A Day at the Races . . . Finally!

The room, built into the stable, wasn't much. It contained a mattress, an old electric heater and papers scattered across the cement floor. 

Like a giant domino falling backwards, my tired body plunged to rest on the cold mattress. I closed my eyes, but couldn't get Arden Black out of my mind. His face was old, beat up with more than its share of wrinkles and cracks. His hair was gray and voice chewed up. His clothes smelled of smoke.

“Hmmm, “I thought, “what is in this room that could possibly pass the time?” I turned on the electric heater and pulled it towards me. The filament wires glowed with orange and brought a comfortable wave of heat. I looked at the scattered papers across the cement floor. I picked up one that looked like a newspaper. “The Daily Racing Form,” was printed in large black ink across the front. I opened it. The inside pages were full of racing statistics which looked as boggling as the investment page of the Wall Street Journal.

My eyes glanced through the pages while my mind absorbed none of it. Fifteen minutes passed until I saw Arden's aged face again. “Kid, I've got a job for you.” He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Have you ever cleaned stalls?” 

“Never,” I responded. 

“Well, I'll teach you. I'll make it simple. First of all use that pitch fork over there and scoop the manure off the ground and toss it into the wheelbarrow. Then grab the . . .” he paused in his sentence to light his cigarette. He held it in his lips and lit the end with a lighter while using his hand to cup the flame. He took a puff and then continued his talk. “Rake the hay into a pile in the corner, then use it to level out the dirt. When you're all done, make sure each stall has three cans of oats and plenty of water. I'll feed them fresh hay later. Got it kid?” 

I nodded. 

He took another puff and walked away. 

Stable area at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California.

I found the empty stalls and began cleaning. The labor wasn't too hard although my muscles weren't used to working so early in the morning. 

The stalls smelled exactly like horse stalls should. Like dirt and manure. I shoveled the horse chips over and over. It seemed endless. They were all over the place. Just when I thought I had them all I would find more beneath some hay. Despite the mess, I worked until every stall was nearly fit for a human to sleep in. Because I had no idea how clean Arden wanted it, I went the extra mile to ensure his satisfaction. 

While I was busy shoveling manure, my best friend Tony was out on the track running the horses. I didn't see him much that morning, but he was the reason I was there. 

Tony left home at age 15 ½ to become a jockey. He weighed well under a 100 pounds and was tough as nails. For the last six months he had been an apprentice and now his time had come for his first official race. 

Tony's dad invited me to come. On a Saturday morning he picked me up and we made the two-and-a-half hour drive to Farmington, New Mexico where he would be racing at San Juan Downs. We found Tony at his apartment where he was excessively nervous. This would be his first real race. We drove to the track in Tony's mustang with another jockey. 

I was memorized from the beginning. 

"And they're off!"

Tony was in the first race and I watched intently as the bugler made his call and the jockeys mounted on their horses rode onto the track, trotting around to the back side to warm up. Then the announcer said: “They're getting into the gates, they're in the gates . . . they're off!!!” 

Tony took dead last in that race. For three more races he did slightly better, but overall it was a dismal day. 

I was invited to stay another day. I stayed at Tony's apartment and we woke at six the next morning and with no breakfast drove to the track. This is when Arden, the trainer, put me to work in the stable.

Later that day was another round of racing. Tony did much better this time, taking a second and third place. He would have taken first on another race but he accidentally bumped a horse and got disqualified. 

"And down the stretch they come!"

Tony went on to do great things in the world of horse racing. After Farmington he raced in California at great parks such as Santa Anita, Del Mar and Hollywood. Then he went to New York and competed at the infamous Belmont Park. Later he proved his skills at Wyoming Downs in Evanston and Ruidoso Downs in New Mexico. 

Although I had only been to the races a handful of times, the whole environment of the the horse races became magical to me. Over thirty years had passed since I had been to a race. I longed to hear the bugler play his trumpet and call the players to the track. I dreamed of hearing the announcer in the heat of the race yell out, “And down the stretch they come!” I wanted desperately to bring my wife and kids to the track and show them what all the hype was about. 

Well, I finally got my chance. 

This spring all the stars aligned and we secured a day when we could go to the races at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California. To prep my family we watched Seabiscuit, which was partially filmed here. 

Seabiscuit was a thoroughbred race horse who became a legend when he beat the Triple Crown winner, War Admiral, in 1938 in a one-on-one race. His career began on shaky ground as he raced on the East Coast, but when jockey Red Pollard took over he gradually began to win. He was then brought to California where his fortune continued. He won many races at Santa Anita, including the Santa Anita Handicap in 1940. 

During the 1938 season Red Pollard fell during a race that injured him so severely he couldn't continue. The reins were handed to George Woolf, a Canadian jockey, who rode Seabiscuit in the legendary race with War Admiral. Ironically, less than a decade later George Woolf would also fall off a horse, this time during a race at Santa Anita. Unfortunately, he would die from his injuries a day later. 

Santa Anita Park.

We arrived at the parking lot of Santa Anita Park an hour before the first post time. I was super excited to show my kids what a day at the races was really like. 

The outside grounds were filled with manicured trees, beds of bright yellow flowers and a handful of life-size statues of both horse and human. I was pleasantly surprised to find a sculpture of George Woolf. 

Sitting in the grandstand.

Our $10 tickets allowed us sit wherever we pleased in the long grandstand. We chose seats as close to the finish line as possible, with a great view of the final stretch. 

The track had an old feel to it, perhaps from the 1960's. The seats were old, as well as the wagering windows. When I used the men's restroom I felt as if I had entered another era. Above a floor with bluish-green tiles sat a long line of toilet stalls. In another nook was a row of urinals—trough style. I had to get a picture. 

Grand view of the racetrack and San Gabriel Mountains.

Men's restroom at Santa Anita . . . a walk back in time.

The view from the grandstand was epic. Not only was the racetrack lovely with its evenly raked dirt, fully manicured turf and tall, skinny palm trees, but the San Gabriel Mountains in the background drew the eye. 

Before we knew it we were standing for the National Anthem and then the bugler sounded the horn. The horses with mounted jockeys entered the track and paraded themselves to the crowd before trotting toward the starting gate. There would be eight races today. 

For the first race we sat as a family in the grandstand and enjoyed the moment. The race was six furlongs and started at the far corner of the track. When the horses left the gate there was an excitement that filled the stands. People clapped and cheered. My wife and girls felt that excitement and without realizing were on the edge of their seats. The horses came down the final stretch, sprinting so fast that their galloping strides could be heard from the stands. I knew my family was hooked and would enjoy the rest of the day. 

I was surprised at how little I sat still. None of us could stay put. Our seats in the grandstand sat empty for most of the races. Why? We kept moving around. We watched from different locations, including up close near the track. 

My favorite place to go was down at the paddock between races. This is where the horses and jockeys come out to parade themselves before entering the arena. It was a chance to see the two up close. It was a place to see how sculpted and stout the horses were and how short, but strong the jockeys were. 

The Jockeys' Room.

Walking from the Jockeys' Room to the paddock.

3-time Kentucky Derby winner and Hall of Famer, John Velazquez.

The paddock is a great place to see horse and jockey close up. Tyler Baze atop Divine Feminine.

It was here, in the center of the paddock, that I noticed a life-sized statue of Seabiscuit. In front of the statue was a popular place for pictures, especially among family members of those who owned horses, or had an interest in the race that day. 

It was near here that I talked with one of the workers on the grounds. He wore gray scraggly hair with sunglasses that had a nose-cover. He told us that he often waked the grounds at night and that this place was definitely haunted. He said there were ghosts of both men and horses that wandered the grounds. Then he pointed to the statue of George Woolf and said there are times when the head will turn and look at him. 

The Seabiscuit statue is a popular place for photos.

Seabiscuit.

Does the ghost of George Woolf haunt Santa Anita?

Among the many questions from my kids had to do with the betting aspect of the sport. I had to explain win, place, show, exacta, trifecta and whatever other terms I could remember. I also explained how odds work. 

A couple of my daughters were already making verbal bets on which horse they thought would win, stating that they were betting on #3, or the green horse, for example. But Kaitlyn, who is twenty one, wanted to try the real thing. 

So twenty minutes before race #7, she and I went to the wagering window. (We decided that we would just use my cash and I would do the talking—but she would choose the horse!) I had never done this before either, so it was a learning experience for both of us. 

The sweet lady at the window made it easy. When I stated, “I would like to bet $5 to win on #7,” she responded: “That's all you're going to bet?”—I knew she was teasing and we both had a laugh. 

When the race began, Kaitlyn had a fun time cheering on her horse. But in the end, Funkenstein came in fifth place and we were out five bucks. 

We're almost on T.V.!

For the final race of the day I decided to just sit back and take no more pictures. I would just enjoy the race. It was another 6-furlong contest, but this time on turf. 

This final race was a maiden special. The gates opened and eight mares and fillies, all four-years old and upward sprinted around the track. While they were on the backstretch I appreciated the view of the distant animals with the majestic mountain behind them. As they came around the final bend and into full view I admired the strength of their bodies and the sheer speed at which they moved. I don't even know who won, but they all had won my respect. 

We left that day fully satisfied. I had spent many years dreaming of this day and it did not disappoint. I have a feeling that we will return again. If not here, then at some other track. ♠

On the back-stretch.

 

Racing the turf course.