabiscuit and War Admiral neck and neck at the turn coming into the stretch. The race would end with Seabiscuit crossing the finish line four lengths ahead.

Because in 1938 as Hillenbrand explains in the Preface of her book, though the country was still suffering from the effects of the Depression and the struggle for world power was beginning; the year’s number one newsmaker was not FDR, or Hitler, or Mussolini, or Lou Gehrig, or Clark Gable.  It was remarkably this horse, Seabiscuit, who had captured a nation.

Great stuff huh?

This year, as I break out the hawaiian shirt with the race horses on it and begin watching the prep races that will qualify the entrants with enough points to make it to the Kentucky Derby, I am hoping for another Seabiscuit, or another Secretariat, or another American Pharoah, or another War Admiral.

For I think that if there ever was time when we needed a new National Obsession I think now might be that time.  I would love to see a magnificent animal with a colorful cast of characters behind him or her,  capture the attention and imagination of a nation, populating my Facebook feed with dramatic stories of great efforts,  and hope,  and winning.

And having it all be positive and uplifting.

Yup, that is my hope.

“C’mon Seabiscuit!”