A final hail to the Chief

Seven years ago today, legendary trainer H. Allen Jerkens won for the final time at Saratoga Race Course

Allen Jerkens, his wife Elisabeth, and jockey Junior Alvarado celebrate Go Unbridled's victory in the 2013 Saratoga Dew Stakes. NYRA Photo/Adam Coglianese

Back when Saratoga Race Course conducted racing six days a week, the Monday following the Travers was the sleepiest day of the meet. Mondays typically had the lowest attendance, but the Monday after the Travers would feel particularly subdued as it followed the exodus of Saratoga Springs summer visitors who would leave after Travers weekend.

Post-Travers Monday in 2013 could have been a particularly forgettable day as the races were conducted under gray, drizzly skies, but one of the great things about horse racing is how an amazing moment can happen when you least expect it.

Trainer H. Allen Jerkens had been competing at Saratoga since the 1950s, winning the training title 1971-73 and sharing the title in a three-way tie in 1977. Jerkens’ most celebrated feat, upsetting Secretariat with Onion in the Whitney Handicap, came at Saratoga in 1973. In my experience, no trainer inspired as much awe and reverence from racing fans, media, and his fellow horsemen than Jerkens, who had not just witnessed but made a lot of racing history. He earned the nickname “The Giant Killer” (a nickname he disliked) through his history of notable upsets, but to racetrackers he was just “Chief.”

Jerkens could be bashful and his voice was somewhat raspy and surprisingly soft, but his reputation was all he needed to have the full attention of an audience, whether it was a small group standing around his golf cart during training hours or a packed dining room at The Parting Glass tavern. He would sometimes make anachronistic comments, such as when he asked a reporter if he knew trainer Hirsch Jacobs (1904-1970) or when he made a reference to a movie that had been released in 1938. 

Despite his stellar reputation, his stable had shrunk considerably by the early 2010s and wins were becoming scarce.

“We didn’t have a lot of horses,” said Fernando Abreu, Jerkens’ assistant at the time. “He was one of the greatest trainers to ever saddle a horse, but you would see all of these new guys with all of these horses, and he was down to maybe 15 horses.”

Teresa Genaro, teacher and writer, said Jerkens seemed to be self conscious of how his barn was no longer as competitive as it once had been.

“More than once, I heard Allen talk wistfully about not having his name on one of the jockey statues outside the clubhouse entrance, which honor the previous summer's Grade 1 winners,” said Genaro. “‘I guess I'm not going to have my name on one of the statues this year,’ he'd say, with a combination of resignation and sadness. He was competitive and he wanted to win, and it was hard for me to watch his stable shrink, his wins decrease. And he really loved Saratoga, and I think he hated feeling like he might be irrelevant.”

Although Jerkens won just 13 races in 2012, he did get his wish to have his name on a jockey statue as he sent out Emma’s Encore to a victory that year’s Grade 1 Prioress and he added a second Saratoga stakes triumph when Go Unbridled won the Saratoga Dew. A year later, both horse and trainer were on losing streaks as Go Unbridled had gone 0-5 since last year’s Saratoga Dew (but earning grade 1 black type along the way with a third-place finish in the 2012 Beldame Invitational) and Jerkens was 0-17 at the 2013 Saratoga Meet. It appeared that Jerkens, 84, was going to need Go Unbridled, now a 6-year-old mare, to repeat in the Saratoga Dew if the trainer was going to continue his decades-long tradition of winning at the Spa. 

After saddling Go Unbridled, Jerkens and his longtime employee Bill Higgins walked along the path from the paddock to the main track to watch the race along the rail.

“When we left the paddock and went to the rail, Allen was talking about how Saratoga had changed,” said Higgins, who now works for Bill Mott while continuing to operate his Saratoga Garlic company. “When you walked to the racetrack from the paddock, [you would see a] big, white tent. He was talking about how the traffic patterns had changed, how the jockeys would come and go and how people would flow through the building.”

Breaking from the outside post in the field of seven, Go Unbridled settled off the pace early under jockey Junior Alvarado before she made a steady advance along the backstretch of the 1 ⅛-mile race. She made a three-wide challenge for the lead on the far turn before claiming the lead nearing the final furlong, driving clear late to win by 2 ¾ lengths. 

Go Unbridled and jockey Junior Alvarado win the Saratoga Dew by 2 3/4 lengths. NYRA Photo/Adam Coglianese

“When he won a race ‒ it didn’t matter if it was maiden claiming or a grade 1 ‒ he had tears in his eyes and he would high five you,” said Higgins. “He would hit you so hard you would almost fall over backwards. He celebrated [Go Unbridled’s win] with the same bravado. It was a pretty long walk from the gap to the winner’s circle, and, typically, halfway there you [could watch] a replay of the finish of the race on the big screen. That day, when we started walking, you could hear applause. I can remember him saying, ‘What the hell are they clapping for?’ And then he realized it was for him.”

I watched the race from a television monitor in the communications office, located in a building in the track’s backyard. Immediately after Go Unbridled won, my coworkers and I simultaneously stood up and power walked over to the winner’s circle, where another contingent of media members had already descended from the press box. We all wanted to be there when Jerkens walked into the winner’s circle. 

Genaro, who was at Saratoga that day to watch the races with her parents, reacted similarly.

“We were in a box between the sixteenth pole and the finish line,” she recalled. “It had been rainy, if I remember right, and I wasn't working that day; it was a pleasure day at the races. But when Go Unbridled won, I flew down the stairs and onto the apron, and I raced to the winner's circle. I was so, so thrilled, and my dad, who is an old-school racing guy, was pretty happy to see another old-school racing guy, and such a venerable one, win.”

The media contingent waited in the light rain as we waited for Jerkens, who was being congratulated by spectators as he walked from the gap to the winner’s circle. Some of us engaged in brief small talk, but we mostly stood there in silence as the minutes ticked and Go Unbridled, her groom, and Junior Alvarado continued making circles on the outside of the main track.

Almost five minutes after Go Unbridled had crossed the finish line, Jerkens arrived at the winner’s circle, and upon sighting the Chief the media corps in the winner’s circle and spectators on the apron and in the box seats applauded and cheered. With tears in his eyes, Jerkens nodded ever-so-slightly to acknowledge the standing ovation.

“Returning to the winner’s circle is Allen Jerkens, who has been winning races at Saratoga since Harry Truman was president of the United States,” announced Tom Durkin. 

Jerkens, who had long been the contemplative type, was even more reflective than usual when addressing the media after the race.

"It means a lot more [to win] at Saratoga. Every place you win and anytime you win a stake, it's just great. I've always been that way [emotional in the winner's circle]. You think of all the times when you didn't do nothing, you know. Well, we've had our bad days [but] we've come around, and that's what counts. This is the first one we've won here [this year], so we're off the duck."

The 2013 Saratoga Dew would end up being the final stakes victory in Jerkens’ career, which, in addition to Onion’s and Prove Out’s upsets at the expense of Secretariat, included Beau Purple’s three triumphs over Kelso, Wagon Limit stunning Gentlemen and Skip Away in the 1998 Jockey Club Gold Cup, and Society Selection capturing the 2004 Test at seven furlongs before coming back three weeks later to take the Alabama at 1 ¼ miles. 

Jerkens never again started a horse at Saratoga, deciding in 2014 to stay in Florida for the entire year. His wife, Elisabeth, died of heart failure August 3, 2014 at the age of 86. Jerkens died March 18, 2015 after having been hospitalized several weeks with an infection, with his final win coming from his penultimate starter, Easement, who won a maiden special weight March 6 at Gulfstream Park. Go Unbridled made one more start following the 2013 Saratoga Dew, finishing fourth in the John Hettinger in September at Belmont Park. The Jerkens name lives on in racing, with his sons Jimmy and Steven competing as trainers in New York and Florida and his grandson David serving as racing secretary at Del Mar. 

Abreu, who worked for Jerkens for almost two decades, took out his trainer’s license following the death of his renowned and beloved boss and has competed primarily in Florida since 2015. For Abreu, the Chief’s legacy is one of hard work, love for his horses and for the sport, and high demands and respect for his employees. 

“[Jerkens] always paid attention,” said Abreu. “It didn’t matter how old he was. He was there early in the morning, he came back to feed them in the afternoon, and after dinner he would go by his barn and check on his horses and see if they ate. He never lost that will to work. I try to follow him. I go to the barn at least three times a day. I look at the horses. Did they eat? Did they back off their feed? How do they look? How are they pointing their legs in the stall? Stuff like that, especially when they are relaxed and quiet. I try to do certain things, but I just can’t get it right like he did, even if I worked for him for 19 years. He knew exactly what to do and what not to do. He didn’t want to leave no stone unturned. Yes, he would scream at you, but you wouldn’t go home without him making up with you. He would look for a way. He would have a beer with you in the afternoon. If you did something wrong, he was going to let you know, but he was like a big teddy bear.”

Given what Jerkens meant to the sport, I will always be glad that all of us at the track seven years ago gave the legendary horseman a Saratoga sendoff worthy of a Chief.

Remembering when three-quarters of a century's tradition evaporated before our eyes

Reflections from the final day of racing at Bay Meadows Racecourse, August 17, 2008

Twelve years ago, I put my past performances and some snacks in my backpack, walked a half mile to the Sunnyvale train station, and rode a northbound train to Bay Meadows Racecourse for the final time.

With each passing year, my memories of the final day of racing at Bay Meadows become more impressionistic as the details gradually fade. To mark the 12th anniversary of Bay Meadows’ last day, I decided to chronicle some of my memories before they escape my mind forever.

Bay Meadows was a place where I bonded with my father as a child, decided on my future career when I was an adolescent, and worked part time in a customer service role earlier in 2008 while I waited for a full-time writing position to become available to me. By mid August 2008, I had been working for the Thoroughbred Daily News in New Jersey for a month and a half, and I was making my first trip back to California so I could attend the final three days of racing at Bay Meadows. 

I decided to use my family’s Sony Handycam, which by 2008 was already approaching obsolescence, to record footage from these three final days and to upload videos to YouTube. Because I had to rush to edit and upload the videos and as a result made a few errors in the process, I was hoping to one day make a more polished director’s cut that did not have to adhere to YouTube’s then 10-minute time limit, but my parents purged my mini cassette tapes with racing footage from 2002-03 and 2008, so what’s on YouTube today is all that I have left.

I am going to share some recollections from the final day, Sunday, August 17, 2008. I admit that 12 years later it is difficult for me to separate what I truly remember from things I remember only because I have rewatched the videos, which I have embedded at various points in this post.

I took an early train so I could shoot footage of horses training, the track kitchen serving breakfast, and employees making preparations for the anticipated large crowd. At this point, it had seemed like any other race day, except for the part when I recorded a snippet of Sam Spear’s melancholic interview with a local newspaper reporter. Spear, a Northern California racing media icon, summarized the situation succinctly by describing how rumors of the track’s impending demise had been floating around since the mid 1990s and how after years of speculation, management changes, and reprieves that we had “finally come to the actual reality that today is the last day for the track that had opened on November 3, 1934.” Bay Meadows was seldom covered by the national racing media, but Daily Racing Form columnist Jay Hovdey was onsite, and I took video of him interviewing one of my favorite horsemen, the soft-spoken veteran Dennis Patterson in the trainer’s office.

The admission gates opened at 10 a.m and the first patrons began to stream in. The numerous standard-definition television monitors began showing races from eastern tracks like Woodbine, Fort Erie and Saratoga Race Course. By the time live racing started at 1:45 p.m., the crowd had grown to the point where it became difficult for me to roam freely and find locations where I had a clear view of the track to shoot races. 

The official attendance was somewhere around 10,000, comparable to Memorial Day, Labor Day, and Triple Crown race days but large compared to a typical Saturday. Unfortunately, it was the fact that the track was about to be swallowed by a bourgeois suburban development and not a Northern California racing renaissance that had drawn a large crowd that harkened back to the old days and generated extensive local media coverage.

The two dominant figures in Northern California racing, jockey Russell Baze and trainer Jerry Hollendorfer, were notable absentees, with Baze riding at Emerald Downs (where he rode Lemon Kiss to victory in the Emerald Distaff Handicap and finished 11th aboard Southern Africa in the Longacres Mile) and Hollendorfer, I assume, remaining at Del Mar to oversee his string at the seaside oval.

At some point, my father, brother, aunt, uncle, and cousins arrived at the track, but I did not spend much time with them because I was so intent on taking video. A friend of mine from college who was driving from Sacramento back to her home in Arizona made a brief visit to see Bay Meadows for the first and last time, and I briefly took my friend to the stable area in the infield and the press box before she continued her journey.

Without the benefit of Equibase charts and my video, there is not much I would be able to remember about the actual races. Had it been a typical race day, it would have been an unremarkable card, with no future stars, double-digit-length victories, riding triples, track records, or six-figure payouts. I believe I lost about $30 playing the races that day, but at least I could say I cashed the final wager I made at Bay Meadows, a trifecta play on the C.J. Hindley Humboldt County Marathon Starter Handicap via simulcast from Ferndale.

One Bay Meadows race that did stand out was Gherig’s victory in race 6, a maiden special weight on turf for 3-year-olds and up, as the gelding was carrying the flame orange colors of the estate of Harry Aleo, a San Francisco native who could recall watching Seabiscuit win the 1938 Bay Meadows Handicap. Aleo, known on the national racing scene as the owner of 2005 champion sprinter Lost in the Fog, had died in June at the age of 88, just five weeks after his mare Wild Promises won the Mother’s Day Handicap, the final stakes of the Bay Meadows winter/spring meet. 

The start of race 6, won by Gherig

I can’t speak for others, but the historical and emotional magnitude of the day did not sink in for me until there were about 22 minutes before the 10th and final race, the $50,000 added Last Dance Stakes for 3-year-old fillies at 1 1/16 miles on the Longden turf course. The weather had been fair earlier in the day, but by 6 p.m. the 64-degree temperature and shadows from the grandstand covering the main track’s final sixteenth of a mile making it clear that both the day and summer were inexorably coming to an end. 

Immediately after the conclusion of race 9, I power walked to the indoor paddock to secure myself a good position to shoot footage of horses being saddled for the finale, which would feature six runners, three locals and three Southern California-based interests.  

I was one of the first spectators to arrive at the paddock and I claimed a spot on the tiered pink steps on the clubhouse side near the paddock camera. The horses and most of their accompanying horsemen had not arrived, but I distinctly remember seeing a solitary man standing in stall #1 as he awaited My Maloof Rocker, whom he would be saddling on behalf of Southern California-based trainer Adam Kitchingman. The man, whose name I still do not know, clasped his hands behind his back and maintained a blank expression as he stared in the direction of the middle of the paddock. I noticed him and thought, “This man seems to be sad that this is the last time he will be saddling a horse at Bay Meadows.” Then I thought, “Wait, this really is the end,” realizing that I had never paused to reflect myself during the three previous as I scurried around to take video and say hello and goodbye to friends.

Using one of the small television monitors used by the paddock operator, I watched Trato win the Humboldt County Marathon for trainer Armando Lage, and I made a quick decision to leave the paddock and see if I could find Lage at his customary spot at the clubhouse bar and see if he could inject some levity by providing quip about winning the quirky 1 ⅝-mile race. The trainer delivered. 

“We’re going to Ascot or Longchamp!” the trainer declared.

“Breeders’ Cup Marathon!” I countered.

“Nah, that’s too short for us!”

I went outside to shoot video riders receiving a leg up for the Last Dance, not-so-politely squeezing myself between people to have a clear shot of the walking ring. Bugler David Hardiman prefaced the call to the post with Auld Lang Syne. After stepping onto the track, all six fillies and their riders faced the crowd as Hardiman played Taps.

To shoot the last race, I joined my father on the balcony outside the clubhouse dining room, which had been his favorite location to watch the races until he made an almost complete transition to betting exclusively at home via YouBet.com. I had spent very little time with my father during the day, but we were going to watch the last race together. He wagered on My Maloof Rocker, but I did not make any bets besides placing $2 on every horse to guarantee I would have a souvenir ticket on Bay Meadows’ final winner.

The crowd roared as starter Chuck Burkes dispatched the field at 6:34 p.m, sustaining a constant hum of cheers, whistles, and shouts as the field passed the grandstand, traveled around the clubhouse turn, continued up the backstretch, and entered the final turn. Meanwhile, I was internally repeating to myself “Don’t mess this up!” as I tried to keep a steady hold on the camcorder and keep the horses at the center of my shot.

At the top of the stretch, You Lift Me Up overtook the pacesetter Tiz Madison as Joyful Me and My Maloof Rocker attempted to rally. Jockey Frank Alvarado shook the reins and went to the left-handed whip aboard You Lift Me Up as my father, in vain, let out a loud and guttural “C’mon #1!” as My Maloof Rocker failed to gain on the leader. At the finish, it was You Lift Me Up, who had raced for claiming prices as low as $25,000 earlier in her career, securing her place in history as the 2 ½-length winner of the Last Dance Stakes, ahead of Joyful Me, My Maloof Rocker, favored Sensational Love, Shake It Off, and Tiz Madison.

I dashed from the balcony to get footage of You Lift Me Up and Frank Alvarado entering the winner’s circle accompanied by Hollendorfer’s assistant Jacob Aguilar, You Lift Me Up being led to the test barn by her groom, and the chart callers working on the chart of the final race. At some point I remember standing on the grandstand track apron as “Thanks for the Memory” sung by Bob Hope and Shirley Ross played over the public address system as spectators lingered, conversing in small groups or standing in isolated silence, their lack of motion betraying their lack of desire to admit that the last day of racing at Bay Meadows had indeed concluded.

I eventually reunited with my family, taking a cheeky photo with my brother and cousins in front of a sign with the number of a gambling addiction hotline. I remember nothing else from that evening, such as how I got home (whether I took the train or caught a ride from a family member) or what I had for dinner, but I probably worked well into the night reviewing and editing footage.

Tapped out one last time

I considered making a return trip to Bay Meadows the following day as it was open for a final day of simulcasting from Saratoga, Del Mar, and other tracks that were conducting Monday racing, but I decided that one “farewell” was sufficient, instead opting to work on my videos and briefly visit with a friend from high school. 

On Tuesday morning, I woke up around 5 a.m., made some final tweaks to my videos, uploaded them to YouTube, and had my mother drive me to the San Francisco International Airport so I could return to my job at the publication whose lone mention of Bay Meadows’ final race was including a chart among other stakes results on page 15 of 18 of the August 19 edition of the newsletter. To many, the closure of Bay Meadows was just a footnote that summer compared to Big Brown’s Haskell victory, Zenyatta extending her winning streak to seven in the Clement L. Hirsch, and Colonel John getting the bob-of-all-bobs to nose out Mambo In Seattle in the Travers, but for those of us with Northern California ties it was the season’s emotional climax.

Looking back, I am glad that I decided to spend the final three days of racing pretending to be a documentarian as it provided me and others with footage we can rewatch for years to come. It also allowed me to focus on the shots I wanted instead of passively watching each race bring the track a little closer to the wrecking ball. Still, I wonder if my frenetic pace prevented me from truly observing, absorbing, and processing the sights, sounds, and smells from that final day and that I never allowed myself to fully mourn the loss of Bay Meadows. 

I reached out to two of my friends who worked at Bay Meadows that final day, and they were kind enough to take time out of their busy schedules to share some of their recollections.

Steve Martinelli, placing judge at Bay Meadows and current assistant racing secretary at Golden Gate Fields:

My last day at Bay Meadows consisted of taking entries in the morning for a “Double-Header” card for the first week of Cal Expo, which was beginning its meet the following week under the watchful eye of Racing Secretary Tom “Bomber” Doutrich. In the afternoon I would take up my familiar position high up on the roof in the placing stand with veteran official C. Gregory Brent. The morning duties went pretty slowly. We could not fill two cards for the Double Header so we drew one card for that day at Sacramento. Once the draw was over I was on my way to the roof and through the mass of people that had congregated on the grandstand apron.

Each race that ran that day it seemed as if the crowd noise got louder and louder until the last event, the Last Dance Stakes. The feel up on the roof was almost like any other day. I thought it would be different but it really had an “everyday” feel to it. The stewards next door and my placing partner gave no hint that today was any different than any other raceday. It had to be different downstairs, though.

As the Last Dance Stakes horses entered the paddock for the last race to ever be run at the San Mateo track I excused myself from the placing stand and went out onto the roof. It was late in the day and it was overcast. Somewhat atypical for a San Mateo day in August. My mood was somber as I looked out from my high atop the roof vantage point at the parking lot full of cars. Standing there for a good 10 minutes all alone peering out over the parking lot thoughts of all those days I spent during college going to the races and the many days of my childhood attending the races with my dad or other family members. I remembered all my favorite horses I saw run – horses like Lost in the Fog, Cavonnier, Tabasco Cat, Big Jag, Event of the Year, Gentlemen and so many more.

I wound up missing the salute the riders did for the crowd when they came on the track but I heard the cheers. It was only later I discovered what the cheers were for. The race itself is somewhat of a blur but I had my digital camera with me and tried the best I could to record the race with it. Since I had to concentrate on the job at hand the video was not of great quality. I got some of the sky. Some of the race. Some of the track. But I got all of the memories of that minute-and-a-half-plus of the last race to ever be run at Bay Meadows.

When the “Official” sign went up and the winner, You Lift Me Up, returned to the winner’s circle to a crowd of adoring fans I walked briskly off the roof and to my car and drove out of the parking lot for the final time. I’ve been back to the site of Bay Meadows numerous times since 2008 and if I knew then how much I’d miss it, I might have lingered a little bit longer after the races that day.

Michael Wrona, Bay Meadows track announcer and current announcer at Los Alamitos Race Course:

My profession affords me a unique vantage point from which to experience this great sport’s most memorable moments. However, the task of broadcasting a racetrack’s closure is weighty and burdensome. I was the announcer at Chicago’s Arlington International Racecourse (as it was then branded) when the track was closed in the late 1990s to protest Riverboat Casino legislation. While this caused a massive disruption to my career path and was an emotional end to the track’s 1997 meeting, the possibility existed that Arlington would reopen at some point. (It did but, ironically, is now on the verge of being shuttered permanently - just as I’ve been asked to write this piece remembering the demise of Bay Meadows.)

No doubt existed over the finality of Bay Meadows’ closure in 2008, and my objective was to respectfully capture the magnitude of the occasion without going overboard. The day began with a special treat on the Public Address system. The track programmed a Quarter Horse stakes to open the card and graciously invited Ed Burgart to call it. Ed had announced Quarter Horse racing at Bay Meadows until its cessation in 1991, and I was delighted to stand aside as the legendary announcer returned to the Bay Meadows booth for the first time in 17 years. (On a personal note, it’s amazing to think that I have recently succeeded Ed as the voice of Los Alamitos.)

Emotions percolated across that August afternoon and peaked during the post parade for the finale, when the outriders paused and all horses faced the crowd in a farewell salute. Concentration and focus were at a premium as last post approached. The final race was named The Last Dance, which inspired me to depart from my trademark “Racing!” As the gate sprang open, I exclaimed “Dancing!” While never comfortable quoting myself, I shall leave you now – as I did then – with these lines from one of my most emotionally challenging race calls: “Dancing! And the big crowd gives the Grand Old Lady a fond farewell cheer” … “They’re in the back stretch, and it’s a surreal scene as three-quarters of a century’s tradition is evaporating before our eyes” … “The final field to grace this hallowed ground heads for home.”

Celebrating Unsung Racetracks

I have, by my count, visited 67 different thoroughbred, quarter-horse, or standardbred racetracks, from Bay Meadows to the Meadowlands, Belmont to Beulah, Churchill Downs to Charles Town, and Del Mar to Delaware (County Fair or Park). One thing I have noticed in my travels is that every track has its own distinct character.

Aqueduct Racetrack, in my opinion, provides the most authentic old-time New York sports experience available today, with a multicultural crowd, New York accents permeating the air, and spectators who are not reluctant to use colorful language to express their opinion of a jockey’s performance. Keeneland has a festive atmosphere that is strongly influenced by the presence of University of Kentucky students and members of the breeding community. Santa Anita patrons can squint while looking at the art deco-influenced surroundings and pretend that it’s 1938 again. 

I can think positive traits for (almost) every track I have visited, but only a small number of elite tracks regularly receive recognition from racing media and fans. In the spirit of McChump, I am going to use this platform to show some love tracks that usually do not get much recognition.

Ferndale: Ferndale is located in Northern California’s redwood country and is part of a Victorian village (2010 population of 1,371) that fully embraces the fair and race meet. It has a half-mile track with flat banking and provides adventures such as 660-yard mule races around a turn and the 1 ⅝-mile C. J. Hindley Humboldt County Marathon Handicap, the traditional season finale in which the horses cross the finish line four times. 

Charles Town: I twice attended Charles Town when I was living in the greater New York metropolitan area, and the drive from sprawling urbia, across the Mason-Dixon Line, through the Blue Ridge Mountains and Harper’s Ferry, and into the Shenandoah Valley made the journey feel so much larger in scope than it’s 4 ½-hour driving time would suggest. With the action up close on the six-furlong track and the mountains serving as backdrop, Charles Town provides a memorable railbird experience. 

Topsham Fair: Although the Fryeburg Fair is seen as the crown jewel of the Maine fair circuit, I am going to write about the Topsham Fair, which, in non-COVID years, conducts a brief harness meet in early August when thoroughbred racing is dominated Saratoga and Del Mar and the harness world is focused on the Hambletonian. The track usually conducts five days of racing, with two cards held before the fair itself begins. There is no admission charge on these racing-only days, so that’s when I, a degenerate who prefers trifectas to tilt-a-whirls, have made the trip to Topsham.

A driving finish at Topsham. Ayuh!

The track has a small, open-air wooden grandstand. Enclosed under the grandstand seats is a museum that feels like a cross between an antique shop and your great aunt’s attic. The infield is open to the public, and I have long awarded emotional bonus points to tracks with open infields because they take me back to when I was a kid and I would watch races from the Bay Meadows infield with my father. Seating in the infield consists of metal bleachers and surplus school desks randomly scattered near the infield mutuel windows. For whatever reason, approximately half of the desks are left-handed desks, and as a lefty I appreciate this rare situation where the situation favors southpaws. The track announcer, Lloyd Johnson, adds some local flavor by punctuating his calls of close stretch battles with “Ayuh!.”

Taking advantage of one of the many left-handed desks.

From a betting standpoint, Topsham might be the track where I have my best lifetime ROI from a pure percentage standpoint. You will not make a life-changing score at Topsham because the pools are small (for a typical race, there is maybe $500 in the win pool, $1,000 in the exacta pool, and $2,000 in the trifecta pool) and the races are, well, formful, but I appreciate the opportunity to avoid computer robotic wagering syndicates and instead compete against a crowd that is less sophisticated in their methods. Grinding out a $50 profit by leaning on chalk in exactas, quinellas, and trifectas doesn’t make for a thrilling betting story, but I appreciate how tracks like Topsham provide the opportunity for a small-time horseplayer like myself to be the smart money and not a minnow to be swallowed by the whales.

"Eye in the Sky" Lloyd Johnson

I wanted to learn about the less-heralded tracks other people cherish, so I reached out to some of my peers and asked for their thoughts. 

Peter Aiello, track announcer at Gulfstream Park

Rillito Park: You often hear the cliche "horse racing the way it should be.” But what does that mean? Well, the truth is, it means something different to everybody. For me, the best kind of horse racing is the type done, to borrow a movie title, "For The Love of the Game". 

 

If you want to experience horse racing with these ideals in mind, you MUST make a trip to Rillito Park in Tucson, Arizona. Nestled in the Sonoran Mountains with a view that rivals the picturesque "backside shot" of Santa Anita Park, Rillito Park is a track steeped in history. Recognized as the birthplace of modern American Quarter Horse Racing, nothing about the facility, the horses or the horsemen is flashy. But therein lies part of the charm. 

 

In an era where tracks struggle for on-track attendance, Rillito Park doesn't have that problem. In an era where most tracks no longer charge for admission, you still have to pay to get in the gate at Rillito. But pay they do. Thousands pack the rickety grandstand during weekends in the winter, all looking for an entertaining afternoon at the races. The horses are a combination of "has beens" and "never wases,” with many of them racing for claiming prices under $5,000. 

 

The jockeys are perhaps the most eclectic part of the Rillito Park experience. From Don French, whose long grey beard rivals ZZ Top's Billy Gibbons to Mackenzie King, a talented young lady looking to launch her career to the next level, no two riders are the same. 

 

Once the races begin, the apron is packed 10 deep and one can’t help but notice the diversity. All ages, all ethnicities, men and women alike, all excited to cheer their favorites. The fans at Rillito cheer the winning horses but also clap and cheer for the efforts of the losing horses. The atmosphere is hard to pinpoint but it is a mixture and fun and excited. The beers are cold, the mariachi band plays between races, and the vibe can best be described as "Distinctly Tucson". Everyone enjoys themselves, but few for same reason. The common thread behind it all? A love and appreciation for the great sport of horse racing. 

 

At Rillito Park, the participants top to bottom grind out a living. But their passion for the game never wavers. Egos are checked at the door, people pull double duty if need be. The influx of RTIP students into the operations (thanks to the PariBets student experience program) only serves to mirror what is taking place on the track: the next generation is trying to springboard to the next level while learning from a generation whose best years are behind them. What the all have in common is what makes the Rillito Park experience one of a kind: A Love of the Game! 

 

John Scheinman, two-time Eclipse Award-winning writer

Timonium/Maryland State Fair: By the time I came to Maryland, the old fair circuit was all but gone. I did manage to catch a few dying days at Marlboro, a five-eighths track in Prince George's County, but the consolidation of thoroughbred racing in the state had neared completion, and soon even Bowie, the state's winter track, would pass into history, as well. Through management and the community's determination, foresight, wisdom and ingenuity, racing at Timonium, the Maryland State Fair track, has persisted ‒ with breaks for World War II and such ‒ since the late 1800s.

 

How old is Timonium? Results used to be sent to as far away as Virginia by carrier pigeon. There have been some updates, like the gussied-up second-floor restaurant, but the place remains a time machine.

 

When you attend Timonium's eight-day meet in the heart of summer, it could be 1955 or 2020. First-timers stand blinking incredulously at the tote board in the grandstand that looks like its from the dawn of electric light. From the vantage point of York Road, for most of the year, the structure looks like an eerie, abandoned ruin, but for a brief run in August the joint springs to life.

The racing coincides with the fair, so the atmosphere mixes the hum of excitement with a languidness gifted by summer heat. A Ferris wheel twirls in the background. The din of the midway becomes a kind of white noise. The track is so tiny, jockeys can hear you cursing them on the backstretch. The paddock is just a pen. To reach their perch, the stewards must climb a metal staircase that looks like a fire escape. The motley cross-section of outfits that show up to race often are competitive.

 

Timonium doesn't cater to kings; it is unabashedly plebian. It doesn't believe in the necessity of anything other than a hamburger, a beer, a program and itself. Its focus is on the horses and which one is fastest, an approach so organic, so elemental and so right that for a brief stretch of days you can convince yourself that racing there needs to go on forever.