Excerpt from my book, Racing With My Shadow
Winning my first stakes race on Kuja Happa (Belmont Park, 1981)
I was living my dream. I had finished among the top ten leading jockeys in New York for the Aqueduct meeting.
Belmont Park opened for the spring and within a few weeks I was the third leading rider and had the highest win percentage at the meeting!
I was doing extremely well considering that all the best jockeys were once again back in New York, and I had just recently transitioned to journeyman rider. I was so lucky.
Kuja Happa, a sleek thoroughbred mare owned by the renowned fashion designer “C.Z.” Guest, was shipping in from Maryland for a stakes race at Belmont.
Her regular jockey got stuck in traffic and couldn’t make the race. I was asked to ride her at the last minute and donned the unfamiliar silks.
On my way out to the paddock, one of the valets said to me, “Hey, little rider, this might be your first stakes win!”
I hadn’t won a stakes race yet, and was excited at the prospect.
We broke from the gate in good order, and I could tell Kuja Happa loved the going. However, after rounding the first turn, all the horses had passed us.
This worried me a little, but I didn’t try to rush her. I wanted to keep her happy and let her settle where she was comfortable.
After three quarters of a mile we were still in last place. It was time to try something else. I thought that maybe she didn’t like horses around her and that was why she had sucked herself back.
I wheeled her to the outside and as soon as I did, I knew I had pressed the magic button. She accelerated, taking off like a jet on a runway.
She blew by the pack and caught the lone horse out in front. It was a photo finish.
After the wire, I wasn’t sure if we had won or not. Angel Cordero, Jr. had been in front on the rail aboard Gemrock, a nice Dubai Stables filly. He hadn’t seen me coming because I was so far out in the middle of the course.
Angel looked surprised and a little upset as we pulled up.
“Do you think I won?” I asked him.
“Yeah. Congratulations, baby. Your first one?”
I nodded and felt a sudden rush. I was numb with both joy and disbelief. I had not only won my first stakes race, but beaten one of the top stables in the country, Dubai Stables.
In another week, the Saratoga race meeting would start. I couldn’t wait. The jockeys, valets, owners, and trainers were all excited to head upstate for the month of August. It would be a refreshing change and the closest thing to a vacation that most of us would get for a while.
Mom was also enthusiastic. At Saratoga, there would be a lot more opportunities to display her horse portraits and get new business.
Opening day at Saratoga. The grandstand mirrored a festival with colorful vending booths selling everything under the sun: popcorn, hot dogs, T-shirts, hats, racetrack paraphernalia, paintings, pictures, lemonade made with real lemons, and Häagen-Dazs ice cream.
A live band was playing near the outdoor betting windows. I couldn’t believe the crowd. Saratoga, for the month of August, was definitely the place to be.
All the activity got my adrenalin flowing. Having heard so much about this legendary place from the jockeys, valets, and trainers, I wanted to go everywhere and see everything.
I didn’t want to miss out on any of the action: the parties after the races, the polo matches, the softball games, and the places to go dancing.
It was exciting and even though it would be difficult to get mounts at this premier race meeting, I was glad to be in the middle of all the action.
I decided to enjoy myself and not get upset if I didn’t ride every day. I was a proven journeyman rider in New York now, so some of the pressure was off.
I would lighten up and take advantage of the social scene. I wanted so badly to feel good about myself as a rider and as a person.
On the first Saturday of the meeting, I was riding a horse called Wiggle Waggle in the second race. Heading into the turn, a new apprentice rider started to cut me off. He knew I was there, yet he kept coming in.
With two horses inside of me, I had no place to go. My horse clipped his heels as he cut me off. I was going down.
The next thing I remember…
I was floating up slowly, watching my body in the room below. Boy, was my body small. It looked so little lying there on the gurney, wearing all white.
I had on my white riding pants and a white t-shirt; my racing silks had been taken off. I looked so tiny and frail lying there with my arm contorted and twisted up over my head.
I continued to drift up toward the corner of the room. Two doctors were leaning over me, cutting my t-shirt. God, I never knew I was so small!
I looked over toward the far side of the room. There were some nurses around a big old oak desk, but they didn’t seem concerned with my being there on the gurney.
Wait a minute. Where am I going? Up! Up and…out? I must be dying!
Am I leaving the room? I am floating up. No, I can’t die yet! Wait! I can’t leave my mother like this. I have to tell her I’m sorry—I have to say goodbye. I have to tell her that I love her and that I am so sorry for ruining her marriage, her life.
I feel it so strongly. That’s all I care about right now. Nothing else matters. Nothing! I have to tell her how I feel. That’s all I have to do—and then I can go.
I was moving upward more slowly now. Looking down, I suddenly felt sad. I looked so young, so helpless. What a shame. I was too young to die.
I would go…except for Mom. I had to make things right with her. Maybe if I stayed focused on my body below, I wouldn’t leave.
Everyone was smaller, farther away now. My body below was the size of a pencil. I could feel behind me where (I thought) the ceiling and wall of the racetrack first aid room touched. Something was stopping me, because now I was just hovering, suspended high up.
I wanted to turn around. I wanted to see what was behind me, but somehow I knew that if I turned around—even for a second—I would go. This was my last chance. Although I really wanted to turn around, I thought it might be final.
Don’t give in! Don’t turn around! I felt I couldn’t take my eyes off my body down on the gurney below for one second, lest I turn and go. Concentrate! Focus!
I can go another time. Don’t give in. Don’t even think about turning. If I do, I won’t ever get back!
I fought the urge to turn around. I had no time to spare. I had to get back to tell Mom. That’s all that mattered. That’s all that ever really mattered. I know that now.
When I get back, I will tell her. Right away! Because I might not get a second chance! Focus!
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