‘Bar C’ Coup Reverses the Oregon Trail

The stable name traces to a ranch they once owned in the Oregon outback: “Bar C” was how they branded their cattle. But while Neal and Pam Christopherson are proud of their home state, and have achieved a great deal there, even they couldn't make horses pay in those gulch-carved scrublands, under those huge empty skies.

“Telocaset, Union, Oregon,” Neal says. “Snows an inch, drifts 10 feet. Cold country.”

But horses are tough, no?

“Well, they are,” replies Neal. “But we lost a heck of a nice Quarter Horse colt that climbed up on the snow drift, across the water trough, and drowned because the ice broke. That's why we moved to Hermiston on the Columbia River. Probably the mildest weather you can have in Oregon is right there.”

But all those experiences, across nearly half a century, add up to something that wouldn't be quite as special, nor as solid, if you could leave out the difficult days. The Christophersons have been raising or training horses for 48 years. Long enough, perhaps, to have developed some kind of X-ray vision when they saw Forever For Now (War Front) at the Keeneland November Sale two years ago. They could see straight into that mare's swaying belly, right?

“No,” says Neal with a grin, miming the opening of a catalogue. “It just said 'Uncle Mo' down there.”

That predilection, after all, was why they were there in the first place.

Six years previously, at the equivalent auction, the Christophersons had bought an El Prado (Ire) mare named Fresia for $35,000. She, too, was carrying an Uncle Mo colt, who they sold as a yearling for $60,000.

“When we took him down there to the sale at Pomona, they were all talking about something on his X-rays, a sesamoid I think,” Neal recalls. “But Eddie Woods bought the horse, took him to Florida, broke and trained him down there, and then brought him back to Barretts for the 2-year-old sale. And he sold him for $600,000! So right then and there, we knew we had something if we could just stay in the Uncle Mo business.”

That colt was raced as Galilean by West Point Thoroughbreds and his six stakes wins–which have now launched him on a stud career in New York–made his dam a suddenly lucrative proposition. Sure enough, having been returned to Uncle Mo on a foal-share, Fresia produced a filly that sold for $700,000 to Courtlandt Farm at the September Sale of 2021.

It was with their share of the proceeds that the Christophersons promptly spent $210,000 on Forever For Now that November. And, once again, a foal acquired in utero has raised the stakes. Because the mare delivered such a knockout son that he even broke new ground for horsemen as seasoned as the Penn brothers.

Their one-horse Book I consignment, so expertly handled that the colt was as mannerly and inquisitive after 300 shows as on his first, made nearly every shortlist. In the end M.V. Magnier had to go to $1.35 million to tap back into a family that his Coolmore team had helped to make one of the best in the book, Forever For Now's third dam being a full sister to Galileo (Ire) himself.

Okay, so maybe that kind of page doesn't really require X-ray vision.

“No, you just grab the dice and you roll,” Neal says. “See what happens. Because 99.9 percent of this game is luck.”

But you have to believe that you can put yourself in a position to be lucky. And the Christophersons' Bar C Racing Stable has been doing that for a long time now, albeit mostly in shallower waters.

“When we first met, we were down there at Corvallis,” Neal recalls. “That's where Oregon State University is. And I had a stallion and a mare, Quarter Horses, that I was actually using to rodeo. Pam and I ran into each other down at the bar. She'd just bought a mare off the track, to barrel race. So we both started with Quarter Horses.”

Since then, the Christophersons have excelled with Thoroughbreds on the West Coast scene in many different guises: as breeders, owners, vendors, and for 30 years as trainers. They stood a local phenomenon in Harbor the Gold, 14-time champion sire in Oregon; having bred or co-bred 11 champions over the state line, they were recently inducted into the Washington Hall of Fame; and they've topped a Barretts sale with a $600,000 Cal-bred.

Sadly, after decades of accomplishment, they feel disenchanted with the direction of their home circuit. Having for a long time upgraded the Pacific gene pool with Kentucky mares, they've gone up another level even as horseracing in Washington has been reduced to 55 days at a single track. The mares, as a result, are increasingly staying right where they are in the Bluegrass. Recently, the Christophersons have even toyed with prospecting for a farm of their own there.

“They've closed nearly all the tracks where we are,” Neal laments. “They closed Portland Meadows. They closed Playfair. Yakima. Now it's Golden Gate. The horse business in our neck of the woods is going downhill. These youngsters don't like to mess with horses, that's the only thing I can see. It's unfortunate. Like to see it keep going. We used to have five different racetracks just in Washington. But we took six head to the Seattle sale this summer, and only made $35,000.”

Of course, this kind of situation only tends to spiral downward: a struggling region tends to end up disillusioning precisely those whose experience, resources and skills it can least afford to lose–skills, it can now be seen, of uncommon transferability. Because the Christophersons have managed to hang in there, even against a growing headwind.

“This mare came into the ring at Pomona a couple of years ago and nobody's bidding,” Neal recalls. “So I opened the page, and I'm thinking, 'What's the matter with this?' So I raised my hand once, just for the hell of it, got her for $1,000. She was in foal to Stanford, who was just beginning there in California, so on our way home we went over to the ranch, dropped her off, said, 'Foal her out and breed her back!' When all that was done, we went back and got her, took her back to Oregon, had a foal. Brought the foal back a year later to the yearling sale at Pomona–and sold her for $100,000. Out of my $1,000 mare. But, again, all luck. She had good breeding, everything was good.”

So the Christophersons have been doing their best. They still have five stallions–even a young son of the inevitable Uncle Mo–and a score of broodmares.

“The Uncle Mo is a good-looking fella, but we'll see,” Neal says with a shrug. “In this business it always takes three years to find out if you've got anything. A lot of people ask us, 'Why do you do this? It takes so damned long!' But if that was how we started, every year now we've got horses going someplace or another.”

Increasingly, however, “someplace” means Kentucky. In fairness, this is hardly some overnight reaction to their September coup.

“No, what happened was that we were buying and selling in the Pacific Northwest and getting nowhere,” Neal explains. “We knew Gary Chervenell in Washington, and he's always been telling us, 'If you want the good stuff, go to Kentucky. That's where they're made.' So we made our first trip over with him 20 years ago, and really that's what has made us–the fact that we just got lucky buying some fairly well bred mares.”

One of the introductions Chervenell made was to Bo Davis, then broodmare manager at Overbrook. And when that farm's Seeking The Gold half-brother to GI Breeders' Cup Juvenile winner Boston Harbor blew a knee, Davis wouldn't stop pestering them about him. “You guys really need to stand this horse,” he urged them. “I know him, I've been with him ever since he was born.”

“We had a darn good horse at that time, name of Tiffany Ice,” Neal recalls. “But he was 22, and Bo kept saying he wasn't going to last forever. And finally, one day when he called us on our way down to Portland Meadows, back when those bag phones had just come out, the first mobiles, we said 'Oh, just send him out.'”

“When he got off that van, after shipping all the way from New York, he didn't look very good at all,” Pam says.

“We looked at each other and said, 'What in the hell do we do now?'” says Neal, shaking his head.

“We got him fattened up, and I think he bred seven mares his first year,” Pam said. “But his first foal was Noosa Beach. He won the [GII] Longacres Mile, and was horse of the Emerald Downs meet four years in a row. Out of the first mare he ever bred.”

“And you know why we bred him?” Neal says. “Because the old horse, Tiffany Ice, if ever a mare looked like she's going to kick him, do anything bad, he would just turn away and go back in his stall. And this mare, she was pretty testy. So what we did, we brought the new guy up. Had no idea what he was going to do. He'd never tried to breed anything. And he was a wild man. Boy, she didn't kick no way when Harbor the Gold got ahold of her! And that was the first baby. Won over $500,000.”

“And Harbor the Gold went on to have 72 stakes horses at Emerald Downs,” Pam marvels. “The next closest to him had 27. And every year his babies made $1 million in racing.”

As it happens, Harbor the Gold died the same year that the Christophersons sold Galilean's sister, and played up the winnings on Forever For Now. As so often in this business, as one door closed, so another one opened.

“We were going back and forth at Hill 'n' Dale when they sold Fresia's filly,” Pam recalls. “And they had this cute little War Front mare there, in foal to Uncle Mo, and I just kept looking at her. She was young, and pretty nice. Kinda looked like Miss Piggy! A big broad thing with a white blaze down her face. They said she'd had a beautiful Justify filly, I don't know where she might have shown up meanwhile, but this was going to be her second foal. Anyway when we sold the filly so well, we thought, 'Well, let's get this mare.' And all we ever wanted from the colt she was carrying was to try to make back the $210,000 she cost.”

The Christophersons are clear that one of the reasons the colt so wildly exceeded those hopes is the diligence and hands-on attention of the Penn family: brothers John and Frank, plus John's son and daughter-in-law, Alex and Kendra. Certainly you couldn't hope to see a more obliging horse, loosely on the shank, after the number of shows he made in September. But that reflected the companionship established at home–over many a mile, and many a month–with Kendra, who was also tending him at Keeneland.

“She's a good hand, by golly,” Pam says. “She's walking them, ponying them, she knows everything about them. And that horse, he knew what he was supposed to do. They're sure good people, and they did a great job.”

“We really believe in them,” stresses Neal. “You can get lost in some of those big 'factories'. This horse came out and walked the same way, every single person that came to see him, didn't get pissy once. He's a smart horse. They'll go a long way with him, as long as they keep him sound.”

Forever For Now, who has a Caravaggio weanling and is in foal to Mystic Guide, is obviously slated to return to Uncle Mo next.

“We're pretty well Uncle Mo'd out,” says Neal wryly. “Own a share in Mo Forza, that's now standing in California. His first crop was on the ground this spring. We'll see what happens. But a lot was riding on September. A few hundred bucks a day, it starts getting 'old' after a while! Now we've got enough that we can leave them here. But we're just into it, and have been forever. Like I said, we've got something coming through every year now. And the real breeding program's going well, no matter what. We've got a couple of the best kids in the country.”

Their daughter is a nurse, and has managed to resist the lure of horses, but their son now has a few acres of his own, and is also boarding mares with the Penns. The Christopherson momentum, after all these years, remains ever forward. At the November Sale, a young mare in foal to War Front caught this observer's eye in the back ring: she was by an unjustly neglected sire, but out of a half-sister to Scat Daddy. It was going to be instructive to learn which person was smart enough to buy her. Sure enough, when the next sheet went up on the wall, there it was: sold to Bar C Racing, $160,000. And history tells us to keep an eye on that War Front foal!

So by no means was this amazing coup in September necessarily the climax of a story already 48 years in the telling. Its authors remain full of passion for the next chapter.

“Because here we are, 73 years old, looking at picking up stock and barrel and going to Kentucky,” says Neal with a chuckle. “Now, isn't that crazy?”

The post ‘Bar C’ Coup Reverses the Oregon Trail appeared first on TDN | Thoroughbred Daily News | Horse Racing News, Results and Video | Thoroughbred Breeding and Auctions.

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Penn Family Riding High into Book 3 After Seven-Figure Sale

Alex Penn wasn't at Keeneland when his family's Penn Sales sent their first seven-figure yearling through the ring during Book 1 of the September Sale. He was back home in Bourbon County, busy prepping the rest of their consignment's yearlings pointing for the later books.

“They were all drinking champagne and I was grooming horses,” he said as he jokingly nudged his wife Kendra and laughed, because really, he wouldn't have it any other way.

His family's business was founded a century ago as an all-purpose farm–over the years raising tobacco, Thoroughbreds, cattle, hay, even squash a time or two– and each generation to carry the Penn banner has stuck to its roots.

“We're farmers,” Kendra said simply. “If we can make a profit that's obviously the goal, but we're not here chasing seven figures on a regular basis.”

Of course, the Penn family couldn't help but get their hopes up about the youngster that would go on to sell for $1.35 million to M.V. Magnier. The Uncle Mo colt out of Forever for Now (War Front) looked like a star from the moment he was foaled and the Penns told his breeders Neal and Pam Christopherson going into sale day that he had gotten multiple looks from the right people.

“We had so many of the big folks coming back to look at him,” said Kendra. “He was super nice from the day he was born. He came out as a classic Uncle Mo–big, athletic, good feet, good walk. We had been telling [the Christophersons] that if we could just get him to the sale, that this horse was really nice.”

Spoken like a true farmer, Kendra shared the real 'win' of their momentous day in the spotlight.

“We were all asleep by 8:00 that night,” she said with a grin. “We had to get up at 4:00 to be back out here and do everything we need to do at home. It was definitely an honor to be a part of because the experience is not something that just happens on a regular basis, but life goes on and there are more horses and you just get up and get ready for the next day.”

During the second session of Book 1, Penn Sales offered a colt by Authentic. The half-brother to GISW Arklow (Arch) and MGSW Maraud (Blame) brought $360,000.

Choosing to skip Book 2 in order to keep their manpower within one sales barn at a time, Penn Sales will be back in action for Book 3 on Saturday with six going through the ring.

The Penns are particularly excited about Hip 1241, a Blame colt who is from the same family as the Authentic colt that sold well earlier in the auction.

“He's out of a young mare from a family that has been good to us,” Kendra explained. “His mom is a half to Arklow and Maraud. This colt is everything that family is. He's a really classy colt and he looks a lot like Arklow, so we're really excited about him.”

Their Book 3 lineup features two more colts: a Practical Joke full-brother to Kaling, who ran third in the GI Spinaway S. last year, and a colt from the first crop of Spendthrift's Vekoma.

Equally represented by three fillies, Penn Sales will offer a Classic Empire from the family of GISW Swift Temper (Giant's Causeway), a Maclean's Music out of a half-sister to Tonalist, and a filly from the first crop of Three Chimneys stallion Volatile.

Each of the 20 yearlings in Penn Sales' Keeneland September consignment were foaled and raised at the family's 1,000-acre farm outside of Paris. With oversight from the farm's two leaders in Alex's father John and his uncle Frank (profiled by TDN's Chris McGrath here), Alex and Kendra foal out around 40 mares each year and pride themselves on their hands-on approach.

“I don't think you'll find many farms left that do literally everything themselves,” Kendra noted. “From cleaning stalls to bathing to prepping to breeding, there's not an aspect of it we don't do. I think it makes a difference because we care. It's our livelihood. Everything on the farm is there year-round and so all the horses there have our attention 365 days a year.”

While Alex grew up in the Bluegrass and played a role on the family farm since childhood, Kendra hails from northwestern Pennsylvania. Her family had a small Thoroughbred breeding operation there and like her husband, she was handed equine-related responsibilities from an early age.

Kendra took the horsemanship skills she learned from her childhood and applied them to the yearling prep program at Penn Sales.

“My mom worked for Domino in the eighties when they were a premier sales company and the folks that taught her were pretty special,” she explained. “She handed that down to me. I want our horses to be respectful because a respectful horse is important for every step of their future, racing and beyond.”

Kendra recalled how a few years ago, a first-time employee had asked Kendra if she would be helping with cards during the sales. That newcomer quickly learned that Kendra can be found at the end of the shank for the majority of the sales season while simultaneously keeping a mental log of their consignment's visitors.

While Alex and Kendra said they are happy to continue passing on the spokesperson duties of their business to Frank and John, the younger generation of Penns are grateful for the opportunity to carry on the family legacy. Even their three children, they said, now have a small hand in the operation.

“I'm pretty proud to continue that tradition,” said Alex. “[Frank and John] pride themselves on their reputation and I hope to keep that going.”

“The Penns have done an amazing job raising horses for a long time,” Kendra added. “What John and Frank started has been easy for us to tailor to the sales market. We're here for the long haul, doing right by the horse and hoping that they have a sound and successful career.”

Perhaps equally as gratifying for the Penns as their first million-dollar sale, they also raised the winningest horse of 2022 in Beverly Park (Munnings), who won 15 of his 30 starts last year. The Penns said they believe that the hard-knocking horse's success may be attributed in some part to the way he was raised and the land he was raised on.

“That's something that is very important to us is letting them be horses,” Kendra said. “We raise them as racehorses and hope that the soundness carries them through. We bring them here to let people see that and hopefully they go on and be racehorses.

The post Penn Family Riding High into Book 3 After Seven-Figure Sale appeared first on TDN | Thoroughbred Daily News | Horse Racing News, Results and Video | Thoroughbred Breeding and Auctions.

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A Penn Full of Think

Well, okay, maybe he has retired–but Frank Penn has never quit.

“You know the problem with life?” he asks with a chuckle. “By the time you know everything you need to know, you're too damn old to do anything with it.”

But that won't keep the rest of us from profiting. We're not here to learn about the half-dozen mares Penn still shares with brother John and nephew Alex, over at their place near Paris, nor about the show horses keeping him interested in his own paddocks. Instead we're at chez Penn, on the Mount Horeb Pike outside Lexington, simply because few in our community bring longer experience to the ever-renewing challenges of the Turf. He's served 17 years on the city planning commission, twice as many as trustee of Georgetown College. He was one of the founding fathers of Horse Country, and has been with the KTA/KTOB forever. Nowadays, even at 78, he's helping the Agricultural Finance Board in Frankfort.

Still immersed, then, in the 21st Century Bluegrass. But have any of you, for instance, lately worked a sale the way he did, half a century ago–when Penn Brothers sold 70 yearlings in a single afternoon at Keeneland?

“It was unbelievable,” he recalls. “We had every third horse that went through. Never worked harder in my life. Talk about learning how to do things, how to cut and cover. We couldn't clean stalls. All we'd do is pitch it up in the corner and put more bedding in.

“Now, we didn't prep these horses like you do now. In the wintertime we ran them like cattle, put a halter on literally a month before the sale. We had catch-pens, we'd put a halter on, trim them, worm them, turn them back out. Of course when we got them up there [to Keeneland], you'd have three or four getting loose, running over the hill. But everybody's did that. And everybody sold their whole draft.”

After all, he never saw a horse with bad feet in the Pampas, when he had a chance to see how they did things down there.

“But I guess they were just bred different then,” he says with a shrug.

So, too, were the horsemen. As he puts it himself, Penn “became an economic asset at 14.” Bear in mind that his father and two uncles bought their farm at the end of the 1920s, even as all hope, all belief, was being gnawed out of their generation.

“They paid $350 an acre for 200 acres,” Penn explains. “They put 160 of those acres in tobacco and it brought a dollar a pound. A year later, it brought a quarter a pound. On the other hand, during the Depression they had all the help they could hire. So they just kept expanding. They were three risk-takers, and they knew how to work.”

By the time young Penn was putting his shoulder to the wheel, they had 480 steers–and a couple of hundred Thoroughbreds.

“They'd bought a farm that had horses on it,” he says. “Belonged to an Oklahoma oilman. So they just started boarding them. That's when they learned to be horsemen. And Oscar, the oldest brother, he really got into it. He studied it and decided that we needed two stallions. Well, we needed two stallions like we needed a hole in our head. But we'd set tobacco till noon, go in, eat right quick, go breed two mares, set tobacco till dark, breed two more mares.”

Penn was actually raised downtown. By living there, his family could share the same commute as the labor, day-hires who climbed onto the canopied pick-up at designated street corners every morning. By 14, Penn was leading a tobacco-topping gang. A year later, he was helping to haul lumber out of the mountains to construct huge barns. For years, “tobacco supported our horse habit.”

But so, too, did the steers–in the sense that one kind of husbandry supported another. A man won't panic, foaling, if he's pulled plenty of calves as a boy. Penn learned the hallmarks of good land, too. He knew, for instance, to be wary when cedars thrived in dry weather.

“Cedars only grow on marginal land,” he explains. “I learned all that stuff, growing up. These were three old, cynical men. But they knew land, and knew that's what they needed to produce the animals they wanted, the tobacco they wanted. Same with this land here. The number of good horses raised by the Elkhorn Creek is staggering. Lee Eaton taught me that. I used to think it was crazy. Then I saw Bold Forbes, and all the rest, and started believing it.”

Penn had grown up chain harrowing, soil testing, just doing what farmers did. Nowadays he sees people coming into the Bluegrass and feeding high-protein alfalfa. He can spot those easy enough.

“All you got to do is go around and see which ones have all that mud [i.e poultice] on their legs,” he says. “Pythiosis. Way too much in the feed tub. That grass out there, if it heads out, it's 18% protein. That's why you keep topping your pastures, you don't want it to head out.”

They bought weanlings before the word “pinhook” had entered the bloodstock lexicon, with only Stanley Petter ahead of the curve. Besides foaling out 50 mares, then, they would buy 20-odd weanlings.

“We found out that you could buy a weanling for $300 to $500 and sell it for $2,500 to $5,000,” he says. “You could raise those babies like you raised steers, but the profit per horse was so much better.

“We'd bed those weanlings on tobacco stems. We had a tobacco warehouse, so we could get carloads of that stuff. It was one of the cleanest things you could use at the time, when we didn't have woodchips or shavings. And then you'd take it out and spread it as fertilizer.”

But whatever Penn learned from steers, it was horses that taught him love. He bought his first mare at 16, as soon as he had a driver's license. For a while the Penns had a satellite farm in Ocala, and that was another vital chapter in his adolescence: selling 2-year-olds at Hialeah.

“We'd raise 15 or so down there, broke them, did the whole thing,” he recalls. “So really I got baptized pretty good, pretty young, though it wasn't as speed-crazy as now. Anyway I learned about sand colic, about fire ants, all that kind of stuff. It was all experience, and it served me well.”

Knowing what he wanted to do in life, it was only to please his mother–so that she could say that he'd “attended” college–that he consented to a single semester at Georgetown. But then he got his Vietnam draft number, and it was the kind that made you gulp. Suddenly he had to engage.

“Every hour I wasn't in class, I was in the library catching up,” Penn recalls. “Because if I flunked out, 90 days later I'd be in a rice paddy.”

Whether or not Georgetown College saved his life, it certainly changed it. He has been serving that institution in various roles ever since graduating in 1968. Around that time his father and uncles began to dismantle their partnership, and help the next generation on its way. His parents gave Penn the downpayment on an 87-acre plot, the core of which is where he remains today.

“But I soon found that my tobacco wasn't supporting my horse habit,” he recalls. “And then I got married, had kids, and had to find another way. I started boarding horses, and found out right quick that the only people you board horses for are the ones that can pay you. The economics I'd learned in college taught me that it's all about cashflow. You could be worth $2 million, but if you don't have cashflow, it doesn't matter. All you're doing is borrowing and paying.”

What got the household on an even keel was an unraced Pretense mare Penn bought for $34,000. She turned out to have a son in training with Wayne Lukas. He won the GI Remsen S. and started among the favorites for the Kentucky Derby. Penn rolled the dice, managed to get a season to Seattle Slew, and sold the mare for seven figures to Juddmonte.

He paid his $450,000 covering fee, took the rest to the bank,  and discovered the pleasant novelty of solvency.

“My friends and family all said, 'You're stupid to sell that mare,'” he recalls. “But the time to get out of debt is when you can. And a couple of years later I could have bought that mare back for $50,000. She never threw another horse that could run.”

They built their house, and built a client base: a small, loyal group that thought the same way. When Penn packed up, his newest customer had been there 20 years.

“We were lucky enough to board horses for people that wanted to enjoy the life with us,” he reflects. “They became like family, watched your kids grow up.”

These included Janis Whitham, her late husband Frank and their son Clay. The Whithams imported a Hall of Famer-in-the-making in Bayakoa (Arg), but thereafter it has all been acorn-to-oak stuff.

“Jan's a very intelligent lady,” Penn marvels. “She and Frank started out raising pinto beans. There's one stoplight where they live, and it's 25 miles to a grocery store. Jan trained Quarter Horses, raised five kids. And, to this day, she hasn't bought a mare. They had Bayakoa, and the Nodouble filly [Tuesday Evening], and one other, and just built up those families. She'll nick them on the bottom, she'll nick them on the top; and she's still doing it.”

The Whithams were determined to get one of Bayakoa's daughters to Mr. Prospector's last son in Kentucky, the unfashionable E Dubai. And that was how they got GI Breeders' Cup winner Fort Larned. From the Tuesday Evening line, meanwhile, came Four Graces (Majesticperfection), sold at Keeneland last November for $2.3 million.

But if Penn's professional career is rooted in the land, so too is his service to the community. When he bought his farm, straight out of college, he paid $2,000 an acre–“and that was $500 more than it was worth.” The value of land would soar, however, as developers realized they could get 10 perimeter acres for the price of one downtown. All around, the countryside was being cut to ribbons, in tracts too small to farm and too big to make communities.

“We were panicking,” Penn admits. “Go through other counties and you'll see it, all these 10-acre piano keys all down the road. Well, that's a terrible way to use land. We were able to convince the Lexington-Fayette County Urban Government to make the minimum subdivision 40 acres. And we've now preserved 32,000 acres. If you add what the Bluegrass Conservancy has been able to do, we saved 52,000 acres in Fayette County. Out of roughly 250,000. It's been a 22-year fight, but I feel good about where it is now, because I think people now understand the value of living here.”

And not just the economic value of the industry and its ancillaries. It was also about cultural identity and, what then remained latent, the resulting potential for tourism.

“John Gaines had it right,” Penn says. “He used to say that we live in the largest privately owned, privately maintained park system in the world.” He gestures towards the pike. “The city doesn't mow any of this. We mow all the rights of way. And why do we do that? Because our neighbor does. It's pride.”

Penn has stepped back from KEEP because it's time for the next generation to inherit the responsibilities that come with land.

“The average age of the Kentucky farmer is 60-plus,” he remarks. “A lot of land is going to change hands in the next 10 years or so. And how do you keep farmers, if farms are cut up in 10-, five-, even three-acre tracts? You don't produce anything. And who's going to come in and buy those tracts and put them back together, when each has its own house? The houses elevate the price of the land, and that price doesn't justify farming it.”

The Purchase Development Rights program, redressing the difference in value, was key to maintaining those 40-acre tracts.

“We were able to make it look like Holsteins versus Dalmatians,” Penn says. “Instead of a piece here, a piece there.”

Penn was part of the team that presented to the tobacco succession program, coming away with $15 million and then got another $20 million from the city. The tobacco money was an apt dividend for a man who had spent much time on the other side of that particular fence, as president of the Council of Burley Tobacco.

Besides his own crop, Penn had managed tobacco for other horsefarms, including Calumet. He was ringside as multiple attorney generals sued the cigarette manufacturers, even as the state was figuring out that it could no longer support a proven carcinogenic. During the public furor, Penn had found himself sent out to bat for tobacco.

“So over several years I learned how to handle polarization!” he recalls. “Because the medical community came after you hard. And there I was, on every radio show, every debate, defending this stuff. I'd never say that smoking's not harmful to you. But I would say it's a personal choice. I'd say: 'Nobody ever held a gun on somebody and told them to go buy a pack of cigarettes. Look, half the people in this audience are overweight. The other half drink too much.' Now all those things are very harmful to you. But the difference was that the government was supporting tobacco. So you could see that it had to stop.”

His tobacco background, incidentally, prompts a fascinating analogy for the modern bloodstock market. Because in terms of prizing speed, Penn reckons that the 2-year-old sales have changed the game much as the cigarette filter did tobacco.

“Before filters, the Burley is what gave the flavor and aroma,” he explains. “The companies needed that tobacco. But once the filter came, they could buy it cheaper all over the world.”

Penn says that if the market is driven by a bullet work, then all pedigrees become the same–much as Rwandan tobacco would now serve just as well as Kentucky's.

“If we're basing everything on how fast they can work, then nobody is prizing three or four generations of soundness,” he reasons. “And not only do you have weaker bone, now you also have trainers no longer racing a horse fit. They're so concerned about their statistics, they won't run a horse until it's dead fit. But guess who pays for that? The owners.”

But nor does he attribute soundness solely to genes.

“If you only turn a young horse out for a couple of hours when it's a pretty day, he won't run,” he says. “He won't have bone density. He may grow up to be a beautiful horse. But when you put pressure on him, he'll fold up like a marshmallow.”

Obviously producing stock equal to the demands of the racetrack today feels more important than ever. And Penn feels that we can't complain about federal interference, when we either couldn't or wouldn't police the game properly ourselves.

“But I swore I would never be a cynic,” he says. “Because I grew up with three old men that were cynical as can be. I mean, they'd see long-haired hippies and tell you the world's come to an end. But they taught me how to work and to understand that work is not really work at all, if you enjoy what you do.”

When Penn needed bypass surgery, a decade ago, he was told that it was time to move on his handful of faithful clients.

“Done all I can do for you,” the doctor said. “You got to get away from the stress.”

“I don't have any stress!” Penn replied. “My farm's paid for!”

Now he smiles and shakes his head. “Yep, something's there, when [clients] have five mares on your farm worth a million dollars apiece and no insurance on them,” he says. “But I didn't see that as stress. I saw that as an opportunity to raise good horses.”

Now the stakes are lower. True, Penn and his brother have an Empire Maker mare whose son Arklow (Arch) won $3 million. But whenever he needs to, he can just stroll to the creek and soon retrieve perspective.

“I have a deck built down there,” he says. “And I take my Racing Form or Wall Street Journal, and just sit there and hear that water go by, listen to the birds chirping, and life's not too bad.

“The point is that we all try to make a business out of it, but really and truly, it's a sport. It's an advocation. And it's so hard to do that people want to try it. You see them putting millions of dollars into this thing and along comes Rich Strike, Birdstone.

“I've always been in love with the horse. Can't be like that with 400 steers, but go down to the barn and every one of those mares are different. And I've been fortunate to be involved in some really neat things. I'm not saying I started any of them. But for whatever reason I was asked to participate, and I never knew how to quit.”

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Arklow Recognized As 2020 Kentucky Thoroughbred Development Fund’s Earner Of The Year

Donegal Racing's well-traveled Grade 1-winner Arklow was honored Wednesday for his exploits right at home as the 6-year-old horse was feted as the 2020 Kentucky Thoroughbred Development Fund's Earner of the Year.

“We're very excited about this award for Arklow. It's very cool,” said Jerry Crawford, founder and president of the Des Moines-based Donegal Racing partnership. “This business is so, so hard for owners. When you get a horse that can pay some feed bills, it's gratifying in multiple ways to say nothing of all the excitement it creates.”

Now 7, Arklow was recognized at the Kentucky-bred Champions Awards ceremony, presented by the Kentucky Thoroughbred Owners and Breeders (KTOB) and the Kentucky Thoroughbred Association (KTA), at Keeneland. Frank Penn, co-breeder of the $160,000 Keeneland September yearling purchase in 2015, accepted the trophy on Donegal's behalf.

The Brad Cox-trained Arklow earned $849,734 in his seven-race campaign last year, capped by taking Kentucky Downs' $1 million, Grade 3 Calumet Turf Cup for the second time in three years, sandwiched around a second in 2019. Arklow also finished second by a head in Churchill Downs' $100,000 Louisville Stakes (G3). The son of the late Claiborne Farm stallion Arch concluded 2020 by shipping out to Del Mar — his 12th different racetrack – to capture the Hollywood Turf Cup (G2).

The KTDF award recognizes Kentucky-bred horses racing much of the year in the Commonwealth and is based on earnings at Kentucky tracks. Arklow earned $608,184 racing in graded stakes at Kentucky Downs, Churchill Downs and Keeneland. He made an additional $80,000 while a close sixth in the $4 million Longines Breeders' Cup Turf at Keeneland, though those earnings did not count toward the award.

“Donegal has always loved racing in Kentucky,” Crawford said. “The KTDF purse supplements make you love it even more. Take a horse like Arklow, who only ran in graded stakes in 2020. The Kentucky-bred incentive program rewards excellence, being staged against open company. As purses in Kentucky have increased, in no small measure because of the KTDF, so has the competition. So to be KTDF Earner of the Year becomes even more of a feat in which my partners and I take great pride.”

Cox, the 2020 Eclipse Award winner as North America's outstanding trainer, also was recognized Wednesday as the KTDF Trainer of the Year.

“The KTDF is a great program and makes lucrative opportunities for Kentucky horsemen,” Cox said. “Kentucky-bred horses compete world-wide, but it's obviously nice when you can race right here in our own state. It's an achievement, for sure, for Arklow to be the KTDF Earner of the Year, and I'm extremely proud to be the KTDF Trainer of the Year as well.”

For his career, Arklow is 8-7-2 in 31 starts with earnings of $2,666,116 for Donegal Racing, Joseph Bulger and the Estate of Peter Coneway. Those victories include New York's Grade 1 Joe Hirsch Turf Classic at Belmont Park in 2019.

“The KTDF awards have always been reflective of what's running within the circuit,” said Chauncey Morris, the KTA-KTOB's executive director. “To see a horse like Arklow and owner Donegal Racing at the highest level here in Kentucky just shows how we're evolving into the top tier racing jurisdiction in the United States.”

Crawford said Arklow got a couple of months off after running in the Breeders' Cup Turf for the third time.

“There's at least a 50-percent chance of him getting back to the races on May 1 in the Grade 1, Old Forester Bourbon Turf Classic on Derby Day,” Crawford said. “And for the fourth straight year, we will be pointing for the Calumet Turf Cup at Kentucky Downs, where Arklow has had two wins and a second out of three tries.”

Arklow has raced on Kentucky Derby Day twice before, earning his first stakes victory in the 2017 American Turf (G2) and finishing fourth in the Old Forester in 2018. The Sept. 11 Calumet Turf Cup will run run as a Grade 2 stakes for the first time for 2021.

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