Hangin' With Haskin : travers

If Damascus Raced Today

Blood-Horse Staff — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 03:17:00 GMT

Racing fans of today embrace a different breed of hero than their predecessors back in the days when horses raced often and were rarely retired at 3.

Sometimes, you have to wonder, what if some of those horses raced in today’s cyber world and accomplished the same feats they did back in their day. How would they be perceived? Most people immediately think of superstars like Secretariat, Dr. Fager, Forego, Spectacular Bid, and a number of others. But there is one horse who deserves to be put in that category and usually never is. I admit to being prejudiced when it comes to Damascus, but I will let his statistics speak for themselves, while interjecting my personal involvement with the horse.

The following is a compilation of past writings on Damascus that may put this remarkable horse’s career in a better historical perspective. Also included is a look at the volatile times in which he ran.

In 2000, I wrote a book on Dr. Fager for the Thoroughbred Legends series. My admiration for the good doctor knows no boundaries, as he is the swiftest, most dominating, and in general, most breathtaking Thoroughbred in action I have ever laid eyes on. No horse ever looked like Dr. Fager and it is safe to say no horse ever will. But, as much as I have come to revere The Doc over the years and his trainer John Nerud, not one second went by while writing the book that I didn't feel like a traitor.

It was his arch rival Damascus, you see, who got me interested in Thoroughbred racing. Here was the ultimate athlete, whose heroics thrust me into a sport that would soon encompass my entire being. A 20-year-old stock trader on Wall Street at the time, I found myself feeling like 20 going on 12. Aspiring stock brokers are not supposed to fall in love with a racehorse. So, the next year I left Wall Street for good and followed Damascus into his world.

Almost four decades later, a new Legends book was published on Damascus. Once again, I felt like a traitor for not writing it, but it had been assigned to someone else. The purpose of this copy, however, is not to rehash old memories, but to bring to light the true greatness of Damascus, who in my mind is the most underrated horse of all time.

Damascus' career record speaks for itself. He won at distances of six furlongs, seven furlongs, one mile, a mile and 70 yards, 1 1/16 miles, 1 1/8 miles, 1 3/16 miles, 1 1/4 miles, 1 1/2 miles, and two miles. In all, he won stakes at eight different distances. He ran seven furlongs in 1:21 1/5 (Malibu Stakes), 1 1/8 miles in a track-record 1:46 4/5 (American Derby), and 1 1/4 miles in a track-record 1:59 1/5 under 130 pounds (Brooklyn Handicap). He also equaled the track record for 1 1/4 miles at Saratoga in the Travers, coming from 16 lengths back in the slop to win eased up by 22 lengths (More on that race later). And only two horses – Kelso and Prove Out – have won the two-mile Jockey Club Gold Cup in faster time.

In the Woodward, billed as the Race of the Century, he demolished Horses of the Year and future Hall of Famers Buckpasser and Dr. Fager by 10 lengths. Twice at 4 he carried 134 pounds to victory. In one of those, the Aqueduct Stakes, he gave major stakes winner More Scents 20 pounds.

But here is why Damascus ranks among the greatest horses in racing history, and certainly among the most durable horses ever seen. After winning his 3-year-old debut, an allowance race at Pimlico, in which he was slammed into so hard in the stretch it turned him sideways, he raced in 15 consecutive stakes that year alone, winning 11 (including the Preakness and Belmont Stakes) and finishing second twice by a nose and once by a half-length to Dr. Fager, in which Bill Shoemaker blamed himself for the defeat. And here is the truly remarkable part. The intervals between his races were 2 weeks, 3 weeks, 1 week, 2 weeks, 2 weeks, 3 weeks, 10 days, 3 weeks, 1 week, 3 weeks, 2 weeks, 16 days, 26 days, 28 days, and 2 weeks. And he actually got stronger as the year went on.

The following year, when he won the Brooklyn under 131 pounds in track-record time, which still stands after 41 years, he was making his third start in 16 days, all at 1 1/4 miles and all carrying 130 pounds or more (His two memorable duels with Dr. Fager that year -- mainly the Suburban -- were written about last year in my blog dated July 1). Today, a horse would be considered a sure thing to “bounce” off that kind of effort and three huge performances in such a short period of time. But Damascus came back three weeks later and won the William du Pont Handicap carrying 134 pounds.

When he was 3, he was beaten a half-length in the Gotham by Dr. Fager in a gut-wrencher, in which poor tactics by Shoemaker allowed Dr. Fager to get outside him. Despite the heart-pounding stretch battle and 1:35 1/5 mile, Damascus came back one week later to win the Wood Memorial (yes, one week later) by six lengths.

In the Kentucky Derby, in which he finished third, he was noticeably upset walking to the track, and then became very rank early in the race. A perplexed Whiteley said he’d never seen him like that before or after, and could never come up with an explanation for it.

Not only was Damascus durable, brilliant, classy, and one of the soundest, healthiest horses ever, he possessed the most devastating turn of foot I have ever witnessed. He ran low to the ground, and when he took off around the half-mile pole, he made up ground so quickly it was if as if he were moving in a different time frame than his opponents. He didn't catch them, he pounced on them like a cat its prey, and in many cases he left them floundering far up the track.

I never could have imagined that a racehorse would pave the road I would take in life. But here I am after four decades, and the road Damascus paved for me still is as magical as the day I first set foot on it. And I still get that same special feeling inside whenever I see films or photos of him decked out in his familiar Belair silks. I guess you could say that 20-year-old going on 12 is still going on 12.

For many, the spectacular images of Damascus and the herculean feats he performed sadly have faded with the years. But for one person, they remain a beacon that still guides his way.

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Kentucky Derby week in 1967 was eventful, not only for Damascus and Frank Whiteley, but for the City of Louisville. Five days before the Derby, five black youths leaped the fence during the first race and dashed out onto the track in front of a field of 10 horses. Eight of the youths were arrested and 20 others were ejected from the grounds for creating a disturbance and singing civil-rights songs. Fortunately, no one was hurt, but the incident reflected the volatile atmosphere that would surround this year’s Derby.

With additional threats of disturbances from civil rights advocates, the Pegasus Parade, scheduled two days before the Derby, was canceled, as was a country music show. At the request of Louisville mayor Kenneth Schmeid, Kentucky governor Edward T. Breathitt called in additional National Guardsmen and Kentucky State Police for Derby Day.

Appropriately, the day was bleak and misty, with a foreboding feeling in the air, especially with the sight of National Guardsmen lined up along the inside rail. When the University of Louisville refused to send its band to play at Churchill Downs, members of the Louisville Musician Union came in at the last minute dressed in their street clothes to play “My Old Kentucky Home.”

As for Damascus, for reasons still unknown, the normally professional colt lost his composure going to the paddock and then became uncharacteristically rank during the race.

“He wasn’t himself that day, Whiteley said. “He was kickin’ and raisin’ hell all the way to the paddock. They thought there was gonna be a riot down there, and I don’t know why but everything got messed up. I can’t answer why he acted like that.”

Damascus wound up third behind 30-1 shot Proud Clarion, and the morning after the race Whiteley called Shoemaker and told him emphatically, “You ride this horse back in the Preakness.” Shoemaker replied, ‘Not only will
I ride him back, you get him there quiet and I’ll win it.”

Damascus was back to his old professional self at Pimlico and unleashed one of his patented explosive moves on the far turn to win going away, defeating In Reality and Proud Clarion. After that, Damascus was virtually unbeatable the remainder of the year.

A month earlier, he had begun his heated rivalry with Dr. Fager in the Gotham Stakes, which, like Derby Day, was gray and bleak. There had been doubt whether the race would even be run when the New York horsemen boycotted the entry box a week before the race after a proposed bill to increase purses was allowed to die in committee. Aqueduct had already lost two racing days in March when a surprise blizzard hit New York, dumping eight inches of snow, which immediately froze due to the frigid temperatures.

After several more missed days due to the boycott, racing finally resumed four days before the Gotham following a settlement.

Despite an early morning rain that soaked the track, leaving it deep and holding, a crowd of 50,522 showed up on a damp, foggy afternoon to see the much-anticipated showdown between Damascus and Dr. Fager. The race, which was described briefly earlier, was everything racing fans had hoped for, as the two titans battled to the wire, with Dr. Fager prevailing by a hard-earned half-length. Damascus broke from the outside post and had Dr. Fager pinned down on the inside, but Shoemaker let The Doc come around him and get a clear run at him. Being on the outside gave Dr. Fager a big advantage strategically. The final time of 1:35 1/5 was exceptional considering how deep the track was. After returning, Shoemaker was upset at himself for the ride he gave Damascus and told Whiteley, “Frank, he beat him today, but he never will again as long as I ride him.”

Although Damascus and Dr. Fager would meet only four times, their rivalry was one for the ages. Years later, Peb’s Equine Comedy in The Morning Telegraph showed two survivors of a shipwreck floating on debris. While clutching to their “buoys,” one says to the other, “You’re crazy, I still say Damascus was better than Dr. Fager.” That’s pretty much what it was like.

This was the height of psychedelia, with The Grateful Dead and Timothy Leary representing the drug culture, and The Beatles releasing their Sgt. Pepper and Magical Mystery Tour albums. America was embroiled in the Viet Nam war, and the Middle East became a hotbed during the Six-Day War, in which Israel turned back the armies of Egypt, Syria, Jordan, and Iraq in only six days.

The Damascus--Dr. Fager rivalry, which was played out against this backdrop, was as intense as any ever seen and it all began on a gray April afternoon at Aqueduct, when the racing world got its first glimpse of two horses who ignited a fire and a passion as seething as the times in which they lived.

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Speaking of the Six-Day War, the hero of that brief conflict in June of 1967 was Israel's defense minister and military leader Moshe Dayan, recognizable by the patch he wore over one eye.

Once again, we turn to Peb, who was never one to let current events go by without incorporating them into his racing cartoons.

That summer, Peb melded Dayan and the equine juggernaut known as Damascus into an unforgettable sketch, showing Damascus' jockey, Bill Shoemaker, decked out in owner Edith Bancroft's famed Belair (polka dot) silks and wearing a patch over one eye, driving a tank, representing Damascus.

As Saratoga approached, everyone in racing had one common goal: to have the sport's two 3-year-old superstars -- Damascus and Dr. Fager -- lock horns in the historic Travers Stakes.

Damascus had been narrowly defeated by Dr. Fager in the one-mile Gotham Stakes in April, after which Shoemaker vowed to trainer Frank Whiteley that Dr. Fager would never again beat Damascus while he was riding him. Over the next three months, Damascus would win the Wood Memorial, Preakness, Belmont, Leonard Richards, and Dwyer Handicap. Then, on Aug. 5, he journeyed to Arlington where he put on a spectacular show in the American Derby, beating In Reality by seven lengths with one of the most explosive moves ever seen. His time of 1:46 4/5 for the 1 1/8 miles was a new track record.

Damascus was on a roll and it looked like no one could stop him. No one with the possible exception of Dr. Fager, who went on to run the fastest mile by a 3-year-old in the history of New York racing, winning the Withers Stakes eased up in 1:33 4/5. He then romped in the Jersey Derby only to be disqualified in a controversial decision, and then won the Arlington Classic by 10 lengths and the Rockingham Special in track-record time.

It seemed obvious to everyone that Damascus and Dr. Fager were on a collision course that would culminate in the Travers. Then came word from trainer John Nerud that Dr. Fager would instead return to Rockingham for the rich New Hampshire Sweepstakes, which also was the target for In Reality and Kentucky Derby runner-up Barbs Delight.

Many felt Nerud was ducking Damascus; that he wanted no part of the colt going a mile and a quarter. Nerud was shrewd and knew how to pick his spots, and he felt Dr. Fager still had some maturing to do, and his big confrontation with Damascus could wait another six weeks when the 3-year-old championship and Horse of the Year would be on the line in the Woodward Stakes.

That left the Travers as a virtual walk in the park for Damascus. Every top 3-year-old stayed away. The three who did show up – Reason to Hail, Tumiga, and Gala Performance – were decent colts, but not in the same league as Damascus. Tumiga, in fact, was a top-class sprinter/miler who was stretching out, assuring a hot pace for Damascus.

That year's Travers should have been a total bore. But there was never anything boring about Damascus, who knew how to put on a show with his amazing turn of foot and devastating move.

The Travers set up perfectly for him. The track had come up sloppy, and Tumiga and Gala Performance went at each other tooth and nail. After a blistering half-mile in :45 4/5, they were still separated by only a half-length, and had already opened up some 16 lengths on Damascus, who was biding his time in third.

No one had any worries about Damascus making up 16 lengths, but there was no way they could have predicted the total annihilation that was to come. Shoemaker finally got into Damascus, and it can be said that no horse ever made up 16 lengths so quickly.

From that far back at the five-eighths pole, he was six lengths in front by the time he reached the quarter pole. He was 10 in front at the eighth pole, and with Shoemaker sitting motionless on him, Damascus continued to draw clear of Reason to Hail, who had taken over second, winning eased up by an incredible 22 lengths. Despite the ease of his victory, Damascus still equaled the track record of 2:01 3/5 that was shared by Buckpasser and Jaipur.

Although it was the Woodward Stakes that most people remember, Damascus' Travers victory remains one of the most devastating performances of all time.

The Unbreakable, Indestructible Jim French

Blood-Horse Staff — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 15:26:00 GMT

You may have noticed the two brief mentions of Jim French in the last blog in regard to His Majesty’s exploits early in his 3-year-old campaign. Remaining on the subject of Graustark, it is only appropriate to give his son equal billing. I can’t think of any horse who deserves to have his accomplishments chronicled and hammered into our psyche more than Jim French, especially in this era of pampered horses.

Jim French’s story has long faded into history, taking with it the colt’s remarkable feats of durability on the racetrack and the notorious final chapter of his career, in which he was actually impounded by the Saratoga County sheriff's office and not permitted to run in the Travers Stakes. But more on that later.

What you are about to read is not meant as praise or indictment of Jim French’s trainer John Campo, who admitted years later he “hadn’t been training very long and didn’t know any better.”

Jim French was a plucky little brown colt, as average-looking and unassuming as any horse you’ll ever see. It is mind-boggling still to think that he was a son of Graustark, a grand-looking dark liver chestnut who was as spectacular a horse as you’ll ever see. Campo’s handling of Jim French would have brought about an outpouring of criticism and indignation from today's Internet-driven racing fans. But the colt not only stood up to Campo’s unprecedented racing regimen, he actually seemed to thrive on it.

As excessive as his methods were, Campo's ability to keep Jim French in top form for so long actually was a remarkable achievement, and he at least deserves for that. But then again, maybe it had nothing to do with Campo’s training. Maybe it was strictly the horse, who never once backed down to his trainer’s demands.

By the time Jim French arrived in Florida in December 1970 to begin preparing for the Triple Crown races, he had already crammed 11 races into a four-month period, racing four times in November alone, including a victory in the Remsen Stakes. With so much racing behind him, and no time off, here is what he went on to accomplish:

-- On Dec. 26, he engaged in a thrilling stretch duel with Sir Dagonet to win the 1 1/16-mile Miami Beach Handicap at Tropical Park.

-- Two weeks later, he just got up to win the 1 1/16-mile Dade Metropolitan Handicap at Tropical by a nose, carrying top weight of 125 pounds and conceding 10 pounds to the runner-up.

-- Eleven days later, now at Hialeah, he dropped back to six furlongs and finished a fast-closing fourth in the Hibiscus Stakes, beaten only 1 1/4 lengths by the brilliant Executioner.

-- He was back two weeks later, coming from 10th at the top of the stretch to win the seven-furlong Bahamas Stakes by a head, with His Majesty third.

-- Two weeks later, he was beaten a head by His Majesty in the 1 1/8-mile Everglades Stakes, but was disqualified to fifth for bearing in down the stretch.

-- Like clockwork, he was back in the gate two weeks later, coming from 19 lengths back to finish third behind Executioner in the 1 1/8-mile Flamingo Stakes.

-- Instead of waiting for the Florida Derby, Jim French not only ran 17 days later, he shipped up to New York, where he finished third to the early Kentucky Derby favorite Hoist the Flag in the seven-furlong Bay Shore Stakes, run in a scorching 1:21.

-- Just one week later (that’s right, one week), he was back in Florida, where he closed fast to finish third to Calumet Farm’s Eastern Fleet in the Florida Derby, run in 1:47 2/5, just a fifth off the stakes record.

-- Not content to wait for one final Derby prep, Campo put Jim French on a plane to California and ran him one week later (yes, one week) in the Santa Anita Derby, which he won by 1 3/4 lengths in 1:48 1/5.

-- Two weeks later, he was back in New York, where he finished a solid fourth to stablemate Good Behaving in the Wood Memorial.

So, Jim French entered the grueling Triple Crown series having competed in 10 stakes in a little over four months, traveling from New York to Florida to New York to Florida to California, back to New York, and finally to Kentucky. That’s 9,000 miles of traveling leading up to the Kentucky Derby. Although most horses would have been totally wiped out by now, Jim French went on to finish a fast-closing second to Canonero II in the Kentucky Derby, third in Canonero's track record-breaking Preakness, and a fast-closing second in the Belmont Stakes, in which he made up more than five lengths in the final furlong to be beaten three-quarters of a length.

Instead of being given a well-earned vacation following without a doubt the most ambitious and exhausting Triple Crown campaign ever, Jim French amazingly was back in the starting gate two weeks after the Belmont, finishing a fast-closing fourth in the one-mile Arlington Classic (run as the Pontiac Grand Prix that year). Following his first three-week "vacation" since the previous November, he shipped back to California, where he finished second in the 1 1/4-mile Hollywood Derby, giving the winner, Bold Reason, 13 pounds. One week later, he was back in New York, winning the 1 1/4-mile Dwyer Handicap, conceding 12-15 pounds to the rest of the field.

In less than seven months, Jim French had run in 16 stakes from six furlongs to 1 1/2 miles, never finishing worse than fourth (except for his disqualification). During that time he competed at 10 different racetracks in six different states, made two round trip cross-country flights at a time when Eastern horses rarely flew to California for one race, and logged around 18,000 miles of traveling.

Jim French resurfaced four weeks after the Dwyer and ran an uncharacteristic ninth as the 2-1 favorite in the Monmouth Invitational Handicap. It was discovered after the race that the colt had a spur in his right knee that had broken off. Several people around the horse, however, were convinced that he had been ‘gotten to.’ His owner, whom we’ll get to shortly, actually put a full-page ad in a racing trade journal claiming it was a nefarious act that got the horse beat.

Campo then sent Jim French to Saratoga for the Travers, and that's when all hell broke loose. Prior to the Travers, it was announced that the colt had been impounded by the Saratoga County sheriff's office. His entry for the Travers was refused by the stewards. State steward Francis P. Dunne called it “the most complex racing situation I've ever encountered.”

That brings up to Part Two of the Jim French story. It had been discovered through a loan made by Jim French’s co-owner Frank Caldwell, who had purchased the colt from the colt’s breeder Ralph Wilson during his 2-year-old campaign, that there was a hidden ownership issue surrounding the horse.

Caldwell, a Long Island furniture executive, had sold 70% of Jim French to Etta Sarant, and then taken out a loan from the Citizens National Bank and Trust Co. of Lexington, Ky., receiving a $130,000 advance after stating on his affidavit that he was the sole owner of Jim French. Leslie Combs II, a director of the bank, also assured that Jim French would stand at his Spendthrift Farm in Lexington.

It was discovered, however, that Mrs. Sarant, in whose name Jim French raced in the Monmouth Invitational, had no owner’s license in New York, and had no interest in applying for one. After the Monmouth Invitational, Jim French was resold to construction executive Fred Cole, but he had been suspended by the New York Racing Commission for failure to appear to give testimony in the hidden ownership case. That left Jim French without an owner.

Dunne said at the time, “We have a real can of worms on our hands, and it’s beginning to appear that not all of the worms have been pulled out of the can.”

He was right. Officers of the Saratoga Country sheriff's office then filed a writ of attachment on behalf of the Citizens Bank. The New York Racing Commission, sensing a possible cover-up, began an investigation into the ownership of Jim French and several other horses owned by Caldwell.

According to the commission’s findings, the true owner or part-owner of Jim French and the other horses was R. Robert LiButti, doing business as Robert Presti. The commission also concluded that the horse's ownership had been concealed from racing authorities, and stated that LiButti/Presti had been barred from racing in 1968. He maintained it was only a misunderstanding and that he had been exonerated of any wrongdoing.

LiButti said that undisclosed ownership was a common occurrence in racing, and his ownership of Jim French was not done to defraud the public, claiming that no crime had been committed.

On Oct. 13, 1971, the New York Racing Commission suspended Campo and Jim French’s breeder and original owner Ralph Wilson for 30 days for their role in the concealed ownership. Caldwell was ordered to appear before the commission to "show cause why his license should not be revoked."

As for Jim French, he was not allowed to run in the Travers. Because of the complexity of the case, and the danger of his knee eventually splitting due to the spur that had broken off, he was retired and sold (it was never officially reported by whom) to art dealer Daniel Wildenstein for $1 million and retired to Haras de la Verrerie in France, where he proved unsuccessful, siring only five stakes winners. He was then sent to Japan in 1977. His name did show up in America as the broodmare sire of Breeders' Cup Mile winner and grass champion Steinlen.

The name of Jim French has long since disappeared. The vast majority of today’s racing fans have never even heard of him, which is a shame.

This was a true Thoroughbred in every sense of the word – a road warrior if ever there was one who gave 100% every time he ran, despite being subjected to one of the most grueling racing schedules of any horse in the history of the sport.

There are no shrines or memorials to this gallant horse, who deserved to go out fighting and be remembered for his amazing toughness and durability rather than the ignominious series of events that befell him.

More than three decades have passed, and now, at a time when it is so difficult to keep horses sound, and when many champions race only four or five times a year, it is important that we remember a horse like Jim French to remind us just how resilient Thoroughbreds can be, or at least used to be.

Breakfast With The Doc

Blood-Horse Staff — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 15:06:00 GMT

I just returned from Saratoga and another Travers Stakes. It is this annual pilgrimage to the mecca of racing that makes me briefly forget all the problems the sport is facing and remember the way it used to be.

This year marks my (gulp!) 40th anniversary at the Spa, so what better time to go down memory lane once again and rekindle the first of many unforgettable moments that have made Saratoga such a magical place. And that includes proposing to my wife there in 1979 (or was it the other way around as she claims?) when she was working for NYRA as public relations coordinator .

My first visit was in 1968 when I took an Adirondack Trailways bus from New York City and checked into the Victoria Hotel on Broadway, which, of course, is long gone. On its site now stands a Boston Market. Even back then the Victoria was an old hotel with Victorian furnishings right out of the 1930s. It was pretty modest, and in no way even remotely resembled the Adelphi, the last of the great old hotels, which in turn bore no resemblance to the massive, ostentatious Grand Union and United States Hotels that catered to the opulent and often decadent tastes of America’s tycoons, high rollers, and silver spoon-fed upper crust.

The Grand Union’s dining room seated 1,200 guests. After a night of gambling and drinking at Canfield Casino followed by a breakfast of frog legs and champagne, screens were discreetly put up for patrons who preferred being sick in private. I don’t recall seeing a dining room of any size at the Victoria and the people sitting on the porch bore little resemblance to Diamond Jim Brady or Lillian Russell or the Marquis de Lafayette, but for my simple tastes and means my little twin bed was all I needed.

Walking to the track each morning up Lincoln Ave. and past Siro’s was like strolling along the yellow brick road, waiting for that first glimpse of Emerald City. The track had recently begun serving breakfast on the apron porch, where you were greeted by a tuxedo-clad maitre d’. If you didn’t mind that the price of breakfast was outrageous and tips on the races normally were hotter than the food, it was a great experience, with the smell of bacon wafting through the crisp mountain air, the clanging of dishes and silverware, and some of the finest Thoroughbreds in the country galloping and working in front of you. Once in a while you’d see a top trainer having breakfast, and you could listen in on Bill Johnson’s Saturday morning radio show at one of the tables.

After training and breakfast, it was off to the National Museum of Racing across the street to watch the crackly, black and white replays of the previous day’s races and a small feature on great stakes of the past preceding it. It was here you saw the only films available of Buckpasser winning the 1966 Travers or the great duel between Jaipur and Ridan in the 1962 running. Most of the films were narrated by the great Chris Schenkel. This was held downstairs (or was it upstairs?) in a small room with folding chairs, an old-fashioned pull-up screen, and a 16mm projector (or was it 8 mm?). Funny how you don’t remember certain little things.

A few days after arriving in Saratoga, I managed to find a shopping center that had a camera store, and bought myself one of those little Kodak Brownie Instamatic cameras, which was considered modern technology back then. I had to capture all these indelible images and the beauty of Saratoga.

My first morning at the track with my new camera, I shot just about everything I saw -- the grandstand, adorned with flowers, Rokeby Stable trainer Elliott Burch watching the works with his sons, my hotel, and even the McDonalds across the street, which of course is still there.

On Travers morning, I managed to get shots of trainer Eddie Neloy having breakfast and Johnson interviewing trainer Henry Forrest, who would be saddling the Travers favorite, Forward Pass.

As training hours drew to a close, the skies, which had been clear all morning, were now dark and foreboding, and it was obvious that one of those wild Saratoga thunderstorms was imminent. Just then, from high up in the grandstand, I could hear a faint voice over the public address system announce: “Ladies and gentlemen, coming on to the track is Dr. Fager.”

It was the Saturday before the Washington Park Handicap at Arlington Park, in which the Doc would be gunning for the one-mile world record, and on this morning he would be having his final work before heading to Chicago.

Just as he made his way on to the track, the skies opened up, as the railbirds quickly retreated for cover under the grandstand. I, however, was not going to blow an opportunity to take a picture of the mighty Dr. Fager, especially with my brand new Kodak Brownie Instamatic.

Everyone headed in one direction and I headed in the opposite direction toward the rail. I got there just as Dr. Fager was walking by accompanied by his pony, an Appaloosa named Chalkeye. The exercise rider, Jose Marrero, and the pony rider simultaneously turned and looked at me, as if wondering what kind of idiot would come running out into the pouring rain to take a picture of a horse. But this was no ordinary horse.

Like some majestic shrouded figure, Dr. Fager seemed larger than life to a novice, wide-eyed 21-year-old, who was floundering about trading over-the-counter stocks on Wall Street and hating it. As the Doc walked past me, oblivious to the elements, he had his game face on, focusing straight ahead and arching his neck ever so slightly. He had worked up a mouthful of saliva and his flared nostrils already were bright red.

I managed to take one shot of him before high-tailing it back under cover. The first person I saw was the Doc’s trainer, John Nerud, who was well-prepared for the weather, decked out in a yellow rain poncho. I went over and called, “John,” and when he looked up and gave me a friendly smile, I took his picture as well.

Through the murk and rain, the good doctor breezed five furlongs in :59 flat under no pressure whatsoever from Marrero, who had to weigh at least 150 to 160 pounds. A week later, Dr. Fager broke the world record for the mile, winning eased up by 10 lengths under 134 pounds in one of the most awe-inspiring performances of all time. It would become the most sought after record in racing, lasting nearly three decades.

For years, I have carried that photo of Dr. Fager in my wallet. It was not a very good photo, but in many ways it was the best I’ve ever taken, with the Doc’s rich blood-bay coat bursting with color even on such a gloomy morning. I still look at that picture and think back to when everything was new – my camera, my first trip away from home, and my newly found obsession with horse racing.

The following year, I left Wall Street and took a job as a copy boy at the old Morning Telegraph. My world and the world of Saratoga and Dr. Fager were now and forever one.