Preakness History: Simms Made History And Changed The Way Jockeys Ride

Our readers here at the Paulick Report seem to love a good lookback at horse racing history. In considering the best subjects for our 2020 Triple Crown coverage, this seemed like a good time to make note of the crucial role Black horsemen have played in the early days of our sport, and in this series of races. Many of the sport's most revered heroes around the turn of the 20th century were ridden, cared for, trained, and sometimes owned by Black horsemen whose equine expertise sometimes stretched back generations. While some, like jockeys Jimmy Winkfield and Isaac Murphy, have been the subjects of well-researched biographies in recent years, others may be less known to racing fans. It is clear that their contributions played an essential role in the lives of horses that became influential in American Thoroughbred history and bloodlines.

Today, we conclude our series on Black horsemen of Triple Crown history. You can access our Derby profile of Ansel Williamson here and our Belmont profile of Edward Dudley Brown here. 

If you've ever looked at an oil painting depicting a racing scene from the 1800s, you've probably noticed that the riders don't look much like modern jockeys. They seem taller, with legs hanging down the sides of their horses and may be depicted leaning forward slightly or sitting straight up as though they are gentlemen out for a forward canter behind foxhounds.

Many historians have credited Tod Sloan with popularizing the modern riding position, in which a jockey takes short stirrups and crouches low over the horse's withers, but one of America's early Black jockeys also had an influence in changing the way horses are ridden in races.

Willie Simms was part of the second wave of Black horsemen after the end of slavery, and he was given a leg up by men who had started their lives and racing careers in slavery. Born in 1870 outside Augusta, Ga., Simms was initially said to be attracted to racing because at a young age he was fascinated by the rainbow of brightly-colored silks that whipped around racecourses. He first began riding races at 17 and burst onto national racing scene at the age of 21 when he won the 1891 Spinaway aboard Promenade and went on to become the fifth-leading jockey in the nation.

His talent was quickly recognized and he was given a $10,500 retainer by owner Pierre Lorillard – a fee bigger than that of white competitors at the time. Besides Lorillard, his list of clients included every major stable owner of the age, highlighted by John E. Madden, James R. Keene, and August Belmont. He picked up steam rapidly in the early 1890s, winning the Belmont Stakes in back-to-back years with Commanche and Henry of Navarre and the Kentucky Derby in 1896 with Ben Brush, the favorite horse originally owned and trained by Edward Dudley Brown. (Brown sold Ben Brush before the Derby, but the horse was the centerpiece in his career, which included time as a rider, a trainer, and an owner.)

Simms is also the only Black jockey ever to have won the Preakness, which he did in 1898 with Sly Fox. As such, he's also the only Black rider to have won the three races now recognized as the Triple Crown, although not in the same year.

For the first 11 years of the publication of Goodwin's annual turf guide, the leading rider spot was a Black jockey five times, with Simms picking up the title in 1893 and 1894.

Due in part to his overwhelming success in the States, Sloan talked Simms into taking his tack to England. Historical accounts depict Sloan, who was white, as having a complicated relationship with race, openly using racial slurs to and about his Black valet but kicking back for a beer with Simms after the races.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Black riders were much less common in England at the time than they were in the States, and Simms' welcome wasn't an entirely pleasant one. The crowd gawked at him as he went to the post, and the press sniffed disapproval at his presence on the course. Once they got a look at the way he rode, their disapproval deepened to horror.

It seems unlikely that Simms was the first or the only race rider to shorten his stirrups and crouch over his horses. Sloan was already doing it back in the States, and before him, top jockeys Abe Hawkins and Gilbert Patrick (“Gilpatrick”) probably also hovered over their horses from time to time. Originally, the style actually came from races between the precursors to Quarter Horses in colonial times or even from certain Native American riding styles, according to writer Edward Hotaling in “The Great Black Jockeys.”

It was a logical move – the rider's weight would be distributed across the top of the saddle through the stirrup leathers, rather than a dead weight over the center of the horse's back, and a crouch allowed the rider to be more aerodynamic and balance more securely. These arguments were immaterial to the very traditional British racing scene at the time. The low, squat way a rider with “the American seat” balanced on a horse drew people to liken Simms to a monkey balancing on a stick (though it's unclear how much of the comparison was related to racism and how much was a commentary on his equitation). Even upon his death, that's the descriptor reporters would harken back to.

If his reception troubled him, you wouldn't know it from Simms' performance – he became the first American rider (of any color) to win a race in England aboard an American horse for American connections. Despite the accomplishment, he didn't pick up as many mounts in England as he could in America, so he came back to the States, where he was edged out for that year's riding title by fellow Black jockey “Soup” Perkins.

Jockey Willie Simms (at center)

When Sloan brought the same technique to England a couple of years later, it was met with disapproval but ultimately grudging acceptance, given Sloan's success – and, possibly, the fact he was a more acceptable color to the audience.

Simms' victories on the track paid him well – by one estimate, he's thought to have raked in $20,000 a year at the height of his career (over $600,000 in today's money). He had no family and invested his winnings well, buying real estate wherever he could. He purchased an estate in his hometown of Augusta with a gymnasium, riding stable, and a six-horse carriage. He wasn't alone in his arrival to wealth thanks to riding races – his generation of riders in particular, who had been born after the end of slavery and able to keep their own winnings from the beginning, inspired not just adoration from fans of the turf but upward mobility. Not everyone liked that.

Turfwriter Hugh Keough was open about his hostility and discomfort with the rise of Black jockeys in the sport.

“The praise that was bestowed upon the colored jockeys for their skill was accepted as a compliment to the entire race, and the porter that made up your berth took his share of it and assumed a perkiness that got on your nerves,” he wrote.

“Since jobs as Pullman porters were highly valued and often depended upon the ability to assume a posture of servility for the delectation of any white ticketholder, it seems highly unlikely that Keough actually saw real evidence that railroad porters' behavior changed depending on the performances of Black horsemen,” opined Katherine Mooney of Keough's assertion in her book 'Race Horse Men'. “But Keough believed that he saw it, because he was afraid that he might. And that was all that mattered.”

As time went on, white discomfort with Black success in racing grew. While fans of the sport might be in awe of a jockey's magical abilities with a horse, they were also threatened by this shift in the power balance – not just that Black riders could beat white riders on the turf, but that they could accumulate wealth, be proud of their accomplishments, and [potentially] use that success to push back against Jim Crow laws that kept things very much separate and unequal. White riders began targeting Black jockeys in races with dangerous crowding, boxing in, and other tactics they hoped would make their rivals give up, pull up, or be injured or killed. (To say nothing of the risk to their horses.) They began warning owners not to hire Black riders – a combination, perhaps, of racism and a desire to eliminate fearsome competitors.

Of course, this would later spill over into licensing decisions. Gradually, commissions stopped granting licenses to Black jockeys until they slowly disappeared from the starting gate.

As for Simms, he was reported to have retired around 1903 due to weight struggles. In 1907, the man once ranked as the top jockey in the country was barred from racetracks after he allegedly provided a counterfeit ticket when trying to attend the races at Gravesend. According to a report from The Brooklyn Citizen, Simms had supposedly lost his fortune to gambling by then and was attending the races as a tout. When racing officials learned of this, they revoked his complimentary entry badge he had previously held. Simms denied the story. He died of pneumonia in 1927 – by which time Black jockeys were a rarity, according to one report of his career published shortly after his death.

Simms was inducted into the National Museum of Racing's Hall of Fame in 1977. He remains the only Black rider to have won all three Triple Crown races.

Thanks to the Keeneland Library and the International Museum of the Horse's Chronicle of African Americans In The Horse Industry project for their assistance in research for this series.

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The Friday Show Presented By Woodbine: Coming Soon – Horseracing Integrity And Safety Authority

Earlier this week, the Horseracing Integrity and Safety Act sailed through the U.S. House of Representatives with bipartisan support and is awaiting action by the Senate, whose majority leader, Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, is co-sponsor along with Kirsten Gillibrand of New York.The House version of the bill was co-sponsored by Reps. Andy Barr of Kentucky and Paul Tonko of New York.

McConnell has said he intends to get the legislation passed before the end of the year.

If that happens, what is the timeline for implementation of a new national Horseracing Integrity and Safety Authority the legislation would create to oversee all of the medication and safety policies for Thoroughbred racing in the U.S.? Who would comprise the governing body and how will those individuals be chosen? How will medication policy enforcement and drug testing overseen by the United States Anti-Doping Agency differ from the current methods employed by state racing commissions?

In this week's edition of the Friday Show, publisher Ray Paulick and editor in chief Natalie Voss try to answer some of the most frequently asked questions about this major development in the horse racing world.

Watch the Friday Show below:

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Oscar De La Torre: Racism Within PETA Needs To Be Addressed

Oscar de la Torre, an activist and organizer who has led efforts to protect backstretch workers at Southern California racetracks, recently authored an opinion piece in the Spanish language newspaper La Opinión in which he said animal rights extremists have subjected Hispanic workers to openly hostile racism while protesting against horse racing at Santa Anita and Del Mar.

“Based on my experience over the last several years helping to organize largely immigrant Latinx workers in the horse racing community in California,” de la Torre wrote in an English language version of the article sent to the Paulick Report, “it is time for the animal advocacy extremists who oppose the sport to take a long look in the mirror and ask themselves some hard questions, too.

“At one demonstration,” he wrote, “a PETA supporter called us 'uneducated monkeys' and another told our workers to 'go back to their taco truck.' One white animal advocate inferred that a Latina woman on our side 'looked like a prostitute' and on that same day the San Diego County Sheriffs arrested a PETA activist for pushing and injuring a horse racing supporter.

“Unfortunately,” de la Torre added, “the reality is that these animal advocacy extremists are primarily privileged white people for whom animal welfare is a higher priority than the economic well being of their neighbors of color.

Following is the full translated version of the article.

Racism Within PETA Needs To Be Addressed
By Oscar de la Torre
Our country has reached a point of reckoning as it relates to racism. Mahatma Gandhi's celebrated quote, “we must be the change we want to see in the world,” couldn't be more relevant than today. George Floyd's tragic death at the hands of Minneapolis police was the flashpoint that inspired activism not seen since the days of the Civil Rights Movement. It has led to many companies, cultural institutions and other organizations re-examining their own commitments to equality and diversity. It has spurred a national conversation about systemic racism, inherent bias and unequal treatment of people of color — some conscious racism by people of ill will and some unconscious support of systems and institutions that need mending.

Based on my experience over the last several years helping to organize largely immigrant Latinx workers in the horse racing community in California, it is time for the animal advocacy extremists who oppose the sport to take a long look in the mirror and ask themselves some hard questions, too.

In the last 18 months, as backstretch workers have rallied to protect their livelihoods confronting animal advocates at California's race tracks and at public meetings of the California Horse Racing Board, our people have been subjected to openly hostile racism from those who demand a ban on horse racing. At one demonstration, a PETA supporter called us “uneducated monkeys” and another told our workers to “go back to their taco truck.” One white animal advocate inferred that a Latina woman on our side “looked like a prostitute” and on that same day the San Diego County Sheriffs arrested a PETA activist for pushing and injuring a horse racing supporter. Most recently on opening day at Del Mar one of their prominent leaders gave made an obscene gesture at us and pulled a full “Karen” by calling the police on some of our workers, claiming falsely that they were threatening to infect her with Covid 19.

Unfortunately, the reality is that these animal advocacy extremists are primarily privileged white people for whom animal welfare is a higher priority than the economic well being of their neighbors of color. What else can we conclude from their callous disregard of our livelihoods? The racist remarks and treatment we have experienced points to a deeper problem within these groups.

A quick Google search on “racism, PETA” produced a series of stories where PETA compares the enslavement of blacks to animal abuse. This isn't new for PETA. In one of its provocative ads, PETA compared eating meat to the treatment of Jews during the Holocaust. More recently, PETA operatives hijacked the Black Lives Matter movement to promote their rejection of “speciesism.” In an ad barred from airing during this year's Super Bowl, the organization depicted animals taking a knee while the national anthem played in the background. Perhaps a little sensitivity training is in order.

Unless I missed something, based on a review of its web site and recent annual reports, there is not a single person of color on PETA's Board or among its executive management team. I wonder if all those Hollywood celebrities (also exclusively white per the PETA web site) who lend their likeness and send donations to PETA would think twice if they knew how vastly under-represented Blacks and Latinos are there?

The people I work with know that race horses receive the best care possible. They are tended to round the clock and kept strong, fit and healthy. The animal advocacy extremists want racing banned, with no consideration for the consequences of that ban. A prohibition of the sport would create a humanitarian crisis, as it would end thousands of jobs for decent, hard-working people and put them at economic risk during a homelessness crisis throughout our state. And it would create an animal welfare crisis as these horses would face mass euthanasia without the income from racing that supports their care. Knowing this to be true, the California State Legislature and Gov. Newsom have implemented a series of reforms to strengthen the oversight and safety of the horses under our care and every worker I know welcomes the change as our jobs depend on horses living and thriving.

But put aside for a moment our vastly different points of view about horse racing. As the country reflects on systems and ideologies that oppress and marginalize people of color, it is time to call out the hypocrisy of those who espouse to advocate for animal rights while at the same time show blatant disregard for human rights.

Oscar de la Torre is an activist and organizer working to end systemic racism while advancing social, environmental and economic justice throughout California. He has served eighteen years on the Santa Monica Malibu Unified School District Board of Education and is President of the California Latino School Board Association. He is the founder of the Pico Youth & Family Center, an organization credited with reducing youth violence and advancing peace, unity & social justice in LA's Westside communities. Currently, he is the lead organizer working to strengthen protections for backstretch workers in horse racing throughout Southern California.  He can be reached at odelatorre16@yahoo.com

 

 

 

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The Sculptor In The Tack Room: Horses Kept Calling Maksimovic Back To The Racetrack

Great writers such as Red Smith and Damon Runyon always maintained the best stories were on the backside of racetracks. If they had known Djuro “Max” Maksimovic, they would have pointed to him as proof. Arguably (or maybe inarguably) Max was the most unusual man ever to walk a backside shedrow.

I came to know Max through a phone call from David Schneck, racetrack representative for the Kentucky Thoroughbred Association, whose office on the Churchill Downs backside was next to the 12 foot by 12 foot tack room that was home and hearth to Max.

David called me to tell me about a clay sculpture Max created of jockey Isaac Murphy astride 1884 Kentucky Derby winner Buchanan. The hope was that a story in The Blood-Horse would generate interest and funding for a bronze casting. The goal was to see the casting displayed permanently in the Kentucky Derby Museum at Churchill Downs or even the National Museum of Racing in Saratoga Springs, N.Y.

There may have been an ultimate and ulterior goal, however, that was far more important: to see a gifted man find what he had lost on the backside.

I met Max, at the time a groom for then-trainer Steve Penrod, in David's office after morning work for barn workers, which ends around 11 a.m. and begins at anywhere from 4 to 5 a.m.

Max's lined, goateed face was quintessentially Slavic, and he was a Serb from what was then Yugoslavia. If you were casting extras in a movie about Lenin-era Russia and the Russian Revolution, Max would be an easy choice.

His goateed face was also that of an artist and an intellectual. His eyes were squinted, like many whose work is outdoors, and they shone and flashed as he spoke. His tanned skin was acquiring the sags and wrinkles that await most of us in old age. He was 60 at the time. If you saw a photo of Max with a neutral background or in an environment away from the racetrack, you might place him mentally in a museum gallery or an artist's studio. A backside of a racetrack is the last place you'd expect to find him.

You most definitely would not have placed a former Fulbright Scholar there.

Giftedness with sculpting was manifest early in his life through a literally crafty means of subterfuge to avoid finishing meals as a child. He described himself in childhood as a “bad doer,” racetrack parlance for a horse that doesn't eat well.

“I would take pieces of bread and form small animal figurines. My parents would be so taken with what I had made, they would forget I was supposed to be eating the bread,” he recalled with a laugh.

An early interest in horses may have come from his father's position as chief veterinarian in a still horse-drawn Yugoslav military after World War II.

His father's position also brought him before Marshal Tito, president of Yugoslavia, when he was hospitalized as a child, and the legendary national leader visited the hospital for the kind of appearances heads of state make for photo opportunities.

“When Tito came to visit I was introduced to him as 'our little sculptor,'” Max recalled. “Tito asked if I needed anything and I said, 'Yes. I don't have any clay.'

“He snapped his fingers and one of his aides wrote something down on a pad. I was teased by the other kids that Tito would forget. Then the clay arrived from Italy.

“It was the best clay there was.”

In Max's accented English he became, in his words, “some kind of child prodigy.” Entered in a competition for art students in Max's native city of Belgrade, his entry was declared Best in Show, but he almost didn't collect his award. The judge called his mother to tell her work entered under Max's name was indeed, the most outstanding, but there was a problem: they didn't know if Max had really sculpted it. After all, he was only nine years old competing against the best Belgrade art students, some who were twice his age.

“My mother called this lady and sent me to see one of the judges with some clay,” he said. “I told this lady I'd make her anything she wanted me to make and I made her a cow. I did it in two minutes with ears, split hooves, tail, and horns.

“She said, 'That's all I need to see.'”

Max received the award.

Max's first experience with horses was when his father was assigned to duty with a Yugoslav military detachment in Burma. It was there that a teenaged Max joined a riding club and wound up driving trotters in harness racing.  Returning to Yugoslavia after his father's posting, Max was accepted into the Academy of Fine Arts in Belgrade. Max related how he never really tried at his studies although finishing at the top of his class. This was a precursor of things to come in his life — “My mind was on horses.”

It was on completion of academy studies that a Fulbright Scholarship became part of Max's story. It took him to Boston University to study sculpture, but only for one year. Iron Curtain Yugoslavia blocked customary two-year tenures for nationals receiving a Fulbright in fear that they would not return home.

Max left the university after one year — to lead horses in the shedrow of barns on the backside of Suffolk Downs in Boston.

The reasons for this destination rather than a studio or even a teaching position in America or back home in Yugoslavia are open to a lot of speculation among friends and others who came to know Max. He shrugged with a mixture of both regret and resignation over a lifetime spent on the racetrack.

“If I had to live my life all over again, I would try the art way,” as he described it. “I probably would, but…” He never finished the sentence.

Art, however, found Max on the backside. One day at Churchill Downs, a horse owner and client of Steve Penrod saw Max creating a clay horse for a child.

“She watched me and asked if I would be so kind to make her one. Later, she went to an art store and bought me some clay.

“It sat around and I never did anything with it.”

Two years later, the late wife of Steve Penrod told Max that the owner was dying of cancer.

Others in the KTA office looked away and I shut off a tape recorder as Max wept for several minutes. Collecting himself, Max recounted that the owner, before her death, came out to Churchill Downs to see a sculpture of a horse Max created for her before she died. She loved it and paid for two castings, one for her and the other for Max to keep. The cost was easily in the thousand of dollars.

The casting initiated a return, of sorts, to his gift. Churchill Downs commissioned Max to create a bust of Julian “Buck” Wheat that is in the trainer's lounge. But before that, a documentary on Isaac Murphy gave him an idea for the sculpture of the jockey and Buchanan.

I remember well walking the few steps from the KTA office to the tack room where Max was living to see the sculpture. It sat on a wooden table, approximately three feet long and perhaps 18 inches high. Its size dominated the small room but was in strong contrast to clothing hung on hooks around a closet-less room meant for tack–bridles, saddles, the accouterments for an animal.

A closer look at Max's sculpture

I was speechless at the grace, accuracy, and artistry of his sculpture.

The work galvanized Max in a way far different from how he was in the interview next door. He began to talk about the art of sculpting in a kind of soliloquy.

“What sculpting is about is fear of mistakes popping up after it is cast. As long as I can see something that needs correcting, I won't let it go.” He talked about staying away from the work and not even looking at it, which is hard to imagine in the cramped room. “You keep working at it and leaving it till you can't do anything more.”

He used the words “mortally afraid” as he talked about “construction failures” that can cause a sculpture to fall to one side before it is cast.

“I have to make sure it stands right and has balance, then the right proportions–the proper length in the legs, the right-sized head.” With passion and an absence of self-consciousness, he said he was “bound to the suspensory ligaments and the musculature.”

I wrote a 550-word story for the old “People” column in what was the Derby results issue of The Blood-Horse. It is the largest-selling edition annually for the magazine and it was the best chance for exposure and a casting of Max's statue.

For a few of the 12 years that followed, I checked with David on Max's piece. We both gave up on the piece ever being cast after a time, and it still sits in the storage room where David lives.

David texted me last week that Max had died, one of the victims of the coronavirus.

Looking at photos of Max and the sculpture, there is a parallel between the work and this man's life. The sculpture may never be cast; Max's life was never cast into a role befitting his gift.

Neither is finished, perhaps.

The piece remains, as it is now, in clay rather than bronze, a tribute waiting to be made to a black jockey of great historical importance. Recognition of the role of African Africans in racing (and their elimination, largely, at the turn of the 20th century through discrimination) has immense value, particularly in current times of racial strife. Cast and placed in the Derby or Saratoga museums, it could both preserve history and carry a vision of a future for African-Americans in racing.

For Max, it addresses and might answer a question one fellow racetracker had that all of us who knew him asked: “What's a man that talented doing on the backside?”

The answer, perhaps to come with a permanent casting of Murphy and Buchanan, is Max may find himself where we all believed he should have been all along — in a museum, finishing his life, even after death, “the art way.”

Ken Snyder is a Kentucky-based freelance turf writer whose work has appeared in a number of horse racing magazines. He currently is a regular contributor to British-based Gallop Magazine.

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