The Black Stallion's Filly
This was Derby Town, the backstage of racing. The clutered activity of unloading vans, of jockeys, exercise boys, owners, trainers, grooms and the multitude of people directly or indirectly concerned with racehorses milled about the stable area. It didn’t make things easier for him or the filly. But there was no escape, for they were now a part of Derby Town.
Only on the track was it quiet, for it was long past the hours of gallops and breezes and works. Alec led the filly toward it, seeking a few moments’ reprieve from the clamor of barns and runways.
Barn 11 was just off the road to his left. He saw the crowd standing in front of the stall nearest him. The area in front of the door was roped off, preventing people from getting too close to the horse whose head was over his half-door. Alec had no trouble recognizing Silver Jet’s small gray head. Standing near the colt was the towering Tom Flint, wearing the same wide-brimmed sombrero he’d worn when Alec had seen him on television. But this was not a picture on a screen; this was real.
Tom Flint was talking to newsmen, but he stopped to glance at the filly as she walked past. The eyes of reporters, grooms and all the others were on her for a moment before they turned back again to Silver Jet. Alec heard Flint tell the newsmen, “If we have a fast track for the Derby I won’t be too worried about the result.”
Alec left the gray colt behind, going carefully around a parked van and milling people, all eyeing the filly and some asking, “That a Derby horse, son?” His standard reply was, “We don’t know yet.”
At the far end of Barn 11, another group stood in front of a similarly roped-off stall. Alec saw Eclipse’s white face and big head. Holding the colt’s halter was a man as short and heavy as Henry. He wore no hat and his bald head was bared to the sun. Alec recognized “Red” Dawson, trainer of Eclipse. He heard Dawson tell the reporters, “Our colt is sharp and getting sharper every day now. If we don’t get any bad breaks like we did in the Wood Memorial, we’ll catch Silver Jet in the big one.”
Alec led the filly on, saying over and over to himself, “This is all real. We’re part of the show.” He wasn’t scared but he couldn’t get into the spirit of things. After his months spent at Hopeful Farm, he found the pressure of the Derby a most difficult way of going back to the races. Yet within him surged a rhythmic beat of what he knew was stimulation. One could not be a part of the Derby picture without feeling all the tradition and prestige behind it.
He put his hand on Black Minx’s neck and she jumped at his touch. He was aware then that she was as keyed up as he was.
The gate to the track was open but he led the filly away from it and walked along the high wire fence separating the track from the stable area. But here too were signs which told of the imminence of the approaching Derby. Around the mile track sped tractors, harrowing and watering the surface to get it into the finest possible condition for the classic race.
Alec’s gaze ranged over the great stands beyond, their multitude of seats empty and waiting. Starting the next day, they would fill a little more with each afternoon’s racing, until on the following Saturday they would overflow into bleachers and infield, onto the track and countless rooftops.
Alec turned around at the noise of an approaching van. Barn 8 was nearest to him, and the van stopped before it. Hundreds of people were emerging from the stable area and hurrying toward the barn. Alec knew of only one colt who could attract so much attention upon his arrival. Before the crowd reached the van, the gangway was down and Golden Vanity had been unloaded. The statuesque chestnut colt stood still, yet his long muscles were trembling in his nervousness. Then the crowd moved in, blocking Alec’s vision. He heard the high voice of the colt’s trainer. “Keep back now! Give him room!”
Alec took the filly away from the fence. It was an ideal time to walk back unmolested to their barn. He and Henry had a lot of routine jobs and unpacking to do this afternoon. “Come on, girl,” he said. “We’ll see enough of this track all next week.”
Alec left without catching another glimpse of Golden Vanity. This was the beginning, Derby Day minus eight.
DERBY WEEK
17
Shortly after dawn the next morning Alec took the filly for a mild gallop to chase away any travel stiffness left in her legs. They were the first on the track, although the stable area rang to the shouts of grooms, whose work for the day had already begun.
Black Minx galloped easily, seemingly as much at home here as on the training track at home. The Derby racing strip was in excellent condition; there was no jar from the springy cushion as her feet sped over the track. All down the homestretch and partially around the first turn they passed the great stands, their empty seats looming ever backward. Down the backstretch went the filly and her rider, passing the endless barns, and speeding through air that was thick with wood smoke from the small fires in makeshift stoves and metal drums. As they went around the back turn and passed the stands again, Alec glanced at the presentation stand, where next Saturday’s Kentucky Derby winner would go. Here was the Derby winner’s circle— the goal of every breeder, trainer, owner and jockey in the sport!
Henry was still standing at the track gate when they finished. He took the filly’s bridle and led her back to their barn. When Alec dismounted, the trainer said, “I’ll cool her out. You get your breakfast.”
Alec walked through the busy stable area, his jacket collar up and his hands in his pockets, for the spring morning air was brisk. Like the filly, he was beginning to feel a little more at home at Churchill Downs. A good night’s sleep on his stable cot had been a help. Henry had slept in the barn too, for they weren’t hiring any extra help, and would take care of the filly themselves. This meant that at least one of them must always be near her, for the stakes in the Derby were high.
After Alec had bought a morning newspaper, he went into the stable area’s cafeteria. It was crowded but he saw no one he knew—perhaps because he didn’t look very hard. After choosing a breakfast of cereal, eggs and bacon, he carried it on a metal tray to a table.
He read the paper while he ate. There was a large picture of Golden Vanity with his trainer, taken just after their arrival the day before. The colt’s trainer was young and smiling. He looked most confident, as if he had great visions of winning not only the Kentucky Derby, but every other important race that year. Yet his statement to the press was modest. “I know Golden Vanity ran a fast race at Keeneland, and we’re happy to be here for the Derby.” A little too modest, Alec thought. A little too confident.
He read the rest of the story on Golden Vanity, which told of his past achievements that made him the red-hot Derby favorite. But there was only one paragraph that really interested Alec. The writer said, “It’s been said by many of us that before acclaiming this chestnut colt as one of the finest young three-year-olds of all time, we should wait until another horse is at his head, pushing him through the stretch. Golden Vanity has shown great speed up to a mile and an eighth, and has never given any indication he couldn’t go farther. It might well be that there’s no horse around that can get up there to look him in the eye and push him in the stretch.”
Alec turned to other news of horses and trainers and owners. At no other time of the year would newspapers devote as much space to the racing world as they would between now and the Derby. The horse was king! The eyes of the nation had turned upon Churchill Downs, and readers were eager for stories of the Derby hopefuls.
Wintertime and Lady Lee had arrived late the day before, and their pictures were there, along with those of Eclipse and Silver Jet and stories of their latest works. Alec read them all. Then, turning a page, he saw the headline DERBY SURPRISE COMES EARLY—BLACK MINX.
There was no picture of her, but the columnist wrote:
The Derby wouldn’t be the exciting classic it is if we didn’t know that almost anything can happen during the running of the race and if there weren’t some surprise entries showing up on the grounds the week before. We call them “Cinderella” horses, since
most of these colts do not have the background to make us think of them as serious Derby contenders, yet they all have great aspirations to win the rich classic.
This year’s first surprise entry arrived yesterday—a Derby filly named Black Minx. Before you stop reading this column at my mention of a filly and the Derby in the same sentence, let me hasten to assure you that this filly rates your attention and consideration. Not because of her past races, since she ran only once as a two-year-old in Florida and broke Hialeah’s rail and Nino Nella’s collarbone in that outing. (Yes, the same Nino Nella who’s up on the Derby favorite, Golden Vanity!) Neither does she bear watching because of her appearance. She’s not exactly small but looks so compared to the big Derby colts stabled near her. And her tail is false; she lost her own in a barn accident as a yearling. The one she now wears is a strange mixture of black and gray, practical but not beautiful.
However, you can disregard her size and racing background, and remember the following facts. This filly is a product of Hopeful Farm, home of the Black and Satan. She is owned and trained by the veteran Henry Dailey. She is by the Black and out of the well-bred mare Elf, giving her a pedigree to match any of the Derby’s top candidates. She is being ridden by the young and skillful Alec Ramsay, who rode the Black and Satan in some of their greatest races.
We couldn’t get much out of Henry Dailey yesterday on his arrival. He still wasn’t certain he’d send his filly to the Derby post. He said, “If she continues to improve this week she’ll deserve a chance at the Derby. If she goes, it’ll be the first time I’ve ever tried to win the classic with a maiden.”
A lot of if’s. But hope springs eternal at this time of year, and it’s no different with the horsemen who turn up with Derby surprises. No expert can say that Black Minx, or any other of the lesser lights, “doesn’t belong” in the coming classic. Anything can happen in the Kentucky Derby, as has been proven more than once.
Alec left the cafeteria. When he arrived at Barn 10 Henry had finished cooling out the filly and she was back in her stall. Alec handed Henry the morning paper. “You can read this while you eat,” he said. “There’s a story on the filly.”
Henry grunted. Taking the paper, he started down the bad.
Alec had a few jobs to do but they were not urgent. His late mornings and afternoons would be spent mostly in waiting and watching. But the days would pass only too fast and before he knew it Henry would be saying, “You’ll go in the Derby with her” or “I guess it had better be the Oaks, Alec.” It would be either race … the Oaks on Friday or the big one on Saturday. He could only ride her as he was told, and await Henry’s decision.
Sunday morning he galloped her again. On Monday, as they went to the track a little later than usual, Henry said, “Work her a half this morning, Alec. Then gallop out a mile.”
This was Derby day minus five, and the number of people standing on the backstretch rail had grown with the increased number of horses appearing on the track. Alec walked the filly through the entrance gate to the track, conscious of the many eyes upon them. He saw that the “dogs” were up, wooden sawhorses placed along the inside of the track to keep the horses away from the rail and to prevent marring the fast cushion that was ready for the afternoon’s races.
Henry was still beside them. “Jog her up a way,” he said. “Then come back here to me.”
Alec stood in his stirrups as he sent the filly into a jog. He kept her near the outside rail. Golden Vanity came down the center of the track, working fast. Nino Nella was “blowing him out,” for the chestnut colt was to race the following day in the Derby Trial, the last preparatory race for Saturday’s classic.
Before Alec could turn the filly down the track three more Derby colts flashed by, all going at a fast working clip. They were Eclipse, Silver Jet and Olympus—the last being another surprise Derby entry. Eclipse and Silver Jet were ridden by exercise boys, for their veteran riders—Ted Robinson and Dan Seymour—had not yet arrived at Churchill Downs.
On the way back to Henry, Alec heard the clicking of stopwatches as reporters standing on the rail timed the Derby colts. Alec smiled, for gone was the day when Henry could keep the filly’s clocking to himself. Everyone would know what she stepped in the morning’s work, and it would be reported in the evening papers along with all other clockings of Derby horses. He had almost reached the gate when he saw Wintertime step onto the track. The blood bay colt was reportedly going to run in the next day’s Derby Trial, meeting Golden Vanity for the second time; but nothing was official yet, for the Trial entries wouldn’t close until that night.
Young Billy Watts sat in the saddle, trying very hard to ignore the attention his mount’s presence created. As the trainer adjusted the colt’s one-eyed blinker hood, a tall, attractive young woman stood beside him.
Alec moved Black Minx more to the center of the track and gave her the bit to play with. A short distance more and they’d be at the half-mile post and off. Henry jerked his head toward the reporters who had left the rail to go to Wintertime. Alec winked back at Henry. Were the reporters more interested in Wintertime or in the good-looking young woman—whom Alec had recognized as the owner of the colt? At any rate there would be few watches, if any, on the black filly. He heard one of the reporters say, “We’d like a story and picture of you, Miss Parshall.” Alec gave Black Minx the bit. And just before the filly bolted he heard Wintertime’s owner say, “No, thanks. Only pictures of my colt, please.”
Alec sat down to ride, whispering into the filly’s ear, “Whoa, girl. Whoa!” His hands worked her mouth, for he could do so easily now without taking the bit from her. As he flew down the remaining part of the backstretch, he kept her in the middle of the track and away from the wooden sawhorses. She swept into the turn, her strides coming faster and longer.
If Alec had had any doubts that the filly was in anything but excellent shape he dismissed them now, for she moved faster than ever before. But he knew, too, that the track was lightning fast, and he must allow for that. As he passed the last furlong pole, he wondered how great her speed would have been if this had not been the last furlong of a half-mile sprint but of a mile-and-a-quarter.
He took the bit away from her just after the finish line, then galloped her for another half-mile. She was worked up but was neither sweating nor breathing hard when he turned her around. On the way back to Henry he caught up with Wintertime, who was getting ready for his work.
Billy Watts turned in the colt’s saddle. His bright young eyes left the filly for her rider. “You’re Alec Ramsay, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes.” The filly moved restlessly away from Wintertime.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’ve heard plenty about you, too,” Alec said.
“You’ve got a real fine horse there.”
“So have you.” Alec realized that what he had observed of Wintertime on television was all the more obvious now as he sat beside the colt. Wintertime and the filly were of almost identical size and conformation.
Billy Watts was laughing. “We sound like each other’s echo. Well, I got to be goin’ or the boss will be on me. So long, Alec.”
Henry took the filly’s bridle at the barn gate. All eyes were on them and one of the reporters asked, “What’d you clock her, Henry? I guess we missed your filly by a few seconds or more.”
Henry shrugged his shoulders. “I hardly ever clock my horses,” he said, nodding to the tall young woman who stood with her trainer near the gate. She smiled and nodded back, and Henry knew she understood that she’d helped him outsmart the clockers for one morning, anyway.
That evening the newspapers announced the names of the horses who would go to the post in the Derby Trial the following afternoon.
Golden Vanity Goes in Mile Derby Trial
The Kentucky Derby favorite, Golden Vanity, meets the highly regarded Wintertime and five other hopefuls in Tuesday’s $10,000 Derby Trial, last of the prep races for the “Run for the Roses
” on Saturday.
Only Wintertime, second to Golden Vanity in last week’s Blue Grass Stakes at Keeneland, is expected to give the chestnut Derby favorite any competition over the mile route. Wintertime’s stock rose a bit higher in the Derby picture this morning when he worked a very impressive six furlongs. The five other hopefuls going to the post tomorrow will be running for their Derby lives, as each will have to show enough speed to convince his boss that he’s worth the thousand-dollar entry fee for the Kentucky Derby. The five colts “on trial” in the Derby Trial are Olympus, Highboy, Purple Heart, Titan and My Time.
The popular Derby colts, Eclipse and Silver Jet, are by-passing tomorrow’s Trial and an opportunity to meet Golden Vanity before Saturday’s classic. However, their trainers agreed to have their colts worked between races in the interest of the afternoon fans who want to see them in action.
When Ray Park, trainer of Golden Vanity, learned of the public works scheduled for Eclipse and Silver Jet, he commented, “I feel that if you’re going to work a horse in the afternoon you might better put him in a race and get paid for it.” Not too impractical, at that! So tomorrow Golden Vanity stands to pick up another $10,000.
Alec put the newspaper to one side and turned to Henry, who was stretched out on his cot with his eyes shut. “It’s getting close,” he said.
“Sure is,” Henry replied, without opening his eyes. “They tell me the downtown hotels are becoming jammed, and that more people are arriving every day. Some of the guys are griping because the prices of everything have doubled. But what do they expect, with the biggest sports event in America about to take place? They’re not being overcharged any more than they’d be any place else with something like this going on. Anyway, folks like to gripe about being overcharged, so they make up stories to take back home. Most of it is just talk, nothing else.”