Dave Johnson: What a Performance!

Maybe our sport is still capable of bringing together four such people round a dinner table. But you have to doubt it.

“They were comparing the theaters that they had played on the Vaudeville circuit,” Dave Johnson recalls. “Which had the best backstage dressing rooms? Which had the best eating places, that you could walk to still with your costume and makeup on?”

These memories were being shared between Johnson's mother and Fred Astaire. Moreover, both of those who were listening on, fascinated, had remarkable stories of their own: Astaire's wife, the former jockey Robyn Smith, and Johnson himself-the man whose call, for those present at the 1973 Belmont S., will forever be synonymous with one of the greatest performances in the story of the breed.

Whether or not the world has moved on, it has certainly turned plenty since. Next Saturday, indeed, is the 50th anniversary of Secretariat's final start. And this dinner itself took place over 40 years ago, in Los Angeles, during Johnson's tenure as the caller at Santa Anita.

“Afterwards Fred sent my mother an autographed picture,” Johnson recalls. “I think things like that helped keep her alive. My dad died early, he was only 52. But my mother passed away at 93. I have a picture of her as a dancer in 1930, when she was nine or so, with the whole McLeod Troupe on the Orpheum Circuit: my grandfather, my grandmother, their oldest son who was an attorney, then a daughter who was in the chorus, and then my mother, and then baby Jackie, who was about four or five.”

It was a different world, clearly. His grandparents, indeed, were blackface comedians. But the timeless dividend, for Johnson, was to be raised on the stories of a nomadic community, full of incident and character; and, moreover, with a genetic flair of his own. Because it was performance, of course, that united all four of those gathered round the table at the Palm that night.

McLeod Troupe on the Orpheum Circuit: Johnson's mother is second from the left next to brother Jackie | Dave Johnson

“Robyn was much younger than Fred, but each was equally dependent on the other,” Johnson recalls. “Robyn's a wonder. She was a terrific rider, but a great person. Still is. And of course Fred was just a hell of a guy. Loved the game. He would get emotional about his horses. If one got claimed, just like Burt Bacharach, he would buy it back.

“At one point during that dinner Fred leaned across the table to me, just so serious, and I thought, 'Oh gosh, what's coming now?' And he said, 'Dave, I really have an important question to ask you.'” Johnson pauses and chuckles. “'Dave,' he said. 'How do you win the Pick Six?'”

Now here we are, on the opposite coast, in the Manhattan apartment that Johnson even then called home. (He bought it 51 years ago.) And we're wondering what has happened to our game since; how to retrieve the glamor of those days, when the golden age of the silver screen retained at least a copper glow; when Marje Everett ran Hollywood Park and made sure that friends like Elizabeth Taylor would show up for the inaugural Breeders' Cup.

Johnson knows that horseracing today is a very different world from when his mother taught him, aged just four or five, how to read the Racing Form: they were on the train from St. Louis to New Orleans, in the last months of the war, visiting his father's military posting.

“The arc of what has happened, in racing, seems so evident to me,” Johnson says. “I first started to go to the races as a very young guy. My family was never in the game as owners, trainers, anything. But we all loved to go to Fairmount Park, over the river from St. Louis, and it was always a wonderful holiday.

“In 2023, racing is a television production. There's no longer people at the track, or only very few. For the Derby, Oaks, the Breeders' Cup, Royal Ascot, a destination like Saratoga or Keeneland: yes. But on a day-to-day basis, year round, it's a television production. So what we have now, with some racing executives, is people making decisions about television without knowing anything about broadcasting. Of course, some are terrific. I've worked for good and bad; and it's no different on the TV side, some know their racing, some don't.”

At 82, naturally enough, Johnson doesn't find it quite so easy to get around. But he remains fully engaged, and feels due gratitude for precisely the reach of all the broadcasting platforms that are available today. Shortly before welcoming TDN, indeed, he had already been watching British racing on his phone over a morning coffee. But breadth of access does not equate to breadth of engagement.

Dick Enberg and Dave Johnson at the 1984 Breeders' Cup | NBC Sports

One of the things that sustained the sport's popular heyday, he feels, was simply the way horses were bred or trained (or both). Johnson wonders whether longer intervals between races have partly become standard because of medication levels; less speculatively, he deplores the sensitivity of trainers to their win percentages, above all now that so many potential runners are concentrated in so few hands. Johnson remembers when even someone like Woody Stephens would have no more than 40 horses.

“I knew Woody very well, and his assistants Sandy Bruno and David Donk,” Johnson recalls. “I knew that whole barn. Wonderful people. And Lucille, Woody's wife. That was before  the age of flying horses around, which was really started by Wayne Lukas. I mean, how would you begin to know 200 horses? I don't know how they do it.

“Woody was very funny. And very self-centered! 'Let's see what time it is. Oh, by the way, did I tell you that Laurel gave me this watch for winning five Selimas?' But he was a hell of a horse trainer, wasn't he? I mean, a real hardboot. Hardworking, old school. A throwback. Owners had some input, too, but the trainers ran their horses where they thought. I mean, Woody is a perfect example: winning the Met Mile with Conquistador Cielo Monday, and winning the Belmont on Saturday. I think there are some traditions which should stay, including the Triple Crown. To move the Met Mile to the Belmont undercard, that hurt me. Maybe I'm old school too.”

But maybe that's just what we're missing-the sense of participation that spreads down from the barns to the public. Horses weren't just financial or career devices, whether for breeders or trainers: they put on a show.

After all, Johnson himself would never have got started without an innate sense of theater.

“I called my first race in '65 at Cahokia Downs,” he recalls. “And it's like the script of a B movie. I was 24, working for a law firm. I'd do wills, I'd go out and take pictures of where an accident happened, I'd go and talk to a guy in prison. Anyway we had a box at the track, for the clients, and that evening I'd gone over there to wheel a horse in the double. And the announcer, Todd Creed, became ill. A stretcher went by, behind the box, and an announcement was made: 'Ladies and gentlemen, there'll be no more announcing tonight. Please watch the tote board. Thank you, and good night.'

“Now, I knew the general manager, Ann Detchemendy. She was an Ethel Merman type: a brash, wonderful lady. She'd say to me, 'Hey sweetheart, you want to split a double with me?' 'Oh yes, Miss Ann, I'd love to.' Her office was right behind, so I went in and said, 'Miss Ann, I could call the races for you. I can memorize the 10 points of the Yalta Agreement, so I can certainly manage the seven horses in this race.'”

Miss Ann picked up the phone, there was some back and forth, and she hung up. “Thanks, Dave, but the announcer's son is going to fill in.”

“That was Todd's son, Mike,” Johnson recalls. “So he's in there with the engineer, and the 'musician' who would put the stylus on the record to play the bugle. (They had to have a member of the Music Union do that for every race!) And so the three of them stood there as the horses broke out of the gate.”

“That's number five going to the lead,” says Mike.

“I don't think it's the five,” interjects the engineer.

Then a third voice: “I think it's Blue Boy.”

“And you heard the three of them argue for five furlongs,” Johnson says. “It was hilarious. Immediately after the race, Miss Ann came into the box. 'You're next!'” Johnson pauses and smiles. “I'd told my friend Tony Marino that I was going over to the track, but he was going to have some dinner first and drive over later. So he parks his car, and as he's coming through the parking lot he hears the fourth or fifth race being called. And he said, 'Geez, that sounds like Dave.'” Johnson shakes his head and chuckles. “And that was it. And here we are, almost 60 years later.”

Johnson did other stuff around the track, too: booked group parties, wrote stories, did selections for both the local newspapers. (They had to be different!) He carried on working during the day and called races at night. Meanwhile he was still reading history at Southern Illinois University, albeit graduation had to be squeezed in between the fourth and fifth races one night. “And the people, I loved the people,” he stresses. “That's what is so wonderful about working at the track. They're like family. Because you spend more time with them than you do at home.”

Calling a race just came naturally: that performance gene coming through. Having provided cover on other, less extempore occasions, Johnson took over at Cahokia and Fairmount when Creed went to Ak-Sar-Ben. Then, in 1970, he got the NYRA gig on the retirement of Fred Capossela. Secretariat was foaled that year, and so the wheel of destiny turned.

Pete Axthelm, Dick Enberg and Dave Johnson in 1984   | NBC Sports

With time, Johnson's trademark call (“And down the stretch they come…”) became literally that: he was able to charge its unauthorized use to charity. But however entertaining his style, he always felt that his first priority was to inform.

“Say what you see,” he says. “That was my only job. All the extraneous B.S. of the announcer coming on, and telling who they like, that's somebody else's job.”

That said, even the informing was constrained in the old days. “At the track, you had to shut the microphone off at the 16th pole,” he recalls. “That was because of a federal law called the Wire Act. They didn't want the result to get outside the confines of the racetrack, for fear that illegal bookmakers would churn the money. Prior to the first race, the string of payphones at Belmont Park would be locked up-and they'd only unlocked after the ninth.”

There was one time, admittedly, when Johnson finished the call too early even for the strictures of the Wire Act-in a race at Cahokia that he called as a sprint when it was really a route. (“I saw these jocks with the brakes on,” he recalls. “And I thought, 'Oh my God, it's a fixed race!' They went around the clubhouse turn, I hung up the microphone off, and the engineer said to me, 'Dave, they go around again!'”)

Not all change is for the worse, plainly.

“No, that's true,” Johnson acknowledges. “One time Angel Cordero was going for his fourth win of the day. And early in the stretch I said, 'And Cordero moves to the front.' And then at the 16th pole I said who was in front, who was second, shut it off. [Next day] my boss Pat Lynch called me in and said, 'I got a memorandum. From a board member. “Please inform Mr. Johnson, it's horse racing-not jockey racing!” The mentality… I mean, see how much it's changed?

“But if you listen to Fred Capossela-a  wonderful man, just a great human being-his calls were never jockey-, or trainer-related. But it was all very good. And that's our job: to identify, and give the margins, and who's moving. And from the top of the stretch, maybe only concentrate on the horses in contention.”

One way or another, however, Johnson showed that inherited flair for performance. And, in time, that actually extended as far

as playing roles on stage and screen.

Back in St. Louis, for instance, he performed in musicals like My Fair Lady, Can-Can and Unsinkable Molly Brown in front of 12,000 at the outdoor theater in Forest Park. Above all, however, Johnson has adapted his racetrack nose for a wager to investment in Broadway productions.

“That also came from a St. Louis connection,” he says. “Rocco Landesman, who I knew from the racetrack 20, 25 years ago. Owned six theaters here in New York, called the Jujamcyn Theaters. We had always talked about The Producers, which was one of my favorite films, with Zero Mostel. So when he said there was a chance he might do it as a stage play, I said, 'Count me in.'”

Johnson had already backed a theatrical winner in London, a city he would get to know very well through attending 24 consecutive Royal Ascots. In 1983 he saw the West End debut of Michael Frayn's Noises Off, and virtually camped on the producers' doorstep.

“I begged them to take my money!” he says. “And it was a big success, mainly because they sold the film rights for $5 million. But I didn't invest in another show until The Producers, nearly 20 years later. Rocco came up to me at the memorial service for David Merrick and said, 'I think we've got Matthew Broderick.' And that was it. Biggest bet I ever made. But it paid very well.”

The show opened at the St. James Theater on 19 April 2001, and ran for 2,502 performances, harvesting a record 12 Tony Awards. And Johnson remains immersed in that cosmopolitan community, still telephoning and corresponding with folks from behind and in front of the footlights. Asked what draws him to their world, his answer is succinct and emphatic.

“Talent, and honesty,” Johnson declares. “I have a lot of friends whose talent I really admire. They give it all. But it's not just the performing, it's everything that goes into making any of these things: a television show, a commercial, a stage show, a movie. Because, really, can't you see through people that are phony? I can, at least I think I can. So it's not just talent, it's also the honesty: people, like Rocco, who always do the right thing. I don't want anything to do with anybody who isn't above board, who's shady, who cuts corners.”

But come on, Dave, how does that account for where you spent the rest of your time? You must have seen a few phonies on the racetrack.

“Oh, yeah!” he says with a chuckle. “And in the management of racetracks, too.”

This, in fact, is one of his pet vexations: track executives who didn't come up through the game; people who would never go to the races on their day off. But the beauty of Johnson's own story is the way he has straddled the margins between these two cosmopolitan, theatrical worlds: the stage and the Turf.

“There's only one job at the racetrack that is a performer,” he reflects. “As announcers, we are performers. If you're doing it on television, you're not doing it for the crowd. Yeah. Isn't that funny? Only one job.

“And it's a once-in-a-lifetime thing. In anything, like a movie, that's going to be on videotape or film, you can change it. You can do take two, whatever. At the racetrack, you get one shot, and it'll never be the same. Ever. Run the same horses, your call is never going to be the same.”

What luck, then, that he took his cue that night back in 1965: an unscheduled audition for the rest of his life.

“There's a little article in The New York Times called Tiny Love Stories,” Johnson says. “It has to be 100 words or less. And so many times it's about people who met their mate in a cab, or on a corner, or in a rainstorm. I love those stories. It's the same kind of thing. What if I hadn't gone to the track that evening? Who knows? How lucky was I? And then I get to see Secretariat, Ruffian, Affirmed. I really have been lucky. I have no regrets. I've had a great career, and a wonderful life. I love the line in the movie Braveheart, where Mel Gibson says: 'Every man dies. But not every man lives.' And boy, have I lived.”

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Keeneland Breeder Spotlight: Heider Happy Playing The Long Game

The apartment glistens with the quiet discernment of its owner. Lexington spreads below the great windows and balcony, its urban grid seamed green by the many old trees that endure downtown. In somewhat the same way, amid all the artwork, the gleaming décor, Scott Heider draws on Nature to explain his love of this business.

He gestures towards a rose in a vase. “That's the best analogy, you know,” he says. “Beautiful, but it doesn't last forever. I look at the wonderful broodmares we've been blessed with–these living, breathing creatures–and they're the same. That's part of what makes it so alluring, so intoxicating. Because it's about persistence.”

He remembers what his father used to tell him, and his brother: “Nothing worthwhile is easy, boys.”

Not, he acknowledges with a smile, something you necessarily wanted to hear when young.

“But for sure, as you mature and experience life lessons, you see that it's true,” he says. “If something's given to you, it's probably not going to mean as much.”

He points to shelves displaying some of his racing trophies.

“But I can promise you… That Park Hill? The Debutante, at the Curragh? These are things that I can't tell you how much they mean to me. That's why you do it.”

Both those Group races were won by fillies trained in Ireland by Joseph O'Brien–instructive samples, then, of a program that manages to combine a rigorous focus on quality (barely a dozen mares between Kentucky and Ireland) with an unusual range of application. That is no less than we should expect, perhaps, in one whose own perspectives and engagement have uncommon breadth by the standards of our insular sport. We should duly take heart that for all his passion for art and film, all his success as a real estate developer, nothing animates Heider quite like the animals that bring him here from his principal residence in Omaha.

Cindy and Scott Heider | courtesy of The Heider Family

“My wife and I love cinema,” he says. “In fact, we just got back from the Telluride Film Festival. But I have never seen anything like the Thoroughbred industry. Art, film, these are wonderful things. They can fill your soul, stimulate your mind, hopefully open you to things that you didn't think about or believe before. As my Jesuit friends say, 'Always be open to growth.' So those things are important to me. But the Thoroughbred business? To me, it's just absolute, unlimited possibilities.”

True, he feels that some of these have not been adequately realized. He is dismayed, for instance, that we cannot achieve the same media traction for Cody's Wish (Curlin) as for less edifying news from the racetrack.

“We have such a unique, beautiful, unbelievably passionate industry,” he reflects. “Sometimes I think we don't know how good we have it. There's so much potential.”

In his own case, the magic was first ignited by boyhood visits to Ak-Sar-Ben. During high school and college summers he even worked there as an usher and mutuel teller. Attending the University of Southern California allowed Heider to sample Santa Anita and Hollywood Park, another level again from Nebraska-breds. And soon after he had launched his own career in business, father and son were also exploring this avenue of pleasure together.

First a friend introduced them to the veteran trainer Lyman Rollins. “And that,” says Heider, “was the luckiest thing in the world–because Lyman was just an upstanding guy.”

In 1987 they bought a $14,000 yearling colt from TaylorMade by To-Agori-Mou (Ire), a miler imported from Europe but pretty much a disaster at stud.

“And, as the racing gods would have it, that yearling turned out to be a Californian champion sprinter that won the Hollywood Turf Express three years in a row,” says Heider.

Answer Do, who also won three graded stakes, raced six seasons.

“Back then you'd race until September, October, and then you'd turn them out and bring them back in March,” Heider recalls. “You just stopped, let Mother Nature do her thing. And they lasted forever.

“Anyway, because of Answer Do, we came across all these wildly interesting people that were around at the time: Allen Paulson, John Mabee, Margie Everett, R.D. Hubbard. And we realized that you could put Allen Paulson, founder of Gulfstream, together with a jockey, a trainer, a groom—and everybody would just want to talk horses. It didn't matter what your background was. This was the great leveler, and that's a beautiful thing.”

The Heiders could not have got off to a better start; nor, of course, a more misleading one.

“When that horse finally retired, we spent probably six or seven years trying to find one that could run a third as fast!” says Heider ruefully. By that stage, however, they were hooked. “And, in hindsight, it became a really important bond with my father. I was getting married, having a family, life takes over. But boy, did we enjoy our time traveling around the country together.”

Losing his father in 2015 confirmed Heider in his hope that he might yet share a similar journey with his own children, Grant and Courtney, both recent college graduates. However their interest proceeds, Heider has long felt grateful for the indulgence of their mother Cindy–right back to when she ordered a wedding cake in the shape of a chocolate horse head, iced with a Lukas white bridle.

“As a lot of people in this business know, when someone's horse-crazy, their spouse has to learn to live with it,” Heider says. “But God bless my wife, she has learned to like it, especially the breeding. And she's very involved in the philanthropic side. In the horse business we've found some really talented people and organizations that might be relatively small, but that are definitely punching above their weight and making a real difference.”

These “small but mighty” operations include the Eddie Gregson Foundation, New Vocations, Bluegrass Farms Charities and, most recently, Stable Recovery.

“If you're fortunate, you're born into a situation where you're going to get a couple opportunities to right mistakes,” Heider observes. “But a lot of people don't get that opportunity. And I think the Thoroughbred industry is uniquely positioned to work with some of these folks–not only to give them a second and third chance, in a profession, but because horses are therapeutic. Some of the programs created for children are amazing. At first, they're scared to death of these animals, but just a few days later you see a remarkable bond develop. And it's the same with some of the people that have been incarcerated, or that have other life challenges.”

But if privilege brings duty, do we also owe a certain obligation to the breed itself: to consider its best interests, in how we try to make a living? Or is that a luxury in such a precarious walk of life?

“The Thoroughbred industry is a pretty decent microcosm for society,” Heider replies. “For sure, we have people that every day come into work, do a great job, and you know what, they've got bills to pay, they've a family to raise. They might be struggling day to day. But I think those of us in a position to do so can hopefully lead by example, and be involved.”

Accordingly he renounces the question that dictates so much commercial breeding: “What have you done for me lately?”

“We have a lot of stallions that would have been successful if given a chance,” he remarks. “That shorter-term mentality unfortunately permeates every aspect of the business. But then we're in a disposable society. Everybody leases a car, everybody replaces their phone every couple years. But this business is different, or should be anyway. Because the bloodlines that we're entrusted with go back 100, 200, 250 years.”

To that extent, he implies, it's not so much a question of who can afford to do the right thing as whether anybody, in the longer term, can afford not to?

“To me, do the right thing means: be respectful to the horse,” Heider specifies. “And to those working with them. The commercial market's going to have its influence. I'm all for the people that want to find the next stallion: there's plenty of risk, and we need that investment, we need to put those horses in the proper hands to determine their potential. But I think there's a limit. Because we want people to play this game long-term, right?”

The Heider program, then, is all “long ball.” One example has been his cultivation, over recent years, of a transatlantic presence. Whenever he's asked what drew him to Ireland, Heider always ends up—besides the heritage and horsemanship–by pointing to the passion and sheer caliber of the people he deals with. Certainly his admiration for the O'Brien family is not confined to their extraordinary professional accomplishment. But nor did he embrace the experiment merely in some altruistic spirit of adventure: Heider is clear that diversification of bloodlines is not just wholesome for the breed in general, but can also benefit his stable in particular.

“We have a young mare at Mill Ridge, Zofelle (Ire) (Zoffany {Ire}),” he explains. “A Grade III winner here, she ran second in the [GI] Matriarch on her final start. She's beautiful, and from the family of Listen (Ire) and Sequoyah (Ire) [both Group 1 winners by Sadler's Wells]. The kind of thing that I could just lie awake thinking about! But I didn't send her back to Ireland when her racing was over. This spring she had her first foal by Into Mischief, and I bred her next to Not This Time.”

Zofelle | Lauren King

Heider views such stallions as influences for brilliance, rather than any particular surface or distance. Conversely, the class and soundness of the mare's family can also transcend its recent European setting.

“I have no doubt that she's going to throw something on dirt along the way,” Heider vows. “If you look back to the '50s, '60s, '70s, the transfer of blood from Europe to the United States, and vice versa, has taken place for a long time. There's been far less lately, but now we're seeing Justify throw some brilliant horses in Europe. I don't know how many others are out there doing it. But again, it's about trying to do the right thing–in this case, about invigorating the breed.”

Heider stresses that he still loves the dirt racing on which he was raised. At some stage, however, he would enjoy testing convention. Had he bought out his partners in Mia Mischief (Into Mischief), for example, he would have been mighty tempted to have her bred in Europe. (As it is, of course, she was sold to Stonestreet.) “So I'm just as intrigued by having Irish mares over here as by maybe sending something the other way,” he says. “Time will tell whether it's going to look brilliant, or whether people end up saying, 'What's wrong with this person?'!”

Some aspects of the program remain perfectly orthodox. Heider likes his trainers to develop fillies with pedigree, such as the $750,000 daughter of Nyquist and GI Kentucky Oaks winner Believe You Can (Proud Citizen) bought from Airdrie at Keeneland in September, with a view to promotion into the broodmare band. But that, again, is laying up rather than trying to drive the green.

“I was raised in the investment business,” Heider remarks. “And you'd probably think that I'm always looking at the quotes in the Wall Street Journal and Financial Times, checking my phone all the time. I do read the financial papers every day, but really don't pay any attention to daily or weekly fluctuations in values. Those don't matter to me because I'm not selling today or tomorrow. I'm more likely adding to existing positions over time. It's a share in the business that I own. If you're fortunate to own a piece of a really good business, you don't listen to what the next fad is. You make decisions only to benefit the business. You let good grow.”

Sure enough, he isn't going to fret about which stallion or nick might be hot today and abandoned tomorrow. “We don't care about any of that,” he says. “I want good, reproducing female families. If the mare has racing ability, even better.”

Heider shows a catalogue page for which he's responsible, and accepts that he invited market wariness with a stallion prone to produce a turf horse. But he felt the match ideal, both physically and in terms of the sire's versatility and temperament.

“Because a brilliant horse is what you're looking for, right?” he says. “Doesn't matter if it's turf or dirt, short or long. I think people like John and Tanya Gunther, who I have so much respect for, get that. They understand long ball, without a doubt. It's tough. A lot of times you stand at the plate and miss but, my goodness, they've bred more than their share of amazing horses. So, no, we really don't breed for a market darling. We breed to improve a family. Eventually, the page will prove out.”

One of his most cherished examples is the dynasty of Jude (GB) (Darshaan {GB}).

“Through four generations, you lose track of all the Grade I performers,” he says. “Well, that's because somebody nurtured it. That's because of Richard Henry. And that, I can tell you, is what you do in business as well. You hire the best people, you keep the best close to you. That's our approach in everything we do. It's never about quick returns. We'll give Flying the Colors, a beautiful young War Front granddaughter of Jude, every opportunity to shine. She's in Ireland, in foal to Night of Thunder, and she's returning to the States this fall to be covered by Uncle Mo. We are committed long term to that Coolmore family, and I will move a mare like her if I see it may benefit her.”

Yet even doing it this way soon fills the present moment with fresh cycles of excitement.

“You want to get me going?” Heider asks with a chuckle. “Just ask me about A New Dawn (Ire) (Zoffany {Ire}), who's a granddaughter of Cherry Hinton (GB) (Green Desert), and I'll tell you about her Kingman (GB) yearling filly that's going to Joseph, or her Wootton Bassett (GB) colt foal. Or our 3-year-old Gun Runner filly, Stunningly, that broke her maiden this summer at Saratoga. I like the balance we have going on. There'll be some interchangeable parts here, some moving back and forth. Time will tell how it all works out. But it's all long-term thinking, and that's what excites me. It's what I know best.”

Stunningly | Sarah Andrew

Yet while his ultimate legacy remains an unknowable horizon, each step on the way emulates the one that first embarked Heider on this journey.

“In the end, for me, it's the same thing as it was day one,” Heider says. “That love and respect for the horse. But I think our true job in this sport is to leave it better than we found it. Now, that may mean trying to improve the breed: introducing new blood, sounder blood, faster blood. Or it may mean a gentleman like Ron Winchell saying, 'I'm going to make Kentucky Downs something like the Cella family has done at Oaklawn.'

“That's long ball. I can relate to that, in the investment world. But then we have everything else. The families on the farms, on the backside. The horses, after their track careers are over. So, if nothing else, by the time I'm ready to run my final furlong, I hope people don't say, 'Boy, he had fast horses,' or, 'He raced Mia Mischief; and he did this and that in Ireland.'

“What I hope they say is, 'There's somebody that tried to do the right thing; tried to improve the sport itself, including the folks that participate and dedicate their lives to it, especially those individuals that maybe don't get nearly enough attention or support.' In our own small way I hope we can leave this incredible game, that we all love so much, a little better than when we found it.”

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Lost And Found Presented By LubriSynHA: Pickleball Replaces Ponies For Former Jockey Lively

Nearly three decades after riding in his final race, John Lively is still competitive, still athletic and still enjoying camaraderie. Instead of the racetrack, he and his wife Pat have found those same elements in playing pickleball, a hybrid of tennis, table tennis, and badminton.

“We play two, three, sometimes four hours a day,” he said. “We feel that it is good for our health to stay active and fit. It is fun and we enjoy meeting other people. It is very big in Florida and Arizona where we used to spend the winters and it is getting bigger all the time.”

The Livelys, married since 1961, now reside in Hot Springs, Ark., where their daughter, Patrice, works for the Arkansas Horsemen's Benevolent and Protective Association. Their son David has made a career as an assistant to nationally ranked trainers.

Lively's resume has 3,468 victories, including the 1976 Preakness Stakes aboard Elocutionist, who he guided to a third-place finish in the Kentucky Derby. His trophy collection includes the 1990 George Woolf Memorial Jockey Award that “honors riders whose careers and personal character earn esteem for the individual and the sport of Thoroughbred horse racing.”

“At the time and still today it means an awful lot simply because I was elected by my fellow riders who I was competing against day in and day out,” he said. “It is meaningful that they chose me as a good role model even away from the racetrack.”

A regular at Oaklawn Park in winter, Ak-Sar-Ben in Omaha in summer and other tracks such as Louisiana Downs, Keeneland and Churchill Downs in between, Lively pocketed many riding titles while keeping steady statistics throughout his career. Recognizing that his opportunities were starting to dwindle, he strategically retired with no regrets.

“If I had still been winning two or three races a day, I would not have been ready but I was ready for something different,” he said.

That something different was far removed from Thoroughbred racing.

“We are both from northeast Oklahoma and we went back there and went into the cattle raising business,” he said. “Then an opportunity came along for a poultry raising operation. We did that for about three years along with the cattle. Then we got out of that and retired completely.”

They sold their house and traveled the country in their motor home for 10 years of summer sightseeing and winter sojourns in Arizona or Florida. While in Arizona in 2014, Lively developed health issues that affected his balance. The condition eventually was brought under control with medication and physical therapy but concern about relapses inspired them to cease traveling and move to Rogers, Ark. In 2019 they settled in Hot Springs, where Lively will occasionally go to the Oaklawn Park races to see old friends. He also gets that opportunity in various celebrations such as the inductions of former jockeys Tim Doocy and Ken Shino into the Nebraska Thoroughbred Racing Hall of Fame earlier this year. (Lively was inducted in 1979.)

A few win pictures decorate their home, most notably his scores on Bold Ego in the 1981 Arkansas Derby, Lets Dont Fight in the 1981 Arlington-Washington Futurity and Billy Jane in the 1980 Apple Blossom Handicap. Other winner's circle photos are kept out of sight but within easy reach to bring back memories of the workaday Thoroughbreds and people that blended to make traveling racetrackers a community. He especially notes the fraternity amongst the jockeys.

“Each and every one of us knows what we all went through to pursue this and be successful,” he said. “You know how tough it is for yourself, so it forms a bond knowing we all struggled to get there. And we spent so much time together. We were around each other in the mornings getting on horses and then in the jocks' room all afternoon every day. Some of us were around each other more than we were our own families.”

Family played a key behind-the-scenes role in Lively's success and life in general thanks to pickleball partner.

“Pat has kept me grounded and been a wonderful support even before I became a jockey,” he said. “It took me a long time to break in as a jockey. I rode in match races at (informal) 'bush' tracks but it was years before I got started at a pari-mutuel track. And she was wonderful about raising our kids more or less by herself while I was away riding and she would join me when the kids were out of school. Pat was very supportive the whole time — whatever I wanted to do, whatever ever I wanted to try, she was there.”

The post Lost And Found Presented By LubriSynHA: Pickleball Replaces Ponies For Former Jockey Lively appeared first on Horse Racing News | Paulick Report.

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Letter to the Editor: Dora Delgado Diversity Piece

I’m writing to offer my thanks for the article you posted recently featuring Dora Delgado. Timely, yes and helpful to learn more about her thinking on diversity, equity and inclusion within our sport.

It also hit home for me as my father was one of three black trainers actively campaigning in Chicago during the 1970s – 1990s. Mr. Clifford Scott, Paul Darjean and my father, Clenon Brown.

I’ve enjoyed the sport since age three, when my father started teaching me how to read the DRF, he noted, before I could read a book–a skill that still pays every now and then today (smile).

My father first got the bug by traveling to Ak-Sar-Ben with friends on weekends in the early 70s, which led to him buying a few claimers and racing in Floria and Chicago. Kansas City was home for us, but no pari-mutuel wagering laws on the books prevented him from enjoying the sport in Missouri.

Later, he moved into the sport full-time and began pursuit of his trainer’s license which he secured in Kentucky in the early 1980s. After that, he was off to the races, training in Kentucky, and Chicago.

Living in Missouri with my mother afforded me the chance to spend summer and winter breaks at Arlington, Hawthorne and Sportsman’s Park, mucking stalls, feeding our horses and those of our ‘day horses’ all the while soaking up the backstretch culture. In the meantime, my mother became an executive within state government in Missouri, and at home I grew up amongst legislators, governors and attended school with their children.

In my journey, I’ve served in the military and have made a career as an executive in charge of efforts by firms in the top echelon of the Fortune 500 in their diversity, equity and inclusion practices. My passion remains in Thoroughbred racing and hope that through this note I can raise my profile in the conversation underway. I think I can contribute value to stakeholders as we continue to invest in the sport, ensuring its future, leaning on lessons learned from its past.

Change is the only constant in business; as much as the sport leans on year-on-year consistency, its front, middle and back office appear not to have embraced some aspects change in the business model.

Regards,

Shelly Brown

The post Letter to the Editor: Dora Delgado Diversity Piece appeared first on TDN | Thoroughbred Daily News | Horse Racing News, Results and Video | Thoroughbred Breeding and Auctions.

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