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Readings Archive

Writing the Racetrack

… with a literary slant …

Natalie Reinert, exercise rider:

But that was ten years ago, and I’d proven time and time again that I hated real jobs. I hated careers, I hated offices, and salt-laced lunch breaks, and, yes, air-conditioning, too — stale and tasteless and fluorescent-colored days — even worse in New York, where the winter sun rises after the business day begins, and sets before it ends, so that the brightest light you see all winter might be the neon and LED madness of Times Square glowing into a snow-filled sky.

Two horses galloped by, nostrils fluttering and snorting with every stride. I saw a break — the homestretch was empty. I gathered my reins, bridged them against the filly’s neck, and sent her back into a jog, and then a canter.

(Via @sidfernando.)

Elizabeth Minkel, pari-mutuel clerk:

I remember one woman with four young girls who came up to my window and went through the standard routine: frazzled, sunglasses dangling from her lower lip, she flipped through the program as her daughters shouted out horses at random. “I want the three!” one would yell, jumping up and down, and the woman would sigh and mutter, “I guess we’ll have the three,” holding up a single crumpled bill to accompany each bet. I imagined Mother Ginger sweeping a dozen dancing children under her skirts. As she sorted her stack of tickets, handing one to each girl, she glanced over all of her children and looked at me ruefully. “I just hope,” she said, “that I’m teaching them the right thing.”

Happy reading.

Posted in Readings on July 13, 2010

Reading Palmer

On the Second Pass, John Williams resurrects Joe Palmer for a new audience:

I don’t want to give the impression that an interest in the sport, or a knowledge of its history, is entirely unnecessary to an enjoyment of This Was Racing. But it’s easy enough to skim any confounding details and focus on the more universal sentiments. Like many great writers and conversationalists, Palmer mostly circled his ostensible subject, rarely landing on it. The most memorable stretches of the book aren’t about racing at all. They’re about recipes for jellied whiskey or the Australian hobby of “kangaroo chasing” or listening to a band torture “My Old Kentucky Home.” (”I could have played it better on a comb.”)

More than half a century removed from his work, it is good to be reminded of what a master turf writer Palmer was. Read the complete review (and then, if you haven’t, “This Was Racing”).

From the archives: An excerpt from “This Was Racing” about trainers Duval and Hal Price Headley, Menow, and the 1938 MassCap.

Posted in Readings on February 4, 2010 / Tagged Joe Palmer, Racing History, This Was Racing, Turf Writers, Turf Writing

Readings: Alexander

Jockey Milo Valenzuela, retired in 1980 and inducted into the Racing Hall of Fame in 2008, died Wednesday at the age of 74 following a long illness. Valenzuela rode many good horses, including Tim Tam and Round Table, but none were better than five-time Horse of the Year Kelso, with whom he won 22 of 35 races. The excerpt below from “Chocolate Sundaes and Old Shoes,” by David Alexander, recounts one gallant loss, the 1964 Suburban.

The Old Man was running at last like the champion he had always been and he was gaining, no longer inch by inch but foot by foot, and Yacza, who must have thought it was over at the quarter pole, suddenly discovered it had just begun and his whip went down on Iron Peg’s dark bay hide to sting him into the realization that he was no longer playing with the boys he had beaten by six and seven and thirteen lengths, but with the men now; specifically, with the greatest Old Man of them all.

The daffodil-yellow and smoke-gray banner of Bohemia was waving proudly again down the middle of the stretch. The dark face of Milo Valenzuela was grim at the instant it came into the focus of the binoculars I grasped with sweaty paws. And now the crowd broke its silence as they went to the eighth pole and the yards between Iron Peg and Kelso became feet, and as they passed the sixteenth pole the feet became inches.

‘Kelly! Kelly! Kelly!’ It was a keening, plaintive prayer. I think the ones who had backed Iron Peg into almost equal favoritism with the old champ had forgotten the tote tickets in their pockets, for they were yelling, ‘Kelly, Kelly, Kelly!’ too.

A veteran horseman who had no vested interest in Kelso was standing beside me. I knew him as a calm and unemotional fellow. Suddenly his hand began to pound the ledge in front of him compulsively and his voice rose to the shrill hysteria of a schoolgirl’s.

‘Old Man! Old Man!’ he shrieked. ‘Jesus, let the Old Man win!’

The Old Man didn’t win, not quite. But the usually heedless crowd, the crowd that sometimes hissed and sometimes booed when champions have lost, was faced with the rare thing called greatness, and for once the throng fully recognized what it saw.”

Video of the 1964 Suburban from the British Pathé archive:

Posted in Readings on September 3, 2009 / Tagged Kelso

Readings: Smith

Excerpts from a Red Smith column (“The Melancholy Days are Come,” New York Times, 12/17/1971) that seem apt for this chilly, wet afternoon on which the Aqueduct feature, named for the much admired sports writer, is the final graded turf stakes in New York for the year and apprentice Jackie Davis earned her second career win aboard 9-1 Americanus in the third. Fellow “lady” bug Maylan Studart also picked up a win in the fifth on 6-1 Senor Enrico over the sloppy track.

Now is the winter of their discontent, the melancholy days without a thoroughbred running this side of Philadelphia, the cruel times when New York horseplayers are thrown upon the mercy of Howard J. Samuels and his off-track gambling hells.

Beaming through charcoal-gray darkness, yellow lights on the tote board at Aqueduct gave the time as 4:29 P.M. when the winner reached the finish of the 2,187th race of the season. Moments later the reedy voice of Fred Capossela came over the public address system for the last time…. On laggard feet, 25,380 immortal souls took their leave.

Reluctantly, they would go home. They would note with interest how the children had grown since March. Somehow they would get through 76 dark days squandering their earnings on rent and bed and shoes until the sun would shine again, however bleakly, and the bugle would call the horses to the post….

In the catacombs below stands, a man rapped on the door marked “Lady Jockeys.” “Are your eyes gray or blue?” he asked Robyn Smith. “Green,” she said, “but right now they’re red and green.”

Lady on Horseback

She was wiping away mud kicked into her comely face by Canning and Sip Sip Sip, who had burst out of the fog and rain and gloom in the last few yards to finish one, two in the final race and mete her back to third aboard Advance Warning.

The world’s prettiest jockey had five mounts on Getaway Day. She won smartly with Princely Margin at $50.39 for $2, was third with Advance Warnings and third with Schnappy, an 18-1 shot, finishing sixth and seventh with the others. Princely Margin was her 15th winner of the Aqueduct fall meeting. In 51 days she had 124 mounts and finished third or better with 37. Only nine males had a higher winning percentage.

“You’ve made it in the toughest league in the world,” a visitor told her. “You are one girl who has done what the others talked about.”

She agreed with a matter-of-fact nod….

“Has there been one ride that gave you special satisfaction?”

“The day at Saratoga when I rode Beaukins to a track record for Allen Jerkens….”

Posted in Readings on November 8, 2008