Dear Diary:
How I spent my Arlington Million Week

 

By Mike Porcaro

It all started in mid-June when a prominent former jockey, who once rode the Illinois circuit, called our trainer, Andy Hansen, to say that she believed that one of our horses, Quite a Handful, could win an upcoming stakes in Indiana. “Handful”, a precocious little 3-year old colt out of Mutakddim, had just won his debut on the turf the day before at Arlington Park in a mile-long $41,000 affair. We knew he was bustin’ to go forward, but the thought of putting the youngster in a big stakes race seemed so remote.

The jockey’s idea was good enough for Andy and my horse partners, Ted and Jean Barlas, so we loaded up the truck and headed to Indiana Downs in Shelbyville for the $211,000 Oliver Stakes.

I wondered within an earshot of my partners if our colt could really go from winning his first turf race and second career win to competing in such a big race with big names, like Driving Snow, Here Comes Ben, Jack Spratt and Good Sermon, and even bigger names like Borel, Albarado, Theriot, and Leparoux all having mounts in the Oliver.

Maybe it’s his Athenian ancestry that propels him, but, Teddy Barlas, ever the optimist, predicted nothing short of victory. Jean, as is her custom after 30 years with Ted, simply rolled her eyes after his declaration. That said, maybe what amazed us most is that there would be a $200,000+ race… in Indiana… on a Tuesday afternoon. Not in Kentucky. Not in New York. Not in So Cal, not on a Saturday, but in the state of Indiana on a week day, which is why Hoosier racing is becoming such a ‘playa’.

So now its race day and I forget I actually have a stake in the stakes, and become awestruck. I’m seeing a lot of the “celebrities” I see each year on Derby Day and at the Breeders Cup. Calvin, looking the champ he is. Leparoux , who I call “The Flyin’ Frenchman”, a nickname I gave him since the first time I saw him glide like a Stealth after coming from six furlongs back to win at Churchill. And then there is Robby, looking so confident. The contestants themselves were upright and bold with ears perked and prepared to do battle.

Then, with a minute to post, it dawned on me to look up at the tote board. I saw that our guy was 19-1, and I was a little disappointed. I thought he’d go off at 30-1 knowing he’d be there at the end. I just knew we could beat those odds, especially since our young jock Jermaine Bridgemohan knows the horse well and is a maestro at relaxing and rating.

As they entered the gate, I got that “feeling” we owners get. You know the one I’m talking about. The one that‘s about half-way between your first child being born and the time you upchucked on a bumpy flight to Cleveland. Gulp!

When the bell rang, our jockey did what he does best by getting away in good order with Quite a Handful moving into his customary stalking position. They ran clean for the first quarter at .23 and spare change. Then our boy got boxed, and then pinned. While I will save you from further yard-by-yard play-by-play, suffice it to say, Handful made a move in the last furlong off the rail and between horses that seemingly looked as if he ran parallel to the grandstand.

Drat! He made the grand effort, but lost out to winner Driving Snow by just three-quarters of a length finishing second. I just wished for an extra 25 yards and a cloud of turf. Oh well. As the late, great Chicago Sun-Times turf writer Dave Feldman reminded us so, so often, “Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda.”

Nonetheless, we were thrilled being runner-up, and even more excited about what might be next for the little guy. So the Jean-Teddy-Mike-Andy “brain trust” set the wheels in motion and, dangerously, began to “think”. Do we wait a month or so for a nice grass stakes race at Arlington, or maybe find a race at Canterbury? Think we could we move to the dirt and go to Hoosier Park?

Noooooooooo way!

Never one to stay inside the owner’s box, Ted, perpetual symbol of Damocles, exclaimed “We’re going to the Secretariat on Arlington Million Day!” Of course, Jean rolled her eyes…twice. After Andy picked me up off the barn floor while in a fit of guffaw, I inquired about how we might accomplish such a feat aside from holding the racing secretary’s pet poodle hostage. Sure, Handful is a real horse, but for a couple of guys and a gal chasing $20,000 in purse money most every time out, this just ain’t real!

One must understand that Jean, Ted, Andy nor I would be cast in movies about the life stories of Penny Chenery, Jess Jackson or Wayne Lukas. I mean, we’re just Chicago guys who have a passion for racing and own some horses. Moreover, I’m less than five years away from my first investment in a low-leveler having used all of my Christmas Club money to buy in for $1500. Now you’re trying to tell me that we’re going to have a horse in the Secretariat? This is akin to Ralph Kramden going from Bensenhurst in Brooklyn all the way to the $99,000 question!

So we nominated Quite a Handful, and then, we waited. Then, we waited. Then, we waited again. For three days from the day I thought we’d get in, or out, we sweated the call to learn if “our little pony” would get into the big race. Aside from anticipating the day I would have to show up for my military physical, I don’t think I have had a more anxious week in my entire life. Cough!

And then it happened. We were told that we were “in”. And, by cracky, it was even confirmed in the Arlington Heights Daily Herald, and for me that made it official. “Say what” you ask? Well, I don’t know either, but we got there.

The fun started with a phone call from a very competent and courteous lady from Arlington Park, who introduced herself as the person who would be our “Ambassador” during “Million Week”. There are few tracks as classy as Arlington Park from the time you walk into one of the most beautiful facilities in North America until departure when you are given a hearty “Thank You” from the staff bidding adieu on your way out. So it was absolutely no surprise when the first words our Ambassador said to me were “Congratulations, and welcome from Arlington Park Race Course”.

I was in a fog, in a dream. I heard the voice of the lady, but she might as well have been speaking Swahili. I think she said something about a limo. If she did say that, then I say “thank goodness” for spell checkers because “limo” isn’t in my vocabulary. In fact, when I was married, my “limo” had fins on the back end and a front bumper the size of Rhode Island.

Then, I think she asked my sport coat size, or maybe it was my jacket size. Then there was the question about who might accompany me at the track on race day. I thought immediately of my wife, then, darn it, I remembered she was going to be in town that day. “Hey, wait a minute”, I said to myself. Are these the same questions she‘ll ask Aiden O’Brien and Christophe Clemente? I then became curious to learn what jacket size is Bill Mott? And, are they really going to send limos for all of the investors of the syndicates who own a piece of some of these horses?”

All of a sudden, I started to come to my senses, and what was really happening was sinking in. Then when I was asked to attend the post position draw at the ESPN Zone in downtown Chicago the following Tuesday, it hit me. My first thought was, “I wonder if we have any game tokens left in the junk drawer in the kitchen?”

But this is serious stuff, and all of a sudden, the business end of running a horse in a $400,000 race came to roost, so I put on my owner’s cap and began to think. Having watched Derby post draws on television, I thought about spending the entire weekend before the race with Ted, Jean and Andy strategizing over and over…and over…about our order of selection, then having to agonize over which post we’d select when it was our turn.

Even more concerning was the idea spending an entire weekend with Ted, and I debated if it might really be worth the effort. When I mentioned this to the connections, Jean rolled her eyes, and I could read her mind. “Two days for you. Thirty years for me”. Life sentence apart, a very smart woman.

In the meantime, Andy insisted on calling us daily about, oh, every half-hour or so, begging me, Jean and Ted to take turns keeping an eye on him –he called it ‘babysitting’ —as Andy was so nervous and excited that he was afraid he would worry himself into going back to being a jockey in Nebraska.

Andy had his own list of superlatives and questions starting with “Ya’ think we should fit the horse in a rubber body suit until race day?”.” Then there was, “Who is going to watch Handful all night long until August 8?” (Jean suggested “Horse Busters”). And, finally, there was my personal favorite when Andy blurted “Oh my Goodness. I have to buy a suit and tie!”

My family had its own issues about the happenings too, as they love being part of the game. I am forever grateful that they are most supportive, especially since I have invested so much of the family jewels in our horse business. Special thanks to my wife, who has volunteered to hold a job until the next millennium. Personal thanks to our boys for not fearing having to pay off their student loans until their Social Security kicks in.

Having been raised South Side Irish, my wife’s biggest worry during this entire time was trying to figure out which dress to wear on the day of the race. Since the local “Bruised, but Not Broke” outlet store in our neighborhood closed, this was quite the challenge for her. At the same time, I knew I wouldn’t have a problem with clothing for the big day. After all, I wore the double-breasted three-piece “sharkskin” Puzzarelli suit on “70’s Night” at the Cub game at Wrigley Field just a few weeks before. Even one of The Village People said I looked good!

Then there is my youngest son, who at age 11 has become quite the handicapper, and has come a long way. When I bought into our first horse, he asked me if we needed “to get a fence for the backyard so the Army Blue doesn’t run away.” Having graduated from picking horses by their silks colors, or those with Italian-sounding names, the boy has actually gained some semblance of the Daily Racing Form. With my owning a bevy of claimers the past few years, the lad can spot a game $7500 filly with the skills of Andy Beyer!

Then there are the other three sons. Their biggest challenge for the day was trying to figure out how to sneak into the Governor’s Room for the races. Being resourceful, the oldest waited on tables 5 through 8. My 21-year old stepson insisted that we wake him up by 1 PM so he could get to the track in due time. What’s more, my other stepson, a brilliant, budding attorney, who goes to school in Virginia, threatened to come home for the weekend. The 11-year old, no stranger to the paddock, dressed in his jockey’s silks, last year’s Halloween costume, and tried to convince the Maître Di that he needed to kill some time in between races.

Bless my 83-year old mother. The closest she’s ever come to a thoroughbred was a stare-down with the donkey pulling Rocky the Peddler’s cart while buying zucchini and peppers in the alley behind our apartment building on Superior Street. But, since her “first born” was soooo excited about some horse he owned, that was good enough for her. So instead of sending 20-bucks to a convent in Alabama this week, she gave it to me to bet on Quite a Handful. For this, I know I’ll spend an extra 30 days in purgatory.

What I thought most about was my Dad, and how much he would just love this. He passed in 1990, and, boy, did he enjoy the ponies! My father played pretty much every day, whether he went to the track or not. Of course, this was long before OTB’s and Internet gambling, unless your computer’s name is Sal. I wish I had a nickel for every time he took me to Sportsman’s or Washington Park. We even went out to Aurora Downs one time to see the sulkies. Problem was they weren’t running that day, so we ended up in some roadhouse watching the Cub game on WGN courtesy of a fuzzy black and white TV. By the way, they lost that game too.

So now it’s Tuesday before the Saturday race day and we go to ESPN Zone for the draw. First thing I did is stake out a seat right in front of the podium. Seconds later, a rather strapping, deep-voiced man told me the section was reserved. Since I’ve never sat in the front row for anything, except for the hand-slapping with a ruler by Sister Camilla on Punishment Day, it didn’t matter. I was just happy to be there.

Along came Andy and Ted and Jean and their lovely daughter, Connie, another soon-to- be outstanding attorney, two of our boys, a few friends and Jermaine, our jockey. Much to my dismay, all of our hours of planning and strategizing went awry as I soon learned that the picks and posts were being done for us by our hosts.

As John J. Dooley, Howard Sudbury and Jessica Pacheco, our Masters of Ceremonies, began to unfold the draw, I started to sweat, which easily turned into hyperventilation. Usually for me this is accompanied by panic. I saw the picks for our opponents called one by one. “Giant Oak”…Post #11”. “Reb...Post #9”. “Black Bear Island…Post 10”. I was relieved that we didn’t get the outside positions, now I had to worry about 1, 2 or 3.

Next, it was Indiana’s “Hoosier Kingdom…Post #1”. Finally the panic turned to near relief when Quite a Handful got Post #6….exactly where we wanted him! Following the Beverly D and Million draws and gracious words of thanks from Richard Duchossois, the first leg of the week’s events was over. Now all I had to do was find my 11-year old, no easy task, but there he was playing Pop-a-Shot with Jermaine, and getting the whip too, as he lost to the jock by 16 points shortly after he challenged jockey Chris Emigh and Jermaine to the electronic horse race game. My son recapped that event by saying “Dad, I was beating them by 10 lengths, and then I took a wrong turn and lost by 20!” Let’s hope I never have to hear that excuse from a jockey!

“Oh, please don’t let this be a bad omen”, I thought, but we were in the Secretariat Stakes, and what more could I ask for….until the end of the race.

With the draw over with a new skull session to discuss strategy ready in the offing, the next event was Thursday afternoon at the Turf Club. Jockeys n’ Jazz is a wonderful affair sponsored by Arlington Million Ladies and benefitting the University of Chicago Cancer Research. Honorees included HOF jockey Julie Krone, Trainer Michelle Boyce, and Editor Joan Colby of Illinois Racing News, a trio of women richly deserved.

My business partner Jim Moriarty and I attended. One unassuming lady asked me “is the name of your horse ‘Full of It’”? Jim, ever the “Chicago Guy”, piped up enthusiastically and said pointing to me, “No. he’s ‘full of it’. The name of the horse is Quite a Handful”.

Nonetheless, as we imagined, it was a first-class affair for a great cause. Being among such horsewomen extraordinaire was an honor, and to be in the same room with folks like Kelcey Roberts, Mary Zimmerman, Nancy Vanier, Lyda Willamson, Dee Poulos, and others was just grand.

On Friday morning, at Breakfast at Arlington, Ted, Andy and I were in awe in the presence of 23 Hall of Fame jockeys, including Bobby Ussery, Angel Cordero Jr., Jorge Velasquez, Walter Blum, Jose Santos and others. These are guys I’ve heard about since I was a kid in the sixties, and whom I’ve watched on television or live at tracks all over the country, and now I was shaking hands with them. “How am I so fortunate to be here”, I thought?

After Ted and I wrestled over the last Smokey Link on the buffet table, he, Jermaine, Andy and I discussed race strategy. Should we sit back? Go for the lead? Lean toward the rail? Lean toward the grandstand? I kept saying to myself “Just don’t lean toward the parking lot”.

About half- way through my telling the others how the race should be run, I remembered that I have actually never rode a horse in a race, or in an alley or at a ranch for that matter. Here I am telling our jockey, and our trainer, a former jockey, how to run the race. Let’s put it this way, if I ever got on top of a horse, the ASPCA and PETA would fall all over each other just to get a piece of me, not to mention the welfare of the poor horse, if I sat on it.

Just about the time I walked away from the conversation out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a familiar face, a gentle man with whom I had the pleasure of meeting last year, Pat Day. Three years after retiring, Mr. Day works with the Race Track Chaplaincy of America, a most worthy cause. Day has made it his life’s work to use his reputation to spread his evangelistic message.

After chatting with Pat and feeling pretty good about myself, I glanced at a man in a wheel chair. He had such a pleasant smile on his face and was most recognizable. Ron Turcotte embodies the strength and will of the jockeys we hire to ride our horses. Yeah, we argue with them, cuss em’ out once in awhile and, even try to tell them what tactics to use, but rarely do we ever stop to think about the ever present danger these men and woman face every time they mount a horse.

I’ve collected a lot of sports memorabilia over the years from signed baseballs by Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays and Joe DiMaggio to an autographed Michael Jordan shirt, but nothing I have is more prized than a signed photo of Turcotte on Secretariat glancing back some 30 lengths at the nearest competitor. I told him about the photo and how much I valued it. He simply said to me, “Thank you.” Ron Turcotte thanked me for telling him about a photo. I was truly humbled.

Perhaps the coup ’de gras’ of the week for me happened Friday night at the Arlington Million Charity Gala at the Sanfillipo Estate in Barrington Hills, IL, a magnificent venue. This is where the hospitality of the Arlington Park organization and the International Festival of Racing shined its brightest. Flanked by many of racing’s greats, my wife and I had visited with several legends, including England’s Nick Clark, one of the most influential people involved in the development of the Arlington Million from the very beginning nearly 30 years ago.

There was Jerry Bailey, and Chris McCarron, and Mr. Duchossois, and Roy Arnold and many more of racing’s notables. There was Braulio Baeza, who rode Dr. Fager, and won the 1963 Derby aboard Chateaugay, the first race I ever bet on my own. When I mentioned this to him, all Mr. Baeza could say to me with a puzzling look was “Oh boy!”

With a Hall of Fame jockey stationed at each table, we had the great pleasure of sitting with John Rotz, who rode in six Kentucky Derby races, won the 1962 Preakness and 1970 Belmont, and was recipient of the George Woolf Award. Nearly 75 years old, Mr. Rotz is fit enough to race today with his weight just a fraction above what it was when he retired in 1973. He regaled us with many great stories, including one about his victory over Secretariat aboard Stop the Music in the 1972 Champagne Stakes.

It’s no wonder that John Rotz was the presenter of the 2009 Secretariat Stakes trophy. He is a gracious and humble man who deserves his place in the Hall of Fame.

After some excellent entertainment and kind words from our hosts, it was time to leave. Upon telling the parking valet that my 9 passenger Hummer was disguised as a 2005 Camry, it was back home to try to get a good night’s sleep. Nearly impossible for me as I have a tough time stringing together three hours in a row each night let alone during the night before one of the biggest days of my life.

So I got out of bed around 4 AM to start the day and to wait for the time when we needed to get to Arlington Park. Finally, around 11:30 it was time to go and to meet our connections in the Governor’s Room.

I have never been in the Governor’s Room, and, in fact, I didn’t even know there was a Governor’s Room. What’s more, with the “stellar “record of Illinois Governors, you’d think that someday, the room might be renamed. Nonetheless, Ted, Jean and Andy arrived and my wife, looking lovely in her nice new dress and adorned with a hat that our Editor, Susanne Reardon gave her, we all settled in.

We were given our own table seated next to the owners of Dynaforce on one side, and Mary Hartmann, trainer of Precious Passion and her husband on the other. I saw a number of recognizable folks in the room, like Black Hawks owner Rocky Wirtz and golfer Craig Sadler, and everyone was happy to be there and not even close to acting out their celebrity status.

It seemed like ages between races and with our race being the 7h; my anxiety was on the bubble. However, I won money on 5 of the first 6 races, so I was at least partially bemused. Then came time for us to go to the paddock where we were guided by our Ambassador through several doors and secret passages very reminiscent of the night club scene in “Goodfellas”.

As we walked down, Ted and I joked about how our fathers are “up there” laughing their rear ends off as their sons waltzed through high cotton.

When we got to the paddock area the crowd was electric. There were people shouting cheers of “Good Luck” and best wishes, and even 3 or 4 fans who asked “who’s that guy with Teddy Barlas?” When we got to the stall, our horse looked fit and our jockey was ready. After saddling up, it was time to go to the Horsemen’s Viewing Area, but the truth is that I still don’t remember walking there. I was dazed and confused and seemingly floating on air.

The time between the horses loading in the gate and the bell ringing seemed to take about an hour, but then I heard John J. Dooley shout “They’re off in the 33rd Secretariat Stakes”, and it all came home for me.

Quite a Handful, off at 40-1, got out of the gate well, but lagged behind a bit not close enough to where he needed to be early. The three outside horses headed for the pack and got there. Our guy tried for the rail, backed out, tried again, backed out again, lugged a bit, flatted for awhile then finally grabbed the rail in a burst toward the finish line passing favorites Giant Oak and Reb and just missing catching Proceed Bee finishing sixth just 7 lengths behind winner Take the Points. Should I laugh? Should I cry? Should I be stunned? Should I be disappointed or angry? Why not? Our horse didn’t win the race, and that’s why we were here, I declared.

But then I got to thinking about our first-generation in America fathers, and how Ted’s Dad, who drove a truck for a living, and my Pop, a Chicago cop and city worker, would be so very proud on this day. How could a couple of guys and a gal from the North side of Chicago and an ex-jockey from Omaha be so very fortunate to be here?

I don’t know if we’ll ever get to another race like the Secretariat again, but if I don’t, I will have no regrets. This experience for my family and I was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and I must thank Mr. Duchossois, Mr. Arnold, Mr. Petrillo and the entire Arlington Park family, as well as Ted and Jean Barlas and Andy Hansen for taking us there.

As I write this, I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve brushed away a few tears thinking about how blessed I am.  

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