Readings: Morvich
The Kentucky Derby, as remembered by Morvich.
At length, after long waiting, the Derby hour struck. It was late, nearing five o’clock. But the air was warm, the sun bright.
Ah, my friend, how to describe the feeling that animated me as little Al Johnson, my jockey, rode me to the barrier? Beautiful women filled the clubhouse boxes. The stands were densely packed, and ablaze with many colors, for these Kentucky women are not afraid to put on gaiety at a fete. And as we moved along, the track, it could be seen there were dense masses of men packing the outer rail to and beyond the quarter pole …
Ah, but when I appeared on the track, you should have heard the clamor. It seemed to me it would rend the heavens above, or shatter my ears. Sweeter music was never heard … ‘Morvich! Morvich!’ was the cry from all sections …
That parade to the post. How describe it? One must see such things to know what they are like. There were ten of us, thoroughbreds, the class of the turf, and let nobody tell you we did not know it. What beautiful things they were, those other horses. I could not help admiring them, even envying them a little, their grace and perfection of form. Yet it was I who was Morvich, the Unbeaten; I, the least well-favored of them all.
At the post I wanted to be off at once. This would not do. There had to be perfect alignment. Several times I darted forward. Finally, one of the starter’s assistants took my head, and held me thus until the barrier lifted. We were off!
The race was in the first hundred yards. For in that distance I was free and clear of the field, I had the rail, and there could be no jam or piling up the turns.
I covered that first furlong in a little under eleven, killed the field at the start, and took the heart and fight out of all those picture horses. First one and then another of the field would forge ahead and try to come up with me. But each who thus bid for fame held on but a little while, then fell away. Behind, I could hear the whip being plied as we came into the stretch, and I knew those beautiful horses were being given whip and spur in the endeavor to force them up to my race. But no whip ever touched me. And I would have run faster had it been necessary, but little Al never let my head out, even in the stretch, but always held me in …
And so I came home, just galloping, at the end. I had taken the lead, I was never headed, and I won by two lengths…. Whatever else I shall do, whatever laurels I shall receive in other races, cannot compare to this:
That I, the ugly duckling, the horse sold four times before an owner could be found who would put faith in me, ran undefeated through a season and won the Derby crown. — From “Morvich: An Autobiography of a Horse,” by Gerald Breitigam (Rotary Press, 1922)
