Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow
My first race at 16 years old – on Northern Snipe at Hialeah Park
I remember the first time I met Angel. Even though I had won with Northern Snipe, Vince’s owner wanted to put Angel Cordero on the tough little horse.
Although I didn’t know Angel personally, I decided it might not be a bad idea to tell him about his upcoming mount. I warned him that Northern Snipe could be difficult. The horse might try to bear out, but it was best to let him drift a little instead of fighting him.
The greatest jockey in the world looked at me with skepticism. He must have been thinking, who was I, a sixteen-year-old girl apprentice, to tell him how to ride a horse? He chuckled to himself, shrugged me off, and headed out to the paddock.
I went into the girl jocks’ room to watch the race on the television. At the start, the little gray horse was rank. He pulled Angel out of the saddle going into the first turn.
Angel started hauling back as hard as he could to try to bring the horse under control. Angel was now standing way up in the saddle, and it was obvious that he was having trouble controlling Northern Snipe.
While the rest of the horses ran ahead down the backstretch, Angel was still fighting Northern Snipe, trying to bring him in from the outside rail. Although they did finally manage to get back on course, the fiasco had cost them, and they finished far behind the others.
When Angel returned to the jocks’ room he looked at me in utter amazement. He showed me his hands, which were sore from pulling on the reins, and asked me how I had handled such a difficult horse.
I just smiled at him and got ready to ride the next race. I had earned his respect.
A few weeks later I told Angel that I admired his riding style, especially the way he used his whip. I mentioned that someday I wanted to be able to use a whip just like him.
Angel seemed pleased to hear this, and later that night he gave me three of his very own custom-made whips!
After Northern Snipe’s last place finish with Angel, Vince’s owner decided to take the horse away from Vince and give him to Allen Jerkens, a successful New York based trainer. The owner also wanted me to be Northern Snipe’s jockey again.
Riding Northern Snipe in my very first race at Hialeah Park (1979)
I wondered if maybe Angel had put in a good word for me. Or, maybe my record with the horse spoke for itself; I had never been out of the money with Northern Snipe.
Going to New York to ride Northern Snipe for Allen Jerkens would be my first chance to ride at Aqueduct. New York, The Big League. Finally, I had made my goal!
I was a little nervous about meeting the “Hall of Fame” trainer. I wondered what he would think of me. Probably that I was too young to be any good—in New York.
In the paddock, Allen Jerkens was abrupt, to the point. “I’ve only had this horse for a few days. It looks like you probably know the best way to ride him.” And with those brief words of wisdom, I was on my own.
When we got out onto the track, I was in awe. This was my dream come true. This was where Steve Cauthen had ridden! Riding by the huge grandstand in the post parade, I imagined all the trainers watching me. The best horsemen in the world would be making comments.
“Look at the girl apprentice, the one winning all those races at the Meadowlands. I wonder if she can really ride.”
“Maybe in New Jersey, but this is New York, The Big Apple.”
I wanted to make a good impression, the best one possible to the critical eyes upon me. I had hopes of riding in New York for the winter, when the Meadowlands closed.
Leaving the starting gate, I had a strange sense of freedom. It was like riding in an open field. Everyone gave me running room. It wasn’t like in New Jersey, where all the jocks rode bunched up and you had to fight your way into position.
I let Northern Snipe settle behind three horses. As we went around the turn I noticed a big difference from the shorter, sharper turns at the Meadowlands track. The turn here was more gradual, so it didn’t seem as crucial to save ground.
Instead of dropping in, I stayed on the outside of horses where Northern Snipe preferred to run. I could feel Northern Snipe taking hold of the bit as he started to make his move coming out of the turn. We charged down the stretch.
I might just win my first race in New York!
I remembered all the trainers in the grandstand and tried to stay cool and smooth. Don’t let the possibility of winning rattle you. Stay in sync…with the rhythm…of the beat…of his stride. Just ride…ride…ride…and ride.
We almost made it and finished second by a nose.
I was getting off the scales after the race, disappointed that I hadn’t won, but feeling happy with Northern Snipe’s effort. I wasn’t at all prepared for what happened next. Allen Jerkens came up to me, red in the face, and started hollering.
At first I thought he was kidding—like J. J. Crupi would—but then I realized that he was serious! He was very upset with me.
He yelled and blamed me for “getting his horse beat.” I was shocked and cringed in horror as he criticized my riding, saying that I rode a terrible race.
I felt bad… bad me. It felt like he knew me, the real me…like I had been shot in the stomach. It hit me so hard, so deep.
Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. Never had a trainer been angry with my riding, with me the jockey.
I was deeply hurt. Who I was, what I was…me the jockey…my very being had just been stripped away. With my jockey exterior torn away, I ran back into the girl jocks’ room. I didn’t want anyone to see me cry.
In the girl jocks’ room, I wiped away my tears. I felt very alone. This place…New York…it was so big, so impersonal…so cold. Maybe I wouldn’t like riding here, after all.
I looked at myself crying in the mirror. The me that I had seen in the mirror on those dreadful mornings at Garden State Park Racetrack was staring back at me. The bad, weak me was showing through those tears. Suddenly, I got very angry.
“Toughen up, you!” I screamed at the image staring pathetically back at me, a tear-streaked, sad face. That’s not ME. That’s not ME. YOU are not ME.
“I hate you!!”
I turned away from the mirror, angrily vowing to never again let my emotions come out. Never would I cry—not here, not at the racetrack. Never while I was a jockey. Never!
Soon after, I got another opportunity to ride in New York. This time I would be riding for a New Jersey trainer, and I knew things would go better. My faith in my ability to ride in New York was restored when the horse, Fight at Night, won.
My first New York winner even made the headlines in the sports section of The New York Times: “Five Winners for Pincay; Karen Rogers Scores.”
Next to the article was a photo finish of two horses dueling down to the wire. Was this a photo of the great jockey, Laffit Pincay, Jr., winning? Or, could it be… it was my horse, Fight at Night!
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