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This Side Up: Tiz the Story of a True Magician

Nothing, it seems, will help you see through the vanity of materialism quite like a $4.1 billion fortune.

A few summers ago, I was sitting alone in the baronial boardroom at Spendthrift, waiting to interview the farm's owner. It was a hot day, but here all was panelled cool, the venerable furnishings slumbering through the prosperous drone of a lawnmower. I was thinking about this apt conflation of heritage and modernity when startled by the entry of a tanned octogenarian whose casual apparel, in the round, must have cost rather less than a typical pair of socks on Wall Street. B. Wayne Hughes apologized for running a little late, slouched into a chair, and gave the kind of smile you hope to see from the fellow who takes up his place next to you in the bleachers.

By the time we had finished, of course, I understood that even the immense riches that had funded the Spendthrift revival were nothing compared with the inner wealth of this extraordinary human being. Of course, he couldn't have accumulated one without the other–but nobody fortunate to have borrowed his insights for an hour or two would be so crass as to measure the man we lost on Wednesday merely by his worldly assets.

I should have known as much simply by reflecting on his choice of a humble cottage as his farm residence, turning over one of the most beautiful mansions in the Bluegrass to his team as an inspiring work environment.

Now if I had that kind of money…No, come on, what's the point of having an example like that right in front of you, if you still say that? When I have that kind of money, I must likewise see through the trappings; and remember that someday we will all be reduced, by our shared mortality, to the basic human equation: a finite existence that spans infinite possibilities of conduct, but only one ultimate outcome.

There's a consoling paradox to the fact that the B. Wayne Hughes respected and celebrated from the outside, including right here, will inevitably be a mere silhouette of the private figure loved and now grieved by friends and family.

These latter will be discovering little comfort in the reflection that Hughes was one of the greatest of all “winners” in the game of life. Their bereavement, on a human level, is no different from that endured by the rest of us, whatever our station, creed or color. (And nobody knew that better than Hughes himself, having lost an 8-year-old son to leukemia.)

But you know what? When their tears have dried, and they can take a step back, they should let the salutations of the public figure gradually seep into their reckonings. Because having duly lamented a cherished, complex parcel of flesh and blood, they will perhaps join the obituarists in recognizing the only immortality we know to be available: namely, the way a person uses such years as fall to his or her allocation.

In this case, the most obvious legacy could scarcely be more tangible. His philanthropic munificence will for years to come achieve concrete transformation in the odds facing those who feel they have “lost” the game of life. (And that aversion to personal aggrandizement, so evident in his wardrobe and mode of life, would prompt him to make many donations conditional on absolute anonymity.)

But Hughes leaves us parallel bequests that are barely less momentous. One, also destined to last for generations, will be registered in the genetic composition of the modern Thoroughbred. The other is one that might work for any or all of us, as individuals–and that is his example. The son of an Oklahoma sharecropper, whose family made the Grapes of Wrath migration from the Dust Bowl with a mattress strapped to the car roof, he sampled the full spectrum of human experience under capitalism.

The humility that made Hughes so insistent on his ordinariness is not, of course, the same as meekness. And his horror of pretension reflected a contempt for the kind of airs he saw in those who are either born to privilege, or devote their lives to its pursuit. Perhaps this helped to stimulate the revolution he instigated in Kentucky's commercial breeding industry, causing such fear and resentment among his establishment rivals. These complained that the kind of incentive schemes by which Hughes sustained an ever more industrial roster would make competition no longer viable. Most, however, ended up introducing equivalent programs on their own farms.

Hughes relished their discomfiture. “When you print all this crap that I'm saying, I'm probably going to be written up as a nut,” he said that morning, chuckling exultantly. “But I don't give a damn. What are they going to do to me? There's nothing they can do. That's what kills those guys.” He had been here before, after all, remembering the hostility of Californians to “Okies” who would work gratefully even for a subsistence wage.

And he had a prophecy: “If they want to stay in business, everybody will be doing what we're doing. And that includes everybody.” Because at some point one of these ugly-duckling stallions would turn into a swan.

It was beginning to happen already, at that time, the Share The Upside program having been devised to help a commercially moribund young stallion named Into Mischief. “You pay a bunch of money for a stallion, it's got the best chance,” Hughes said. “But his chances aren't 100%. And another guy's chance isn't zero. They're closer together. So we'll see.”

And see we did. The system produced its game-changer, and now Spendthrift has once again become a destination for Classic, two-turn stallions at the top end of the market, now including a Horse of the Year in Authentic.

Hughes cheerfully declared that he knew nothing about breeding; he could leave that to his experts. What he did understand was business, and human nature. And he knew that it was all about the base of the pyramid. That meant giving a shot to the little guys. They'd keep coming back and, the Thoroughbred being what it is, one of those seeds floating in the breeze would eventually sow a whole plantation of oaks.

His own journey, from victim of a historic crisis in capitalism to its summit, served as heartening template both for his roll-the-dice stallions and for the clients who used them. And who knows? Maybe his engagement with MyRacehorse, which gave him such pleasure in the success of Authentic, will yield a similar narrative. Maybe some blue-collar microshareholder will be the next to stake $25,000 with a buddy in a business that ends up valued at $40 billion.

Fitting, then, that the field assembling for the GI TVG Pacific Classic on Saturday should include Tizamagician (Tiznow). Perhaps the fates governing the Turf, for all their ruthless caprice, might even prove amenable to honoring Hughes with success for a horse representing MyRacehorse and Spendthrift Farm LLC. For he would ask no better parting shot than a reminder that our sport cannot survive as the preserve only of an opulent few; that it will only thrive if accessible and inclusive.

True, the Hughes system has also produced a legacy that makes some of us less comfortable. Doubtless he saw The Jockey Club's attempt to limit stallion books to 140 as the establishment circling its wagons, but the fact is that for every Into Mischief there will be dozens of failures–not just at Spendthrift, of course, but at other factory farms–whose hundreds of undeserved opportunities can only impair the breed.

Overall, however, our community is surely indebted to Hughes for a wholesome reproof against complacency. Ironic that he should have made his fortune in “self-storage.” Of the very few whose lives have followed such a giddy arc, fewer still have been so averse to flaunting “self.” And “storage” is such a conservative concept, suggestive of resources nervously withheld. What an embrace of life, in contrast, went into this epic tale!

By all accounts, Hughes remained to the end as restlessly full of ideas as he had been the morning of our meeting, when he had just made an offer for a stallion–an investment, as he noted, he couldn't begin to judge for at least four years.

So whatever the scoreboard of life tells us about our own state of play–whether we are still eking what we can from the dust, or can afford to send half a dozen mares to Authentic–we can all take something from this great American saga. For the Grapes of Wrath, at least in this instance, yielded a harvest of endeavor, generosity and imagination that we can profitably distill for many a year yet.

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Your Horse Country Needs You!

Across the world, the economic tsunami triggered by the pandemic has been stemmed, to some degree, by massive government interventions. But these can only go so far, whether in funds, duration or reach. Beyond those margins, many hugely deserving enterprises find themselves perilously exposed–and it will fall onto society, onto each one of us, to help determine which are worth saving.

Broadsided by this unaccountable emergency into a sudden, existential crisis, Horse Country is now turning to the community it serves and making its own case for salvation.

That’s a chastening positional shift for an operation that had, by its own volition, appeared to be achieving inexorable momentum. But it’s also one that can be made with the clearest of consciences, however you choose to quantify that “worth.”

In literal terms, you could point to over $1 million of known, direct investment in the business already made by converts made through Horse Country. (And who knows what other seeds may yet be germinating among 120,000 guests, from all 50 states and 22 other nations, entertained to date?)

But other gains are less tangible. What price, after all, can we put on evangelism for a sport so menaced by the misapprehensions of an increasingly urban society? As many as 73% of Horse Country guests have never previously or only occasionally been exposed to any equine experience. Even before being drawn into this global crisis, remember, the industry had spent much of the previous year struggling to demonstrate its commitment to the welfare of noble animals sometimes reduced by breakdowns and/or corrupt use of pharmaceuticals.

In reality, these different types of traction are actually continuous. Because whoever takes a Horse Country tour, whether as novice or aficionado, will come away knowing that the Bluegrass way of life starts and ends with the Thoroughbred.

For this is no artificial show, spinning some artful marketing message. The idea is simply to remove all barriers, real or perceived, between the horse and the world beyond the paddock rails. That transparency, that belief, has sustained dynamic growth through what remains, at no more than six years, the relatively brief history of Horse Country.

To Price Bell, whose family’s Mill Ridge Farm has been a key partner from the outset, that trust–in the wonder of the Thoroughbred, and the candour of the experience–gives Horse Country seamless application. If anything, in fact, the disastrous severing of access during the pivotal tour season (wiping out projected revenue between March and June of $345,000, and stacking up refunds of $150,000) has only served to emphasize that reach. For the improvisation of virtual tours has given a staggering new dimension to public engagement, with over 2.5 million views in 12 weeks.

“What I’m so proud of is that we’d lost 40% of our budget, and all the pre-bookings for this year,” Bell says. “And instead of just saying, ‘Woe is me,’ we said, ‘Okay, well, how do we keep pushing the mission?’ Claiborne kicked off the first virtual tour and their series has generated over 550,000 views. Mill Ridge has had 430,000 views. It’s been incredible.

“It was mid-March, and everyone was in a tailspin. So there was not a lot of planning. It was just, like, ‘Hey, let’s see if we can share the peace of these pastures with you.’ And we had a ton of first responders and medical workers who wrote to say how much it meant to them, how they were going to the E.R. every day and how just being out in the field gave them peace.'”

That heart-warming feedback came from one end of the spectrum. But Bell was also gratified to receive enthusiastic messages from industry peers. One prominent breeder sent him a selfie while tuning out from the stresses of the day with a glass of bourbon and a virtual tour.

“That was a good touch point,” Bell says. “I thought, okay, if guys like this are consuming these, that’s got to be good. This has to be worth continuing.”

Then there came a warm message from Tanya Gunther, after a friend had forwarded footage of Bell’s father Headley illuminating viewers about the success of Glennwood Farm. She’s a shareholder in Mill Ridge’s stallion, Oscar Performance, so here was an alternative interaction during lockdown. Even in a time of mass alienation, Horse Country had shown–from exhausted nurses to important clients–an unfailing ability to connect.

It’s sometimes been difficult, for the hosts of virtual tours, to know quite where they’re going. “But in your gut it feels like the right thing to do,” Bell says. “And then you get all these moments, whether it be the front-line workers, or potential customers, or existing clients. And when you hear how much they enjoy it, you’re like, ‘Well, yeah, we got to keep doing this.'”

And that, again, has all been an exercise in transparency and confidence. There have been live feeds, live questions, live comments. There’s no rehearsal, no window-dressing. And, judging from some of the comments received, the direct nature of that connection has won trust, hearts, minds. Here are a few samples:

“Seeing this behind-the-scenes operation will make watching racing more enjoyable for me.”

“This was wonderful… I hope you all will continue doing these even after social distancing is no longer a factor. For those of us who don’t live close by it keeps us connected to the horses.”

“Thank you!!! Can’t wait to see the foals from season one start racing!!!”

“We could never thank you enough for opening up the farm to us on these wonderful virtual tours. You made enduring this pandemic so enjoyable. I learned so much… What was so wonderful was learning the history of your family and the farm.”

“Hello from Seton Medical Center–I’m screening to [patient] visitors rt now!”

“You made my little grandniece so happy today by chatting with her. Thank you for making a little girl’s day. Hope to see you all real soon in person.”

“All the foals I now feel as though I know, I will follow as they get to the track… I hope it may be a whole new market for the racing industry.”

Even in extremis, then, the project has been proving its value. But what has changed, temporarily but critically, is its viability.

Before the pandemic hit, Horse Country was on the brink of a confirmed sustainability. A maturing product had shown that it merited marketing spend, and enthused members were investing in making the experience better yet.

The belated resumption of tours, a couple of weeks ago, remains drastically confined by regulations on social distancing. As things stand, even with a very small payroll half-furloughed until September, the numbers will no longer add up this fall. And, should that happen, the open embrace of Horse Country will revert to the folded arms and averted gaze that discouraged outsiders in times past.

“To me, the great success story of Horse Country was that it had shown that it can be sustainable,” Bell reflects. “We weren’t crowding an already crowded marketplace, with the annual fundraiser, annual gala, annual contribution. We came with a business plan that was sustainable, and thus could celebrate the wonderful work of all the incredible charities that so many of us support and not compete with them.

“And then the coronavirus happens. So, the question is: are we valuable enough, in this time of extreme need, for the industry to come together and help keep the lights on?”

Happily, that question should be less difficult to answer now that the necessary red tape has been unravelled to give Horse Country flexible charitable status and eligibility for tax-deductible donations. (The Bluegrass Community Foundation, as a 501 (c3) non-profit organization, is hosting a designated fund for this purpose.) That lifeline has come just in time for an organization hitherto dependent, for industry-wide benefit, on the dedication of relatively few partners–some of whom have in effect been contributing hundreds of thousands by deferring or renouncing tour payments.

“We don’t know when we can get back to giving tours on a sustainable level,” Bell explains. “Members have been giving them for free for six to nine months, all the proceeds going to sustaining the organization. They’ve done a lot. Hopefully they can do more. But our hope is that our industry can recognize the value of what we’re doing, and the need. Maybe you didn’t get involved because you didn’t have a farm, or maybe you do have a farm but didn’t want tours. But now here’s the opportunity, with this fund, that you can support us.”

Even as it was, sales were on track to exceed even a budgeted 36% increase in sales across the fiscal year. Horse Country had established a virtuous circle by which greater sales lead to more marketing, which leads to more sales and ultimately more evangelists for the industry. A meeting had accordingly been scheduled with a major industry organization, with a view to an injection of marketing funds, the very week of the shutdown.

“That’s the great irony of it all,” says Bell ruefully. “There we were, kind of at that inflection point of starting to have a slight surplus of revenue that we could then pile back into marketing, into pushing our utilization. We had not wanted to ask for help; had not, perhaps, made a very good job of showing our vulnerabilities. As a start-up, you have to be scrappy; you like to work out your issues yourselves. And we’d almost gotten through that.

“We felt we had shown proof of concept, we felt we were growing. With one more member doing daily tours, we felt would really be able to get to the next level. To use Mill Ridge as an example, we hired an Experience Co-ordinator last year–and were on pace for her to pay for herself in a full year, because we’d seen such growth. That snowball was really starting to roll down the mountain. And then the pandemic happened.”

Hopefully, then, it’s only a question of fire-fighting. Horse Country has already shown that it is a sustainable model, so long as it can negotiate this crisis. Now it just needs enough people to recognize not just the merit of what has already been achieved, but also the still greater potential suggested in the process.

After all, the whole premise of the tour–emulating the Bourbon Trail’s model for sharing resources and insights–was that the community’s sum can be greater than its parts.

Some members have stoked the engine throughout. Claiborne observed a tradition of openness from the outset, and duly produced the first virtual tour four days after the Horse Country office closed. Coolmore generously harnessed the windfall of public interest when welcoming the first Triple Crown winner in 37 years. Many members have been hiring specialist staff and/or upgrading tour facilities.

By no means everyone in our community is in a position to do these things. Yes, Horse Country is always eager for new members willing to operate new tours. But its appeal is to every single one of us. It wants us to show that community means commitment; to show that we are all stakeholders in a way of life that is the cultural and commercial signature of the Bluegrass.

Do we really want to go back to hiding behind a post-and-rail palisade, and asking every intrigued newcomer to show credentials first? For all we know, remember, any Horse Country bus rolling down the drive may contain some future magnate of our business, making his or her first ever visit to a farm. But any home run of that kind would just be a bonus. This is about the incremental gains, the sense of homecoming that can be awakened across all tiers of society.

And the stakes, now, cannot be stated too starkly. “The lights go off in September,” Bell says. “We don’t think we can count on our existing business model until there’s a vaccine or until travel really picks back up. So if you are inspired by the way we’ve been creating fans, the way we’ve been sharing the story of the horse, then we could really use your support right now. I hope that anyone touched by this industry will be able to say: ‘I hadn’t considered this organization as a need–but I can see how they’re trying, I’m proud of what they’re doing, and I want to keep them going.'”

If you are interested in supporting Horse Country,
contact Executive Director Anne Hardy directly at ahardy@visithorsecountry.com or make an online donation here https://bgcf.givingfuel.com/horsecountry.

The post Your Horse Country Needs You! appeared first on TDN | Thoroughbred Daily News | Horse Racing News, Results and Video | Thoroughbred Breeding and Auctions.

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