highnote
09-22-2006, 05:03 PM
I don't have a link for this story. A friend emailed it to me. Thought you all might enjoy it.
I did not know backstretch workers did not (do not?) have a union.
HORSE RACING
Big Red: the greatest ever
BRUCE WALKER
The Horse God Built: Secretariat, His Groom, Their Legacy
By Lawrence Scanlan
HarperCollins, 273 pages, $34.95
Secretariat, that magnificent running machine, arguably the greatest thoroughbred in the history of the sport, is buried in a graveyard of champions, at fabled Claiborne Farm in Kentucky. The site is surrounded by stately oaks, ponds and softly gliding swans. To this day, racing fans make the pilgrimage to this hallowed ground to pay homage to Big Red, who died in 1989.
Hundreds of miles to the south and east, Eddie (Shorty) Sweat -- who died in 1998 -- is buried in the Rock Hill Church cemetery, a plain resting place in rural South Carolina. No one, save for the Sweat relatives, visits.
Sweat deserved better. He was Secretariat's caretaker, his groom. But he was more than his groom; he was Big Red's friend. Sweat was the only person who truly knew the horse. He knew when he was sick, when he needed special attention and when he needed to be left alone. He was father figure and butler and protector.
But Shorty Sweat is remembered by Lawrence Scanlan in The Horse God Built: Secretariat, His Groom, Their Legacy. Scanlan set out to write about Secretariat, but was drawn to a picture of Sweat, taken by Ray Woolfe Jr., just after the son of Bold Ruler was delivered to his stall at Claiborne Farm and handed over to a new caretaker. Sweat has his back to the camera. He's turned his back on the horse. He's crying. He's leaving behind "his baby."
Scanlan, author of six bestselling books, including Wild about Horses and Little Horse of Iron, navigates the unfamiliar backstretch of the racetrack, "Hardboot Country" in Kentucky and the farms of South Carolina and Florida to learn more about this groom of grooms.
And along the way, he talks to other grooms who have had their moments in the light, in front of the television cameras. He learns that life on the backstretch is not easy. Wages are low. Hours are long. But for most of these men, born in the Deep South to descendants of slaves, tending to horses, especially the good ones, is a labour of love.
Penny Chenery, the owner of Secretariat, who inherited Meadow Stable from her father, told The Blood-Horse magazine, after Sweat's death in 1998, "Eddie was very important to Secretariat, and to me. . . . He respected the horse, but he was never afraid of him. I used to say that he was an important part of the team, but he really was the team."
Scanlan discovers that as important as Sweat was, he reaped only the glory. Sweat, Scanlan tells us, died virtually penniless in 1998, and his funeral expenses were partially covered by the Jockey Club in New York, while his sister, Geraldine Holman, "went broke" paying funeral home charges in New York and South Carolina.
Scanlan talked at length with Bill Nack, former feature writer for Sports Illustrated and one of North America's best horse-racing biographers. Nack, who knew Sweat for more than 30 years and became particularly close to the shy horseman in 1973, while following Secretariat, said: "The fate of Eddie Sweat is one of the great shames of the track. When I wrote my piece in Sports Illustrated on grooms (Nobody Knows Their Names), that was my statement. And I was really criticized by the racing establishment for that story. When grooms started to organize back in the '60s, you'd think it was Lenin out there organizing workers. The reaction by rich owners was that severe. The haves don't want to share anything. Why didn't someone set up a trust fund for Eddie? One cover (the cost of breeding to the stallion) by Secretariat would have done it."
The two years that Sweat spent with Secretariat (1972 and 1973) were the happiest of his life. Secretariat was just learning the ropes when he came to the track, under the care of trainer Lucien Laurin, and it was Sweat who helped the "green" colt with his education.
Scanlan talked with Chenery (known as Penny Tweedy during Secretariat's championship years) about Sweat's talent for handling horses. "He was a very professional groom. He knew exactly what his job was. He was never late and he loved his horses. Secretariat was feisty, and a less skilled and intuitive horseman might have tried to fight with Secretariat. Eddie would say, 'Now c'mon, Big Red.' He would kid and jolly him and dodge him if he kicked out."
Sweat was a dandy on race day. Resplendent in checked pants that would have made a golfer in the polyester era proud, he strutted as Secretariat pranced to the paddock. And he would have a smile on his face that only defeat could wipe away.
As Scanlan discovered, Sweat wouldn't fret long. He had a horse to take care of -- to bathe, to apply bandages to legs that seem too thin to propel such a powerful animal at speeds over 40 miles an hour, to peel carrots and prepare hot mash for the horse who loved to eat as much as he loved to run.
Ernie Davis, Sweat's home boy from Holly Hill and Secretariat's exercise rider, recalls how Secretariat and his stable-mate, Riva Ridge (winner of the Kentucky Derby in 1972, the year before Secretariat, with Canadian Ron Turcotte in the saddle, won racing's Triple Crown), would stick their heads out of their stalls and nicker when they heard Sweat's voice. Secretariat would stick out his tongue in greeting and Sweat would grasp it -- as if it were their own handshake.
Sweat, Scanlan says, was a "horse whisperer" before the term became popular. He would talk to Secretariat every moment they were together, and only the big horse seemed to understand the groom's down-home patois.
When Secretariat came to Woodbine in October, 1973, for his final race in the Canadian International Championship (now known as the Pattison Canadian International), all work on the backstretch would cease when word spread that Big Red was tacked up and ready to walk to the track. Grooms from practically every barn would line the roadway to the track. They were in awe of this special horse. They could have been paying tribute to his groom, too.
Lawrence Scanlan has paid tribute to both the man and the horse. He's captured the spirit of this magnificent animal and the love of a man for him.
Bruce Walker was director of publicity for 20 years at the Ontario Jockey Club. He witnessed Secretariat's awesome display in winning the Belmont Stakes by 31 lengths. His good friend Ron Turcotte was Secretariat's jockey. Walker met Secretariat and Eddie Sweat at Woodbine.
I did not know backstretch workers did not (do not?) have a union.
HORSE RACING
Big Red: the greatest ever
BRUCE WALKER
The Horse God Built: Secretariat, His Groom, Their Legacy
By Lawrence Scanlan
HarperCollins, 273 pages, $34.95
Secretariat, that magnificent running machine, arguably the greatest thoroughbred in the history of the sport, is buried in a graveyard of champions, at fabled Claiborne Farm in Kentucky. The site is surrounded by stately oaks, ponds and softly gliding swans. To this day, racing fans make the pilgrimage to this hallowed ground to pay homage to Big Red, who died in 1989.
Hundreds of miles to the south and east, Eddie (Shorty) Sweat -- who died in 1998 -- is buried in the Rock Hill Church cemetery, a plain resting place in rural South Carolina. No one, save for the Sweat relatives, visits.
Sweat deserved better. He was Secretariat's caretaker, his groom. But he was more than his groom; he was Big Red's friend. Sweat was the only person who truly knew the horse. He knew when he was sick, when he needed special attention and when he needed to be left alone. He was father figure and butler and protector.
But Shorty Sweat is remembered by Lawrence Scanlan in The Horse God Built: Secretariat, His Groom, Their Legacy. Scanlan set out to write about Secretariat, but was drawn to a picture of Sweat, taken by Ray Woolfe Jr., just after the son of Bold Ruler was delivered to his stall at Claiborne Farm and handed over to a new caretaker. Sweat has his back to the camera. He's turned his back on the horse. He's crying. He's leaving behind "his baby."
Scanlan, author of six bestselling books, including Wild about Horses and Little Horse of Iron, navigates the unfamiliar backstretch of the racetrack, "Hardboot Country" in Kentucky and the farms of South Carolina and Florida to learn more about this groom of grooms.
And along the way, he talks to other grooms who have had their moments in the light, in front of the television cameras. He learns that life on the backstretch is not easy. Wages are low. Hours are long. But for most of these men, born in the Deep South to descendants of slaves, tending to horses, especially the good ones, is a labour of love.
Penny Chenery, the owner of Secretariat, who inherited Meadow Stable from her father, told The Blood-Horse magazine, after Sweat's death in 1998, "Eddie was very important to Secretariat, and to me. . . . He respected the horse, but he was never afraid of him. I used to say that he was an important part of the team, but he really was the team."
Scanlan discovers that as important as Sweat was, he reaped only the glory. Sweat, Scanlan tells us, died virtually penniless in 1998, and his funeral expenses were partially covered by the Jockey Club in New York, while his sister, Geraldine Holman, "went broke" paying funeral home charges in New York and South Carolina.
Scanlan talked at length with Bill Nack, former feature writer for Sports Illustrated and one of North America's best horse-racing biographers. Nack, who knew Sweat for more than 30 years and became particularly close to the shy horseman in 1973, while following Secretariat, said: "The fate of Eddie Sweat is one of the great shames of the track. When I wrote my piece in Sports Illustrated on grooms (Nobody Knows Their Names), that was my statement. And I was really criticized by the racing establishment for that story. When grooms started to organize back in the '60s, you'd think it was Lenin out there organizing workers. The reaction by rich owners was that severe. The haves don't want to share anything. Why didn't someone set up a trust fund for Eddie? One cover (the cost of breeding to the stallion) by Secretariat would have done it."
The two years that Sweat spent with Secretariat (1972 and 1973) were the happiest of his life. Secretariat was just learning the ropes when he came to the track, under the care of trainer Lucien Laurin, and it was Sweat who helped the "green" colt with his education.
Scanlan talked with Chenery (known as Penny Tweedy during Secretariat's championship years) about Sweat's talent for handling horses. "He was a very professional groom. He knew exactly what his job was. He was never late and he loved his horses. Secretariat was feisty, and a less skilled and intuitive horseman might have tried to fight with Secretariat. Eddie would say, 'Now c'mon, Big Red.' He would kid and jolly him and dodge him if he kicked out."
Sweat was a dandy on race day. Resplendent in checked pants that would have made a golfer in the polyester era proud, he strutted as Secretariat pranced to the paddock. And he would have a smile on his face that only defeat could wipe away.
As Scanlan discovered, Sweat wouldn't fret long. He had a horse to take care of -- to bathe, to apply bandages to legs that seem too thin to propel such a powerful animal at speeds over 40 miles an hour, to peel carrots and prepare hot mash for the horse who loved to eat as much as he loved to run.
Ernie Davis, Sweat's home boy from Holly Hill and Secretariat's exercise rider, recalls how Secretariat and his stable-mate, Riva Ridge (winner of the Kentucky Derby in 1972, the year before Secretariat, with Canadian Ron Turcotte in the saddle, won racing's Triple Crown), would stick their heads out of their stalls and nicker when they heard Sweat's voice. Secretariat would stick out his tongue in greeting and Sweat would grasp it -- as if it were their own handshake.
Sweat, Scanlan says, was a "horse whisperer" before the term became popular. He would talk to Secretariat every moment they were together, and only the big horse seemed to understand the groom's down-home patois.
When Secretariat came to Woodbine in October, 1973, for his final race in the Canadian International Championship (now known as the Pattison Canadian International), all work on the backstretch would cease when word spread that Big Red was tacked up and ready to walk to the track. Grooms from practically every barn would line the roadway to the track. They were in awe of this special horse. They could have been paying tribute to his groom, too.
Lawrence Scanlan has paid tribute to both the man and the horse. He's captured the spirit of this magnificent animal and the love of a man for him.
Bruce Walker was director of publicity for 20 years at the Ontario Jockey Club. He witnessed Secretariat's awesome display in winning the Belmont Stakes by 31 lengths. His good friend Ron Turcotte was Secretariat's jockey. Walker met Secretariat and Eddie Sweat at Woodbine.