Man O'War (28 page)

“But it's very tempting, isn't it?” the reporter persisted.

“No, frankly, it isn't,” Feustel said. “We have bigger things in view.”

The following week Man o' War was taken to the track only for light exercise. He began the “unwinding” that would take him back to the pastures of the Glen Riddle Farm in Maryland for the winter. Even though he was galloped slowly in the mornings, he attracted more attention than any other horse at
the track. The acclaim of all turfdom still lingered in the air, for despite the fact that he was only a two-year-old there was no question but that Man o' War was the “horse of the year.” It was the highest honor that exacting horsemen could bestow upon him. He towered above all other stars on the track. He had raced 10 times, with 9 firsts and 1 second, for $83,325 in purse winnings. That he would go on to become even greater as a three-year-old, few horsemen doubted.

With the approach of cool weather, the Riddle stable moved to Maryland. Danny was glad to get away from the racetrack for a while. It was nice to relax, to rest. And for Man o' War it was a time to play. Danny enjoyed his colt to the utmost, taking care of him all by himself. Once more they were the close friends of Nursery Stud days, for as big and famous as Man o' War had become, he still had many coltish ways about him.

Danny watched him roam the lush pastures of Glen Riddle Farm, his curious eyes finding familiar sights, his ears and nose catching sounds and scents he had known before. He played like a colt, romping and kicking from one end of the pasture to the other. But he ran as no other colt had ever run! He dug into the earth, cutting it with flaying hoofs and sending great chunks of sod behind him in a mad, whirlwind dash along the fence. Here he ran as he wanted to race … with no bit, no hands to hold him back! Perhaps that was the reason Man o' War never ran as other colts did in pasture, well within themselves. Only here was he free from all restraint. And most of the time it was only Danny who observed this blazing speed. More than ever he was humbled by it. There was no horse in the world like Man o' War. There never had been. There never would be again.

Fall passed into winter, and Man o' War became a three-year-old.
He had grown like a weed. By spring he stood well over sixteen hands and his red chestnut coat was rich and glowing with good health and vitality. His body had thickened to keep up with his rapid growth. Weighing 1,100 pounds, he had a remarkable girth of seventy-two inches.

Never had a three-year-old looked as magnificent as Man o' War, Danny thought. His powerful forehand and quarters were matched by a barrel that was almost a perfect cylinder. His forearms and shoulders had developed enormously, keeping pace with the weight and thickness of his long, round barrel. His flanks were deep and well skirted and his loins broad and powerful. His stifle joints were wide and flaring so that when he ran through the pasture they swung free and clear of his barrel.

Feustel watched him one morning with Danny and said, “He's matured better than any colt I've ever seen. He's filled and rounded-out to perfection.”

Danny's eyes glowed as Man o' War came whipping around the fence toward them. “He looks more like a stallion than ever,” he said. “See how his neck dips in front of the withers. And how it rises to a crest. No horse could look more masculine.”

Feustel nodded. “You notice a lot about this colt, Danny. You seldom miss anything.”

“We've been together a long time,” Danny answered quietly.

“A long time,” Feustel repeated. His eyes left the horse to study the boy. He noted how much taller and broader Danny had grown since he'd been with the stable. The kid was maturing along with the colt. In a way they were a good deal alike. Danny had lost a lot of his awkwardness, too, moving with a deftness now that belied his big frame.

The trainer turned back to Man o' War. It was too bad in a way that Danny had been born big-boned. The kid wanted to do more than rub Man o' War. He'd have given anything to be a jockey and he probably would have made a good one. But there were other jobs for him besides rubbing horses. Danny was bound to do something big someday. Not that rubbing Man o' War wasn't pretty important in itself.

They watched the colt run from one end of the pasture to the other. Feustel said, “You're both a lot alike.”

Danny said, “I wish I could go so fast.” He hadn't meant it as a joke and didn't smile. How much he would have given to be up on Man o' War's back!

Feustel leaned against the fence. “Being with him is what counts, Danny,” he said understandingly. “That's more important than anything else. And you've been closer to him than the rest of us. You saw him foaled.”

Danny nodded but said nothing more. Later, when he put Man o' War back in his stall, he stroked the colt's head.
Feustel is right
, he thought.
Just being here is what counts … that's all that matters.

He continued rubbing Man o' War's broad forehead, then followed the line of the tapered nose down to the fine, delicate muzzle. He knew every inch of Man o' War, maybe better than anyone else, just as Feustel had said. How many other people had noticed that the colt's jowls had widened this winter and the muscle over them had thickened?

He pushed Man o' War's head gently away. “If looks mean anything, nothing will stop you ever,” he said quietly.

When he closed him up for the night, he called, “Good night, Red.” From within the stall came a muffled snort.

The other stables had not yet given up hope of beating the big red colt who had swept everything before him the preceding year. They knew from long experience that many sensational juveniles reached their peak at two years, never to improve. Many of the trainers believed that their own colts had been slow in developing and would show their real class at three years of age when the race distances were lengthened.

Few turfmen had any idea what was taking place at Glen Riddle Farm. If they had seen Man o' War in the spring, they would not have held such high hopes of defeating him.

“Going in the Kentucky Derby with him?” Feustel asked Mr. Riddle one morning.

The owner shook his head without taking his eyes from the chestnut colt. “No, the first of May is much too early to ask a three-year-old to go a mile and a quarter.”

“Even him?” Feustel studied the good bone structure of Man o' War, the flat cannons and feet so large and healthy. The Kentucky Derby's distance wouldn't break down this colt.

“Even him,” Mr. Riddle answered.

“There'll be a lot of pressure put on you to run him,” Feustel went on. “It'll take much of the public interest away from the Derby if he doesn't go.”

“We'll still wait,” Mr. Riddle said adamantly.

Louis Feustel nodded. “Okay,” he said. He would have liked to see Man o' War in the Kentucky Derby, but there'd be no changing the boss's mind. Mr. Riddle could be an extremely stubborn man.

“No horse of mine will go to Churchill Downs so early in the year,” the owner went on. “Let the others knock themselves out. We'll wait.”

Feustel said, “He's in top physical shape. We'll step up his works now.”

“The middle of May will be early enough to race him,” Mr. Riddle decided. “We'll go in the Preakness, right here in Maryland.”

Feustel's brow furrowed. “But I thought your plan called for us to move back to Belmont Park.”

“It does. I haven't changed it. We'll move the stable to Belmont the first of May and prepare there for the Preakness. It will be quiet with no racing there, and the facilities are better. We'll ship him down to Pimlico a couple of days before the race and return to Belmont immediately after.”

Feustel shrugged his shoulders. “It might not be the wisest thing to do, shipping just before the race, but I think he can handle it.”

“I think so too,” Mr. Riddle said. “There's always a lot of confusion at Pimlico around Preakness time. The later we arrive the better.”

“The public will maul him anyway,” Feustel said. “Racing is in the blood of all Marylanders, and he'll heat them up still more.”

Mr. Riddle smiled at his trainer's words but said thoughtfully, “Maryland is his home. It's only right that he makes his first start in the Preakness.”

“What about Johnny Loftus?” Feustel asked. He and everyone else in the business knew that the jockey was having a difficult time getting a license to ride that year. Too many trainers and owners had complained about his not following their riding instructions.

“I appealed to the Jockey Club to reinstate him,” Mr. Riddle said, “but it didn't do any good. I doubt that he'll get his license.”

“Whom do you have in mind?” Feustel persisted. “It'll take a lot of jockey to handle him, and we don't want to make any mistakes in his first start.”

“I'm not sure who it will be,” Mr. Riddle said, closing the subject.

By the first of May they were at Belmont Park, and Man o' War continued his preparation for the Preakness on the 18th. His very presence at the New York track aroused the curiosity of fans and trainers alike, and they watched every move he made with Clyde Gordon in the saddle. Every day that he was given anything approaching a fast trial, the stopwatches in the hands of clockers clicked. The morning gallery grew as the big colt was galloped longer and faster. Slowly they became convinced that this colt was not just a sprinter who had come to hand early to top his division. In the past they had seen many three-year-olds “pay the price” for their earlier, brilliant victories.

Man o' War would go on, they decided. He overshadowed everything else at the track. Each stride was effortless and he went about his business with a determination they had seen only in much older champions. He was eager to run and had a will of his own that delighted them. They knew that here was a
courageous colt who wouldn't quit. And from the looks of him he wouldn't break down.

On Saturday, May 8, 1920, Paul Jones won the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky, with Upset finishing second. The results of the historic race didn't worry anyone in the Riddle stable. Paul Jones wasn't eligible for the Preakness and they didn't expect any trouble from Upset. A week later they moved to Pimlico, eager for their colt to begin his campaign for the three-year-old championship.

Marylanders welcomed Man o' War as their native son, flocking to the stable to see him. Danny enjoyed their neighborliness compared to the metropolitan sophistication of the “backside” guests at Belmont. The air at Pimlico was that of a cozy picnic ground rather than a famous racecourse.

He had only one concern as the day of the Preakness dawned. Mr. Riddle had taken his time about deciding on the jockey to pilot Man o' War, and only the night before had named Clarence Kummer. It wasn't that Danny didn't think Kummer was a good choice, for he was a young, successful rider. But it was too bad that Mr. Riddle had not named Kummer early enough for the jockey to get to know the big colt as he should. It might mean the difference between victory and defeat.

The day grew very hot, and Danny found himself sweating so much that his shirt stuck to his back. Man o' War, too, was spotted with dark wet splotches that no amount of grooming could conceal. Danny watched him closely, knowing that more than the heat was causing Man o' War to perspire. The big colt was aware that he was going postward. Perhaps he sensed it from the tremendous crowd that he could see in the distance or in the number of people who passed in and out of his stall as the day wore on. At any rate, Man o' War was uneasy. He
would give Kummer a hard time, and the new jockey had better be on his toes.

Danny groomed him again. He had the golden coat shining like a copper kettle. Man o' War looked good, and yet Danny's gnawing doubts persisted. His colt had been away from the races a long time. Maybe he wasn't at his best despite his fast workouts. Most horses weren't, their first time out. And Man o' War had a new rider.

Clarence Kummer watched Man o' War enter the saddling paddock, the track police clearing the way before him. The jockey noted the big colt's uneasiness as he skittered to one side, scattering the crowd. Some people moved quickly back to Man o' War, trying to reach out and touch him.

It looked to Kummer as though Man o' War was ready to explode, and that he was probably in for the ride of his life. But he felt that he could handle the big colt. Hadn't he ridden Sir Barton, Omar Khayyam, Exterminator, and many other top horses? And yet.… He watched the fiery colt go skyward again, trying to break away from the boy who held him. His hindquarters swung far around, grazing the men behind. Man o' War was as edgy as a cat, and just as quick.

The young jockey turned to Louis Feustel and Mr. Riddle, who were standing alongside him. “Is he always this way?” he asked.

“He's not usually quite so worked up as this,” the trainer said. “But you'll know you've got a horse under you.”

Mr. Riddle was concerned. “Maybe we'd better have Clyde and Major Treat accompany you to the post,” he suggested.

“No,” the jockey said. “I'd like to handle him myself. I can do it all right.”

Mr. Riddle and Feustel exchanged glances, and then the owner said, “All right, Clarence. If you're to be his pilot, it's
best for you to find out for yourself what he's like. Just remember, he's a powerful colt. Don't let him get away from you.”

“I won't,” the jockey said, flecking some dust from his boot.

Feustel watched his new rider closely. “I'd much rather have you confident than leery of him,” he said quietly. Then he went forward to saddle Man o' War.

A few minutes later the call came. “Riders, mount your horses, please.”

Clarence Kummer felt the tenseness of the colt's muscles beneath his legs. He knew Man o' War might explode any minute but he was ready for him. He took another wrap in the reins as the colt swept hard against the old gelding alongside. Clyde Gordon held Major Treat steady, and the two riders exchanged glances. Kummer patted his mount's neck. He and Man o' War would have company only to the gap in the track fence. It was the way he wanted it. He'd learn quickly what he had under him.