Evening Star Newspaper, May 12, 1929, Page 91

JLLY FEATURES STRATED | Part 7—8 Pages MAGAZINE SECTION he Sunday Star. WASHINGTON, 108 SUNDAY MORNING, MAY FICTION AND Churchill Downs Grows Tense as Thousands Await the Derby A Veteran Jockey, 27 Years in the Saddle, Tells the Inside Story of Our Greatest American Turf Classic Which Is to Be Run for the Fifty-fifth Time Next Saturday Blue Larkspur, the favorite in the Kentucky Derby. thoroughbred is owned by Col. E. R. Bradley. od A. P. Photo. BY JONNNY CALLAHAN, 'VE ridden 1,200 winners and 6,000 other races in ths last 27 years, but the greatest thrill I ever got from any of these contests was when I got off the back of William Martin's great colt, Sunny Slope, after finishing second with him to A. K. Macomber’s ‘War Cloud in the Preakness stakes of 1918. The realization of a long cherished ambition seemed 2t hand, for Sunny Slope was entered in the Kentucky Derby, to be run a few days later, and I felt certain he could win the great race. I drew mental pictures of myself returning to the judges’ stand at Churchill Downs, to heat the thunders of applause from the vast assemblage and to receive the floral horseshoe with which it is customary to reward the winner. I rehearsed in my mind every detail of the coming struggle that was to result in a great trium for Sunny Slope and for me. Well away in the first flight—the mad rush to get around the first turn—then placed in a good position along the backstretch, there to await the turn for home, when I ask the colt the final question —ask him to show the proof of his speed and stamina. It was a vision of glorious victory. 1 never allowed a doubt to come into my mind but that Sutny 8lope would give a convincing answer. The four stakes in succession that I later won on him at Saratoga and Belmont Park are proofs of the royal chance that he had in the Derby. It was a pleasant dream while it lasted. For a few hours I walked on air, only to come back to earth with a dull thud when Martin told me that it would be impossible to run Sunny Slope in the great classic. A foot that had been a source of trouble once be- fore was found to ba badly infected. As a result, starting the colt in the Derby was out of the question. * k% * THE great thrill turned to the bit- terest disappointment of my riding career. The golden opportunity to ride the winner of the Kentucky Derby had slipped by. The unfortunate accident to the colt was just another instance of the glorious uncertainty of the turf. It was a hard blow to Martin, but I ll;lénk I took it more to heart than he i For the ambition of everv aspiring jockey is to win the Derby, which will be run for the fifty-fifth time next Saturdav. The great race for three- year-olds is surrounded with a glamour and romance that puts it in a class by itself among all the other gréat races we have on our American turf. There isn’t a rider today who wouldn't love to see his name on the list of jockeys who have won the Kentucky Derby. ‘They'd all like to equal the accomplish- ment of Johnny Loftus, Earl Sande and Albert Johnson if they could. Each of those three has v H race twice in the last 15 years. i their feat does not constitute a record. Isaac Murphy, the “Black Archer,” won the Derby three times—first in 1884 and later in 1891 and 1892. And | Winkfield, last of the great colored riders, rode the winner two years in | succession—in 1901 and 1902. i I've ridden in it twice and watched the contest many times, but my ex- ! tremely light weight precluded my get- | ting many mounts in the big race. The | weights for the Derby are 126 pounds ! for colts and 121 pounds for fillies. No trainer likes to put up 20 pounds of | lead on his horse if he can possibly | avoid it, for dead weight sits heavy. And in ‘'my case it was necessary to put that much lead in the saddle, for even now I weigh only 2 little over 100 4 pounds. That's the best alibi I can offer, and 1 live in_hope that now I've become a trainer I may saddle up a Derby winner some day, even if I've never ridden one. % T fsn’'t altogether the honor and glory that inspires jockeys with the hope of winning the Derby. Big fees are often the reward of success. For | winning the Derby with Morvich in 1922 Albert Johnson re@eived $15,000 from Mr. Ben Block. H When Earl Sande won the Derby for ! the second time in 1925 on Flying Ebony | he must have realized that it is better ! to be born lucky than rich, for he made | a strenuous effort to get the mount on | Quartrain that year. In his eagerness ( to get the ride on Mr. Fred Johnson’s | colt, witich had won the Louisiana Derby in a_gallop, he offered Jockey | Breuning $5,000 to step down in his ! favor. ~ Breuning wa; and | declined Sande’s off reuning | finished with Qu the vh ccepting the | ext best mount he could get, won the | ssic and received $10,000 from Mr. | forg Cochrane. Sande was $15,000 | 1 yogeet by Breuning's refusal. S Reigh Count, the Kentucky Der A P. Photoy JOHNNY CALLAHAN, who describes the Derby from the Jockey's point of view, has won 1200 races and has ridden in 6,000 others in a career of 27 years. He has now left the saddle for good and has gone into the training game. “The Derby,” he says, “is a thrill to the spectators, but to the jockeys it is the chance of a lifetime.” When Albert Johnson won his s2cond Derby three years ago on Bubbling Over he doubtless recsived a substantial check from Col. E. R. Bradley, who also has a reputation for liberality to his employes. ~ But it is questionable whether the colonel was as open-handed | when his second-string jockey, Thomp- son, on Behave Yourself, beat that colt's stablemate, Black Servant, by a head in the Derby of 1921. Thompson's he had backed Black Servant heavily in the Winter books. %> DERBY day is Kentucky's day of days. Seventy thousand people pack and jam themselves into & space comfortably large enough for half that | number—seventy thousand people keyed up to fever pitch for American turf- dom’s greatest classic. the day the crush increases. A short time before the race the gates to the infield are thrown open and a torrent of humanity pours across the track to obtain better positions from which to sce the contest. The sight of 20 of the cream of America’s’ thoroughbreds about to test their speed and stamina brings a thrill to the thousands of spectators. It is a great spectacle to them—the only horse race that many of them see throughout the year. Impatiently they await the time when the horses will line up at the barrier, to hear the mighty shout, “They're off!” and to i see if their choice will verify their con- i fidence by winning. Yes, it Is a thrill to the spectators, but to the 15 or 20 jockeys. who will ride in the race, it means the chance of a lifetime—the opportunity to win fame and fortune in one two-minute dash for glory. So it isn’t any wonder that they have ; been looking forward to the great con- test for months. They have been watching the development of each entry ever since they were first en- gaged to ride. And, when all of the candidates finally reach Churchill Downs—when the late arrivals, the horses that have just taken part in the Preakness, come from Maryland—inter- est reaches fever heat. The jockeys are .to ke foung, .¢very .morning, .in .the . From early in | crowds_that witness the daily work- | outs. If work with their own mounts should keep them busy, it isn't long | before they find out just how good the | other workouts were. | These crowds increase until, duringy f the last week before the Derby, there | ’are enough people present to equal an | | average attendance at the track on any | | ordinary afternoon. And in their | { anxiety to sce these finel trials the i mistake in not allowing his stablemate | spectators frequently leave only a nar- | | to win cost Bradley a lot of money, for | Tow lane in the stretch through which | the horses have to pass. { | _When a competitor shows something | | exceptionally good they _encourage | themselves by remarking: “Oh, he’s al- | ways a good worker.” If the work is inot so good they are cautious enough | i to remember, “That fellow’s 3, different | bird with the colors up.” ° Without | wishing a dangerous contender any rious harm, if his leg fills after work or some other mishep causes his with. drawal from the race, any tears they shed are those of the crocodile. * ok ok the professional and amatew | watchers and clockers as some favorite | for the great race. accompanied by his makes his appearance to stunt for the Derby. ives his instructions to the riders and, watch in hand, moves to a position in the infield where he can command a view of every furlong pole. | The horses jog around to where the i riders have been told to start the trial The spectators are keyed up to as great a tension as if the impending trial were the race itself. syndicate themselves so as to leave no | chance of their missing any part of the | try-out. ! ““That's Twink, with Pator up,” one informs those around him. They'll break from the six furlong pole.” suggests another as the riders | quicken the pace of the horses a bit. A | disappointment. ~ The riders simply break into a cante “Get ready, fellers; 71l go from the head of the stretch.” The last speaker is right. The horses jump off in line to an even start and the dres: rehearsal of the Derby is on. A BUZZ of excitement spreads among | The | Little groups | on Kentucky’s Day of Days. Johnny been rid HpEiEme iw Firties g Owned by Mrs. Emil Denemark of Chicag, this Derby candidate, Lee Cooper, has been showing flashes of speed in Spring training. P. & A. Photo, Callahan, author of this article, who has ing race horses for the past 27 years. Washington Star Photot 1418 icago sportsman, standing besitle his Ren-~ ‘tucky Derby candidate, Rougish Eye. AP Proto. ; ‘War Flier, Mrs. G. F. Vamierbilt’s entry in the Derby. This racer.is reported to have had @ the fastest mile workout of the Spring season, “A neck apart.” The thrilling finish of a recent race at the Bowie race course. first speak turf. in fo by “the mile speaker. The pace | draws a: | and gives h' well. Witho! | ““Dat’s de | since Oman | clockers in ti horses experienced “Get, them for the once around. Tl lel‘b:xem from the stgnd,” - The split nine for or second: 3 nch is educated in the language | “Good work, the werk hor respond in th ne. . the five in two.” kers omit_to say furlon, It isn’t neces urteen” 1s quickly followed e in 1:30%5.% proncunces the first been a bit too fast for The Derby candidate his rider shakes him up im 3 to sec_how he'll quarter. He answ ut extra pressure the Derby distance of a mile and a quarter i5|too bad to be true. covered in 2:07'5. | g best work ah've done time Kame, 12 years ago,” is he stand. ook URING these morning works the | are usually intrusted to less boys, but it is always the Jjockeys who have mounts in the Derby f,” proclaims | second hands click and fiy as the horses | finishing trials, For it is on the jockey's | them to the saddling paddock. | reel off the furlengs. five for the first quarter,” say-s0 as to how the horse feels under him that the trainer largely depends | No one bus_the rider can_ tell whether I ttle bit up his sleeve, a litt! ve, or whether his mount under him. That’s v and that’s what the experienced jock: tell him with dependable accuracy ime recorded is by no mecans an in | t fallible guide. | A striking illustration of the value of | | 2 good jockey’s opinion occurred when ev won the Derby in 1923, The colt had run a bad race in the Preakness | stakes on the Pimlico track, so bad that | Sam Hildreth wanted to withd: | from the Derby. | that Zev be given another chance, argu- | ing that his race in th> Preakness was Hildreth finally | consented to let Zev run in the Derby, | but refused tq go down and see the race, | sending the colt down in charge of his the verdict of the leader of the colored | head man. Without a friend except hris rider, and going out at a long price, | Zev 'won the Derby and Sande's judgment, When ‘the day of the great race ar- rives the gates are closed two hours carlier than usual, and at 1 o'clock the jockeys retire to ‘their room. there to » Justified | ‘The | cooped-up confinement for over three | hours is too long. The waiting tells on their nerves. The usual chatter and ip, if not altogether absent, is some- es forced and unnatural, and it seems o relief when some brave spirit encourages another: 3 t won't be long now, Sonny.” Or one jokingly queries another: “How did Uncle Billic tell you to ride his teday, Ted?” “Told me to hop off in front and die here. How abput yours? Youll have o get off and push him if you're going fini " 1s the reply. worry about me. I'll be com- when you're coming on,” is r to that. “Where's your instructlons? Got ‘em ! !in your cap?” “No, I've got ‘em under my cap,” the wisecracker answers, g * ok ok % N spite of this joshing, the strain, while it tells more on some than on | others, is apparent on all the riders. 1 The constant change of position, the inability to keep still for more than a minute or so, the tearing of a piece of paper into minute fragments, all betray the nervous tension under which they who .are called .upon -to .ride -in -the..await the bugle call that will summon *.are laboring. % v P. & A Phod Possibly because of the constant strain of keeping their weight down— not to Derby weight, but to a point where they can get mounts regularly— both Sande and Johnson were mark- edly nervous while waiting for a big race. Johnson used to get fairly blue around the lips. Incidentally, jockeys are not alone in feeling the nervous strain of the Derby. ‘When Whiskery won two years ago Mr. Harry Payne Whitney, who was not in the best of health at the t{me, made a beeline for his private car on the rafl- way siding and ducked .the ordeal of having to listen to the governor's speech and receive the trophy that goes to the winner. Not particularly partial to big crowds, Mr. Whitney delegated that ceremonial to his trainer, James Rowe. Strange as it may appear, the sound of the bugle signals the disappearance of the nervous strain and restores the jockey to his normal self. The last vestige of it vanishes as the rider's knees grip the saddle and he ties the knot in his reins as the horses muster for the parade to the starting point. ‘To win the Derby a jockey must get off, if not in front, at least among the leaders. The start for-the big race at | Churchill Downs is made from a chute at the head of the stretch, and that gives a Tun of only 2 furlongs to the Jjudges’ stand, which is’very close to the first turn. That makes it all- important to be among the leaders and escape interference. Every rider realizes this, and when Sande rode Bracadale in the Derby won by Black Gold he repeatedly broke through the barrier in his anxiety to be first away. He finally got away flying and finished third in the race. For this he was set down for the rest of the meeting by the starter, and it was addi- tional punishment when the judges, owing to the similarity of colors of the Rancocas Stable and those of E. R. Bradley, gave third place to'the lat- ter's colt, Beau Butler, instead of Bracadale. There is always ‘some delay at the start for the Derby, but sooner or later the starter springs the barrier and vells, “Come on!"” * ¥ k% THE race is on. Hands and heels spring into ac- tion. Whips rise and fall, and the silks flatten on the jockeys' chests in the mad rush to get well round that first turn. It's a case of every one for him- self and the devil take the hindmost, with no “After you, my dear Alphonse” business. Tt is rough work, sometimes, rounding that first turn when, deat to the thundering roar from the vast mul- titude, all the rider hears is the shrill cries of “Lay off me there, will you?” “You'll have me down,” “Keep out, keep out,” and other squawks in language that cannot be printed. None of us was ever very regular at Sunday school. ‘The back stretch seems all too short as the rider, with head bent o avoid the lumps of dirt flying by his ears, drives his horse with hands and heels to catch the flying leaders. One by one they drop back of him as, dodging ! a pocket and luckily getting through on the inside, he finds himself within striking distance of those in front. ‘Then the rider is able to give his mount a momentary breathing spell while rounding the turn for home and before making the final call on him to prove his speed and stamina. o ‘The winning t, less than 2 fur- longs away, looks 2 miles distant as the horse, weakening from his previous | befors I got my first mount in th: | owned and past the judges’ stand, and the Derby is over! There’s nothing left for the winner to do but carry away the floral horseshoe which the rider, all smiles. receives as the cameramen get busy. * %k % ACK to the jockeys’ room the riders 0. to ride the race over e to pro i t their alibis and x:ghte'r“%fidr kicks. »“Khere did vou finish?” 2 h, I think!™ “Like hell you did! Fourteenth, you e badinage goes on. “You back?” This to a late comer. “I didn’t think you'd finish today. You were going up and down in the same place when I passed you.” “'Lo there, Johrny, you back? What detained ye?” This to me, rubbing it in, the time I finished last or nearly last in the race. Sonie remark that jars on a loser gets him sore and proyokes a sharp reply. In an instant there is an angry wrangle, a war of words. Threatening gestures and verbal promises that “I'll get even with you next time,” follow in quick succession. It is a Chinese war—much gesticulation, plenty of noise and no blows struck. The squab- ble quickly ends, It means little or nothing: it is simply the safety valve by which the riders allow the steam of their pent-up emotions to escape. I had been riding a good many years Derby of 1920 on a colt called Sterling, trained by Charlie Van Meter, the well known Kentucky trainer. ‘When I first breezed Sterling I thought pretty well of him, but in subsequent workouts he petered out badly. Sterling didn’t cut much ice in that Derby. But from his back I had an excellent view of the race, for I was last or nearly last almost all the journey. I was interested in watching Watch, who was coupled with Donnacona as the Loft entry. On Watch ran a remarkably good race. Left flatfooted at the st he came from away back, and as vassed me his rider, Barrett, who was the Beau Brummel of jockeydom at that time, yelled: “Good-by; I'll see you at the pay-off!” I saw On Watch pass horse after horse in a_game effort to get to the front, and I thought he would win for sure. But the ground he had to make up took too much out of him and the best he could do was to finish third. The Whitney stable was strongly represented that year with three start- ers—Upset, the only horse that ever beat the great Man o' War; Wildair, that had beaten the great Sir Barton in his previous race, and Damask, winner of the Louisiana Derby. But they were all beaten by Paul Jones, an outsider, owned by Ral Pa.- of Baltimore, and ridden by Teddy Rit®. * % X - NEDLESS to say, the Whitney entry ‘went out first favorite for the race at the short price of 160 to 100. al- though 17 horses started—and that's just five too many for a course such as Churchill Downs, if all the horses are to get a fair chance. ‘That Derby was very much of a two- horse race, as none of them, with the exception of Upset. could ever get near the winner. Paul Jones was a fast breaker and Rice ehot him to the front and kept him there from start to fin! That feat was no easy job, for Rodriquez. riding Upset, got on even terms with him at the turn into th~ home stretch. Ted refused to drop back and kept on driving the Baltimore horse for all he was worth, beaiinz the favorits by a lergtn. Rice, in my opinion, was a first-class jockey, a better one than he got credit for being. He could use his whip as few riders—very few, nowadays—can, without letting his horse's head go or throwing himself off balance in the saddle. I can picture him now, his head dobbing and body swinging with evexs” stride, bringing the flail down on Paul Jones’ ribs in that desperate hand ride to the wire. Later on, in the Sub- urban at Belmont Park, Paul Jones showed his race was no fluke by beating Sir Barton, Exterminator and Upset. ‘There was a rare collection of first class riders in Paul Jones’ Derby and T'm pretty sure their equals won't be seen this coming Saturday. Let me mention only a few of them. Eddie Ambrose, Clarence Kummer, Lawrence Lyke, Laverne Fator, Andy Schuttinger, “Linus” McAtee and Mack Garner were exertions, starts to shorten his stride. ‘Will he get there? Inch by inch his opponent creeps nearer and nearer, It’s nin-m.d-tuck in the last hundred yards, with the leaders answering gamely to the repeated calls. One dorges slightly to the front as they Sy the leaders in the band—all high-class artists in the saddle. It will take a long time to find a better bunch of riders. Not until six years later did I get another _moupt_in