Unbridled

the running of the Belmont Steaks. In the infield, people stood shoulder to shoulder, holding up signs good luck Secretariat on Red. In sports bars across the country, people stopped to watch. Others gathered around their TV sets at home. The red colt, whose jockey wore white and blue silks, was America's horse. One by one, the horses were loaded into the starting gates, and Eddie and the enormous crowd

in the stands around him collectively held their breath. The starting bell broke, the silence and the gates flung open. Horses surged forward, their hooves thundering on the track. By the time they reached the first turn, Secretariat and another front runner had set mind boggling times for the first quarter. Head to head, they galloped, leaving the rest of the field far behind. These horses had been rivals all year,

and now it looked like a match race. Then Secretariat began to pull away by one, then two, and then three lengths. The chestnut Colt increased his lead by ten lengths than twelve, and the crowd screamed and waved their signs like banners. Enthusiasts looked at their stopwatches and shook their heads in disbelief. Announcer Chick Anderson spoke louder as he called the race, Secretariat is blazing along. Spectators could barely believe what they were seeing. More blistering speeds, and

Secretariat's lead kept growing with each ground eating stride. Anderson's next call became one of the most amiss in sports history. He yelled to be heard over the roaring crowd. Secretariat is widening. Now he's moving like a tremendous machine. Eddie's heart pounded. He had dreamed of this. Stay on your feet, Red, stay up, he cried Secretariat and his jockey Ron Turcott. We're all alone now twenty two lengths and counting no longer racing the other horses, it was them against the stopwatch.

In a now famous photo, Turcott looks over his shoulder to check the teleprompter for Secretariat's time as the crowd nearly drowned out Anderson's final call of the race, Secretariat crossed the finish line thirty one lengths ahead of the rest, shattering the race record, track record and world record for the mile and a half distance on dirt by an incredible second and a half. Labeled the Horse of the Century, Secretariat had just won the coveted triple crown, having swept

the Kentucky Derby and Preakness in the weeks before. To date, only thirteen horses have ever accomplished that beat, beginning with one named Sir Barton in n and Secretariat's time records for all three races still stand almost fifty years later. So for a few weeks back in June of nine, everyone's attention turned from watergate to a starting gate. Time magazine even featured a picture of the champion horse on the front cover of their June issue. Even now, you

can't mention horse racing without talking about Secretariat. No other horse in history has ever captured the public's attention nor racing enthusiasts hearts the way he did, So much so that in the Virginia Department of Historic Resources actually named Secretariat's birthplace a historical site. But as any true racing fan can tell you, the sport of kings isn't all winner circles and roses. It's also home to its own fair share of darkness. I'm Lauren Vogelbaum, Welcome to American Shadows.

Horse racing is a world of its own. We associate it with the wealthy and affluent, and for the owners and trainers, that's often true. The race horses aren't cheap, and the better bred ones can sell for millions of dollars, not to mention the money that goes into training them and keeping them fit, or at least fit enough to run. And while there are races with million dollar purses, there are limits to how many horses can run that race. Often there are requirements to like age or prior winnings.

Twenty thousand race horses are typically born each year. Divide that by the number of well paying races, and you can see how not every horse comes out profitable riding to victory Usually that's a jockey ten percent of the winner's share, second, third and fourth place get around five percent. That sounds pretty good in million dollars stakes races, where the winner gets of the total purse. For perspective, though, according to the Jockeys Guild, the average stakes race as

of seventeen was just under thirty thousand dollars. That means for a jockey riding the winner of an average stakes race, they get seven hundred and thirty five bucks. And for every winner, there are losers. And while some races may draw only five or six horses, others draw fields as high as twenty two if their horse finishes fifth or worse. Jockeys average about fifty to a hundred and ten dollars for their time that day. Basically half of America's thoroughbred

jockeys make less than thirteen thousand dollars a year. It's not an easy way to make a living. In the late eighteen nineties, black jockeys who dominated the tracks were being squeezed out of the sport. Still, Isaac Burns Murphy was the best jockey of his day, winning thirty four

percent of his races. Murphy rode in the Kentucky Derby eleven times and entered the winner's circle on three horses, Buchanan in eighty four, Riley in eighteen ninety in Kingman In When the National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame was created in nineteen fifty five, Murphy was the very first jockey inducted. Sadly, women weren't accepted in the sport at all, at least not without their husband's permission.

But in nineteen o four, Laska Durnell entered her horse Elwood in the Kentucky Derby under just her initials the best part they won. In nineteen sixty nine, jockey Diane Crump faced such opposition on the track that she needed a police escort just to get to the small office she had to use to change into her riding silks. Men shouted at her to go back to the kitchen and cook dinner. Some jockeys across the United States threatened to boycott the derby if she rode, but ride she did,

although she didn't win. Live your dream, Crump said during an interview, don't let anyone tell you that you can't or that you're not good enough. You are. But for any jockey riding a one thousand, five hundred pound high strung animal hurtling toward a finish line at forty miles an hour, alongside up to twenty two other horses and riders.

It's a dangerous business. The position in which jockeys ride perched over the horse and bent forward like a missile, never rested on the saddle is a feat of course, strength and balance. Horse racing is a wave of controlled chaos really, and jockeys are the daredevils who risk their lives to ride it. Typically, jockeys are sidelined with injuries

about three times a year. If a jockey loses their balance, gets bumped, or if the horse stumbles, they can find themselves flying at high speeds onto the rail or track. Landing on the rail is bad enough, but landing on the track means there's a risk of being trampled by race horse hoofs that strike the ground with three thousand pounds of pressure. In three, up and coming jockey Dominic Belizies Mount feared off course during a race, throwing the

twenty one year old rider off balance. Blizie fell into the path of the other horses and died at the hospital five days later from excessive internal injuries. Jockey John Red Pollard was aboard fair Knitests in the stakes race in nineteen thirty eight. Another horse slowed down in front of his, causing fair Knightess to trip. She somersaulted on to the track and trapped Pollard beneath her. Although injured,

fair Knight Tess tried to stand. At the same moment another horse attempted to jump over her, slamming into her. She fell again, crushing Pollard a second time. The horse miraculously recovered, but Pollard suffered a crushed chest, a broken arm, shoulder and ribs, a shattered collar bone, a concussion, and a few internal injuries. Between nineteen thirty and nineteen thirty nine,

nineteen jockeys died as the result of track injuries. Finally, in the late thirties, jockeys met in secret to discuss the formation of a group to help protect them in the event of injuries or if they were disabled due to an accident on the track. Unsympathetic track operators and trainers often blacklisted them for participating in such meetings despite the objections, though the Jockey Guild was formed in nine teen forty after famous rider Eddie ar Caro visited another

injured jockey in the hospital. Our Caro, along with Red Pollard and thirteen others, set in motion new safety measures, including having an ambulance on the track, shorter post parades and cold weather, plus the use of goggles and helmets to name a few. The horses, though sadly they didn't have a guild in his day, he was what trainers

called a flat out flyer, and it's no wonder. In nineteen twelve, Old Rosebud won twelve of fourteen starts and repeatedly clocked the fastest five furlongs of any two year old. The following year, he won the Kentucky Derby by eight lengths, making it one of the most dominant wins in the race's history. His owner didn't retire the champion after his three year old season, though, or any season for that matter.

You see. Being a guilding Old rose Bud's value was only based on what he could win, But to his trainer, who worked with him every day, Old Rosebud was something more. But racing was and is a business. So on May sevent Old Rosebud stepped onto the track for his eightieth start of Low end race with a miniscule purse. With each breath, his ribs showed against his now dull, mud

colored coat. His ears flicked, and he shuffled uneasily. He had once been a gentleman on the track, not now, though to the trained I it appeared that Old Rosebud no longer enjoyed racing. Maybe the track was the last place he wanted to be. He was eleven, after all. He ran fourth that day, probably much to the aggravation of anyone who had bet on him. Just days later, Old Rosebud was out on the track for a morning workout. He stumbled, bobbing his head low. Then he staggered to

a halt, favoring his right front leg. Later that evening, a bullet ended Old Rosebud's life. He didn't receive a burial in a green pasture or in a race tracks in field, though, no that would have prevented Old Rosebud from learning one more paycheck for his owner, the money offered by the local rendering plant along the back stretch. His trainer, Wept bred by her late husband, Black Gold, was a promising three year old horse that Rosa Hoots

refused to sell, not even for fifty dollars. Owning a Derby horse had been her husband's dream, but he had died before the Derby. It marked the fiftieth running of the race and was also the first year a gold trophy cup was offered, and for fans of the Derby, it was notably the first time My Old Kentucky Home was played. As the horses entered the track. In the stretch, the jet black colt was bumped hard but recovered he

was a tough horse. To get a clear path, his jockey swung Black Gold wide around the other horses while the crowd cheered. They poured on the speed and overtook the leader in the last seventy yards to win. An exciting day. Indeed, Mrs Hoots retired the champion to stud later that year. It turned out Black Gold wasn't fertile, though, and returned to racing at the age of six. However, he broke down in the stretch and while he still managed to finish the race, Black Gold was euthanized before

he ever left the track. Mrs Hoots had her beloved horse buried at the sixteenth pole. In eighty five, a Kentucky Derby winner, Joe cotton horse that had been named after a bookie met the same fate after tripping over two horses that had fallen in front of him. Then tragedy struck again. In nineteen sixty nine. Dark Mirrage was the darling of America. She had swept everything before her in her three year old season. In her second race as a four year old, she injured a leg and

never recovered. Historically, the ratio of accidents per starts has been about two out of every one thousand races. Oddly enough, about one third of injuries that lead to fatalities happened off the track, and some horses have recovered. When the outstanding horse Neurea, fractured a leg running in a pasture, veterinarians were able to save him and he lived many years after that, passing away at the ripe age of twenty four. But it's not just the injuries that make

the sport dangerous. Drugging has plagued horse racing since at least the nineteen thirties, and according to one New York Times article from n three, it existed even back then. Most famously, perhaps was the nineteen sixty eight winner of the Churchill Downs, a horse named Dancer's Image. Known for their zero tolerance for any drug found in a horse's system, Churchill Downs found trace amounts of a drug in the

blood of a winner named Butte. The drug they found was a pain reliever similar to aspirin with antihistamine properties in it and one that's allowed today, But owner Peter Fuller claimed that it wasn't really the drug the disqualified Dance Image. It was his own involvement in the civil rights movement. You see. Fuller was very outspoken about social issues and had donated over sixty two dollars of the champions winnings to KURTA. Scott King just days after her husband,

Martin Luther King Jr. Was murdered. After Dancer's Image retired, he was sold as a stud horse, living the good life until he passed away at the very old age of twenty seven. While it's always been part of the business to sell a horse's breeding rights, horses that no longer produce foals or quality horses have often ended up in slaughter houses, including at least one Kentucky Derby winner

named Ferdinand. In two thousand and six, the House of Representatives passed a bill making the selling or raising of horses for food illegal. The bill failed at the Senate, though, and the bill wasn't the first to fail either. Similar laws have been proposed several times since nineteen fifteen, and while there are currently no slaughter houses for horses in the United States, they're often sold to brokers who take

the horses of cross the northern and southern borders. In just one decade, it's estimated that more than seven thousand, five hundred American race horses were shipped to Mexico for slaughter. Fortunately, that hasn't been the fate of every horse that disappointed their owners on the track. With the right amount of luck and guided by just the right hands, some have even become legendary. Tom Smith first laid eyes on him

after a race it suffled downs in East Boston. The three year old colt had won an allowance race, a race that generally signifies the horses one at least one previous race, but isn't good enough for higher paying stakes race company. The horse had won in the stifling heat, and something about him caught trainer Tom Smith's attention. It certainly wasn't the brown horses looks he had Knobby knees

and was quite small for a thoroughbread. It might have been his bloodline and the horse was the grandson of the great racehorse man O War, or it could have been how well respected the stable had been born out was. But it was neither of those things, not really. It was pure intuition that told Smith this horse could be a champion. Smith convinced automobile magnate Charles S. Howard to

buy Sea Biscuit for just eight thousand dollars. He paired the horse with a red haired jockey named John Pollard, known as Red on the tracks. Pollard was an underdog jockey who had suffered a brain injury and been left partially blind after a horse had kicked a rock into his head during a race. When Smith offered him the job, Pollard was a lot like Sea Biscuit. Down and out. Jockey and horse developed a quick bond. Sea Biscuit wasn't just a racehorse to Pollard either. The man loved him,

often bringing the horse sugarcubes. It helped that the trainer Smith had what others thought of as unusual training methods the first starters. He didn't treat Sea Biscuit like the typical racehorse. He allowed the colt to be in the company of other animals, fed him the best food, and allowed him to sleep frequently. Basically, he cared for Sea Biscuit as though he were part of his family, and Sea Biscuit thrived on it. The unassuming Brown Colts started

winning and winning a lot. Big steak races brought in the best horses and gamblers. With the limitations on gambling, betting at the tracks had become popular during the Great Depression. Some looked at winning at the track as a way out of poverty. To them, plain looking Sea Biscuit stood out among the bigger, flash ear horses. His jockey and trainer were underdogs in their own right. In a way, they were the team of the working class and the poor.

Before Smith and Pollard had taken charge of him, Sea Biscuit had been raced and whipped far too often, Mistreated and discouraged, the horse didn't even bother to try anymore. But Pollard, Smith and Howard had given him a new chance. In treating him well in tough times, the bay colt gave people hope. His victories became their victories. New owner Charles Howard saw this and gave the people more of what they wanted. Reporters who wrote about Sea Biscuit were

sent champagne. Before long, sea Biscuit was getting more pressed than President Roosevelt and Adolf Hitler. Shops began to sell Sea Biscuit themed hats and toys. His image adorned cleaning services, hotels, and pinball machines. Movie theaters played real footage of Sea Biscuits races. He even appeared on crates of oranges. Sea Biscuit earned it too. The horse that had once been regulated to allowance races had gone on to win a

string of handicapped steak races. In seven He beat the best of the best, well except for one horse, seven triple crown winner War Admiral. That horse was owned by the famous racing tycoon Samuel Riddle, and Riddle coincidentally had also owned the legendary man O War Sea Biscuits grandsire. But despite Sea biscuits recent victories and his prestigious grandsire, Riddle scoffed at the horse. As far as he was concerned, Sea Biscuit was beneath his horse and a match race

between them would be a waste of his time. And more Admiral's talent, but Howard persisted and the public kept clamoring for the match. Finally, Riddle agreed, but only under certain conditions. He got to pick the track, and since war Admiral didn't like starting gates, they'd use a starting line instead. Team Sea Biscuit agreed. The match race was finally set. It would be November first, nineteen thirty eight,

at Pimlico Racetrack in Maryland. Smith and Pollard trained Sea Biscuit to start without a gate, and everything was going well until Pollard had that near fatal accident aboard fair Knight Tess that we touched on earlier. With the race weeks away, Smith tried three jockeys on Sea Biscuit, but the horse didn't take to any of them. Finally, George Wolf, a friend of Pollard's, was given the ride, and he

and Sea Biscuit seemed to hit things off. But as the saying go, when it rains, it pours, and it did exactly that the day before the match race, war Admiral liked sloppy tracks and Sea Biscuit didn't. For the working classes horse, the odds just kept stacking up, so Wolf walked the course the night before, seeking out the driest part of the track. On the day of the race, even President Roosevelt stopped and listened to the radio broadcast. The Nazis were ramping up forces for World War two.

Just a couple of days earlier, the world had been in a panic over orson Wells broadcast of War of the Worlds, and on top of everything, people were still struggling to come out of the Great Depression. With all that going on, the race became a sort of symbol and reflection of the times in America. Pour against rich, elite against average, Sea Biscuit gave them something tangible, something to count on, and he took the early lead. War Admiral rallied though and matched him stride for stride, Wolf

fees up on Sea Biscuit. Pollard had told him that the horse liked to see his rivals and what he was up against. War Admiral edged slightly ahead and the two entered the stretch. Sea Biscuit caught up nose two knows, they ran, and then Sea Biscuit poured on the speed. Despite so many disadvantages, he won the race by an impressive four lengths. Working America saw in him a hero, a fighter who represented them and could overcome great obstacles. Howard said that what made Sea Biscuit a great race

horse was his heart. He loved to run and put everything he had into his races. The people said he was scrappy, and what he lacked in stature he made up with pure grit. The Nation named ten top newsmakers that year, including Roosevelt and Hitler. The tenth spot went to Sea Biscuit, who retired after that match race, at least for a while. Pollard reunited with his beloved horse for one final race, winning the nineteen forties Santa Anita

Handicap at the ripe age of seven. Sea Biscuit retire for good this time and lived out his days comfortably and well cared for and Howard's California ranch. As for Red Pollard, Howard treated his higher jockey like a son, paying for his hospital bills after that fall on fair Knightess, taking him in when he recovered, and even paying for a nurse, a nurse who Pollard eventually married. The two

went on to live a happy life together. While the stories of Pollard and Sea Biscuit had fairy tale endings, temporary jockey, George Wolf wasn't so lucky. Wolf struggled with his weight, constantly trying to keep it down low enough to ride. He resorted to disorder exercise and eating, often running in sweaters before race day and depriving himself of food and water. Complicating his struggle was the fact that

he was diabetic. Collecting a paycheck was a balance between staying at the right weight and managing his blood sugar, and it was a balancing act that would one day prove fatal. On a winter day in Wolf passed out while racing. His had hit the rail, and he was pronounced dead at the scene. For him, the race was over. Behind every winning horse has been people, each with their own powerful story, and among the heartache and shadows along

the back stretch, there are beacons of light. Although she had been born Helen Chennery, everyone just called her Penny. Her father went from poverty a millionaire status and owned a farm called Meadow Stables in Virginia. Her mother died in nine and her father became ill, unable to manage the farm. Racing was still a male dominated sport, but

Chennery managed to run Meadow Stables. She convinced trainer Lucian Lauren to come out of retirement to train and manage the farm's horses, and when her father died, leaving behind an enormous tax bill, she negotiated the largest indication for a horse ever, selling breeding rights to Secretariat for seven million dollars that's about seventy million today. She became one of the first women to be admitted to the elite

and male dominated Jockey Club. She served for a few years as president of the Thoroughbred Owners and Breeders Association, and she also founded the Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation, which rescued retired race horses from abuse, neglect, and slaughter. For her contributions, a year after her death in seventeen, she was awarded the highest honor given that thoroughbred owners and breeders by the National Museum of Racing in Hall of Fame, the

Pillar of the Turf. Then there's Ron Turcott, who, for his wins on several of America's best race horses in the nineteen sixties and seventies, was given the prestigious George Wolf Memorial Jockey Award. It's the honor given to jockeys who are shining examples of personal and professional conduct in

thoroughbred racing. Turcott took a fall from a horse at the start of a race in Belmont Park in nineteen seventy eight, and the accident left him a paraplegic, but he still makes appearances at tracts today, helping to raise money for the Permanently Disabled Jockeys Fund, and even this year, there's more history to be made. For the first time in the running of the Kentucky Derby, the race did not take place on the first Saturday of May due

to COVID nineteen. America's most famous race was held on September four, but that's to be expected because of the history of horse racing has taught us anything over the years, it's that the records and traditions from long ago aren't just there to be revered and respected. Sometimes they're meant to be broken. There's more to this story. Stick around after the brief sponsor break to hear all about it.

He needed to lose ten pounds before the race, so thirty five year old Irish American writer Frank Hayes ran and sweat. He was determined to make it as a first eight jockey, but that dream had eluded him. He spent most of his time exercising the horses instead of riding them across the finish line. Time and time again. Had watched from the sidelines as the horses he trained entered the winner's circle with a smiling jockey posing for the crowd, and while each of those jockeys was cheered,

he was quietly guiding the horses off the track. His big break came when a horse suddenly didn't have a jockey for an upcoming race. He asked to ride the horse, but the owner declined. Hayes weighed too much, and every pound counts in games of speed. After a lot of convincing and promising that he had losed the weight before race day, he was given the ride. He had just days to drop ten pounds. It's impossible to do healthily,

but he denied himself food and water. The morning of the race, he jogged some more in the jockey room and excited Hayes told his fellow riders that today was a great day to make history. He had no idea how right he was. The day was rather warm on June four, and when Hayes finally climbed into the saddle, he wasn't just ten pounds lighter. He was dehydrated and exhausted. Thankfully,

he had little pressure to win. He had never won a race before, and his horse, a Philly named Sweet Kiss, was a twenty one long shot against the favorite, the highly regarded horse Gimme. From the start, sweet Kiss and Gimme were the front runners, and after clearing fence after fence, the two alternated trading first position back and forth like some sort of relay. Then it became a match race, just these two horses barreling for the finish line. At

the top of the stretch. The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering on Haze and Sweet Kiss tries he might Gimme couldn't shake off the newcomer, and the two were never more than a couple of lengths apart. Sweet Kiss, under encouragement from Hayes, surged in front and then opened up her lead over Gimme. A hundred yards before the finished line of the rueling two mile steeple chase, Hayes dropped one hand casually to his side, as though he and Sweet Kiss were out for a Sunday stroll, or maybe

he was fixing his stirrup. Seconds After cruising across the finish line as the winner, Sweet Kiss cantered a hundred yards and then stopped, and that's when Hayes swayed to one side and tumbled to the ground. Onlookers rushed to see if he was okay and to congratulate him on a stunning victory, but he hadn't collapsed from shock or dehydration. Frank Hayes was dead. Naturally, the usual after race activities were canceled, no jockey way in and certainly no posing

in the winner's circle. After a brief investigation, the racing board determined that Hayes had probably had a heart attack just before the finish line. The Jockey club decided that since no foul play had occurred, Sweet Kiss his wind shouldn't be disqualified, and in doing so, Frank Hayes became the only jockey in history to win a race while dead. In fact, Hayes is still the only dead athlete to win in any competitive sport. A week later, he was buried in the same silks he wore on the day

he died. The race had been his first and last win. Sweet Kiss never raced again after that day and retired unbeaten, and like Hayes, that race had also been her first. It's not that she didn't want to keep competing, just that no one would ride her. You see, she had picked up a new nickname, one that frightened off all the other jockeys. The Sweet Kiss of Death American Shadows

is hosted by Lauren Vogelbaum. This episode was written by Michelle Muto with researcher Robin Miniter, and produced by Miranda Hawkins and Trevor Young, with executive producers Aaron Minky, Alex Williams, and Matt Frederick. To learn more about the show, visit Grim and Mild dot com. For more podcasts from My Heart Radio, visit the I Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. M