Seabiscuit

“In Tom Smith’s younger days, the Indians would watch him picking his way over the open plains, skirting the mustang herds. He was always alone, even back then, in the waning days of the nineteenth century. He talked to virtually no one but his horses, and then only in their vernacular of small gestures and soft sounds. The Indians called him ‘Lone Plainsman.’ White men called him ‘Silent Tom.’ People merely brushed up against him. Only the horses seemed to know him well. They had been the quiet study of his life. He had grown up in a world in which horsemanship was as essential as breathing. Born with a prodigy’s intuitive understanding of the animals, he had devoted himself to them so wholeheartedly that he was incomplete without them. By nature or by exposure he had become like them, in their understatement, their blunt assertion of will. In the company of men, Smith was clipped and bristling. With horses, he was gracefully at ease. His history had the ethereal quality of hoofprints in windblown snow.”

This passage gives a good sense of author Laura Hillenbrand’s lyrical writing style. Her descriptions often match in tone and style the topic she’s writing about, as in the last sentence above. It introduces Tom Smith, Seabiscuit’s trainer, and gives a glimpse of the Old West, where he had absorbed the knowledge he brought to Seabiscuit’s training.  

“He believed with complete conviction that no animal was permanently ruined. Every horse could be improved. He lived by a single maxim: ‘Learn your horse. Each one is an individual, and once you penetrate his mind and heart, you can often work wonders with an otherwise intractable beast.’”

This again describes Tom Smith, illustrating his approach to working with horses. It was not “one size fits all” training; he studied each one and applied what he thought was needed for that particular horse. This was written about the beginning of Seabiscuit’s career, but it applies equally to its end. Smith, like Howard, believed that Seabiscuit could return to racing after his serious injury. Most other horses may not have been able to, but Smith did not make blanket judgments and evaluated Seabiscuit on an individual basis. 

“But somehow, after throwing a fit in the starting gate and being left flat-footed at the bell, the colt won his race that day. While being unsaddled, he leveled his wide-set, intelligent eyes on Smith again. Smith liked that look, and nodded at the horse. ‘Darned if the little rascal didn’t nod back at me,’ Smith said later, ‘kinda like he was paying me an honor to notice me.’ He was a horse whose quality, an admirer would write, ‘was mostly in his heart, and Tom Smith had been the first to recognize it.’ A man for whom words were encumbrances, Smith didn’t take note of the horse’s name, but he memorized him nonetheless. He spoke to the horse as he was led away.

‘I’ll see you again.’”

This is Hillenbrand’s description of the first meeting between Smith and Seabiscuit. According to Smith, they each seemed to notice something special in the other, and their meeting was memorable. The same could be said of Seabiscuit’s first meeting with Charles Howard: the horse gently butted Howard in the head. 

“But in time, something in Seabiscuit’s demeanor—perhaps a conspicuous lack of sweating in the workouts, perhaps a gleam in the horse’s eye that hinted at devious intelligence—made Fitzsimmons question his assumptions. ‘He was as wise as a little owl,’ Fitzsimmons remembered later. ‘He was almost too quiet, too docile.’ Fitzsimmons began to wonder if this horse might be just as obstreperous as his sire, only much more cunning in his methods. His father had raged; Seabiscuit seemed . . . amused. ‘He struck me,’ Fitzsimmons said, ‘as a bird that could sing but wouldn’t unless we made him.’”

This was Fitzsimmons’s take on Seabiscuit. He discovered the horse’s stubborn side, expressed in a more subtle way than other horses, but his approach to this was to use force. He had jockeys use the whip to spur Seabiscuit on, thinking he was just lazy. This worked in only a limited manner, but it backfired when Seabiscuit rebelled against riders giving direction. When Smith started training him, he had a different approach that brought back Seabiscuit’s love for racing. 

“At least the problem of how to get Seabiscuit in shape had been solved. Raced constantly, he surely no longer lacked for fitness. But his problems were predominantly mental. By the time his two-year-old season drew to a close, he was showing signs of burnout. He became edgy. He stopped sleeping, spending his nights pacing around and around his stall. On the track, he fought savagely in the starting gate and sulked his way through races, sometimes trailing the field from start to finish. A young jockey named George Woolf, aboard for one of these woeful performances, summed up the colt’s mental state in four words: ‘mean, restive and ragged.’”

Seabiscuit faced many obstacles in becoming a champion racehorse. The above passage notes the state he was in just before Howard bought him, when it was still being trained by James Fitzsimmons for the Wheatley Stable. It also shows the incredible heart Seabiscuit showed throughout his career. By the end of 1935 alone, he had already run in 35 races, more than most horses run their entire careers. By the time he was retired, he had run in a total of 89 races; compare that to his rival War Admiral, who ran in 26. 

“Serious insults to the body, the kind of shattering or crushing injury seen in high-speed auto wrecks, are an absolute certainty for every single jockey.”

This comes from a section on the perils of being a jockey. Hillenbrand explains just how dangerous it was and how inevitable serious injuries were, foreshadowing what would happen to Red Pollard during Seabiscuit’s career (and beyond), as well as to George Woolf eventually. The factors of speed, a crowded field of horses, and lack of body protection made a fall from a horse potentially fatal. Incredibly, even jockey’s heads were unprotected. The caps they wore were thin and light and—lacking straps—usually fell off in an accident anyway. Moreover, many jockeys removed the lining to help them make weight, so there was nothing to them.

“Man is preoccupied with freedom yet laden with handicaps. The breadth of his activity and experience is narrowed by the limitations of his relatively weak, sluggish body. The racehorse, by virtue of his awesome physical gifts, freed the jockey from himself. When a horse and a jockey flew over the track together, there were moments in which the man’s mind wedded itself to the animal’s body to form something greater than the sum of both parts. The horse partook of the jockey’s cunning; the jockey partook of the horse’s supreme power. For the jockey, the saddle was a place of unparalleled exhilaration, of transcendence.”

The passage above explains why jockeys continue to race, despite the many dangers and difficulties. As Hillenbrand writes, horse and rider almost become one, and jockeys got an adrenaline rush from the speed and freedom. In addition, the passage is another example of Hillenbrand’s expressive style of writing. 

“Smith knew what he was seeing. Seabiscuit’s competitive instincts had been turned backward. Instead of directing his efforts against his opponents, he was directing them against the handlers who tried to force him to run. He habitually met every command with resistance. He was feeding off the fight, gaining satisfaction from the distress and rage of the man on his back.”

As noted above in quotes 5 and 6, Seabiscuit was misunderstood and trained in the wrong manner by Fitzsimmons, and this quote shows the state the horse was in when Smith got him, as well as the keen eye Smith had for understanding horses. Seabiscuit’s stubbornness came from his sire, Hard Tack, and other forebears, but while those horses rebelled outwardly (refusing to run, causing a fuss in the gate, fighting their handlers), Seabiscuit rebelled inwardly. He didn’t take direction well, but he wasn’t a mean horse, so it took some time to figure out what was “wrong” with him. 

“Neither Smith nor his exercise rider had raised a hand to him, but the colt had learned the lesson that would transform him from a rogue to a pliant, happy horse: He would never again be forced to do what he didn’t want to do. He never again fought a rider.”

Following from the previous quote, Smith approached Seabiscuit’s training in a way that brought out the best in him. Early on, Smith had riders give free rein to Seabiscuit, so he would trust them and come to know he would not be abused or coerced into something he didn’t want to do. Once he learned this, his competitive instincts referred to in the previous quote was redirected to the other horses rather than his riders.

“He was publicly accused of inexcusable failure in the most important race of his career, but he could not defend himself. Had he let on that he was blind in one eye, his career would have been over. Like most jockeys in the 1930s, he had nowhere else to go, nothing else to live on, nothing else he loved. For Red Pollard, there was no road back to Edmonton. If his blindness was the cause of the loss, his frustration and guilt must have been consuming.”

This describes the 1937 Santa Anita Handicap, which Seabiscuit barely lost when Pollard seemed to lose focus, allowing another horse to gain on them. Hillenbrand speculates that the blindness in his right eye might have cost Pollard the race. It shows the serious handicap he raced with, which should have ended his career (but which he kept secret). It also indicates how much he would have wanted redemption in 1940 when he rode Seabiscuit in the same race. 

“In February 1937, all of these new social and technological forces were converging. The modern age of celebrity was dawning. The new machine of fame stood waiting. All it needed was the subject himself.”

With this, Hillenbrand sets the scene for Seabiscuit’s immense popularity. She describes, for example, how the radio had become widespread throughout the country, allowing the entire nation to follow Seabiscuit’s races. President Roosevelt’s New Deal programs had greatly extended electricity to rural areas, so rural residents shared equally in news of the nation in real time, just like city dwellers.

“In the middle stage of a grueling distance race, Seabiscuit had broken the half-mile world record by two seconds, the equivalent of more than thirteen lengths. It may be the greatest display of raw speed ever seen in Thoroughbred racing.”

Seabiscuit broke many records in his racing career, and this example of one illustrates the great speed he possessed. Hillenbrand explains elsewhere in this chapter that horses can maintain their top speed for, at most, three-eighths of a mile. Thus, for Seabiscuit to go on to finish strong against Stagehand, as he did, losing only by a nose, was an incredible feat. It illustrates his tremendous speed and stamina. 

“‘That’s the greatest racehorse in the world,’ Nick Wall would say of Seabiscuit. ‘He had enough trouble to stop a locomotive […] At equal weights, there’s nothing that wears racing plates that’s a mortal to beat him.’”

Wall was the rider of Stagehand, who beat Seabiscuit in a photo finish in the 1938 Santa Anita Handicap. Here he freely admits that Seabiscuit was the better horse. Seabiscuit carried a higher impost and had run much of the race at world-record speed—something unheard of for that distance—but still fought for the victory. His rider, George Woolf, had been tricked when Wall and the jockey riding Stagehand’s near-identical brother had switched riding caps. Woolf chased the horse he thought was Stagehand early on, allowing the real Stagehand to conserve energy and surge from behind at the end.

“Long before ‘Seabiscuit Day,’ the Americans began arriving. Hotels filled up with Seabiscuit fans hailing from all over the United States. Officials, recognizing that they were playing host to the most adored visitor ever to cross city limits, rushed to prepare. The railroads scheduled special trains to carry the masses of humanity southward. Crews worked to widen all roads leading in from California. The track installed additional mutuel windows, constructed about a dozen bookmaking facilities in the infield, opened up all vacant areas of the clubhouse, and hired an army of extra personnel. Though the parking lot could hold fifteen thousand automobiles, officials knew that that wouldn’t be nearly enough. They began clearing out space for additional parking.”

This refers to the 1938 Agua Caliente Handicap run in Tijuana, Mexico, and illustrates the extent of Seabiscuit’s fame and popularity. The year 1938 marked the peak of the horse’s fame, and scenes like this were duplicated all over America. Tens of thousands of people turned out for each of his top races, and hundreds waited for him at railroad stops when he traveled across the country.

“Someone contacted San Francisco and told the Howards what had happened. Howard got on the telephone and pulled every string he had. Almost immediately he had a team of the nation’s best orthopedic specialists on planes, flying in to Boston at his expense. They examined Pollard’s leg. Somehow, they saved it from amputation, but it was a hollow victory. Pollard, they announced, would probably never walk again. His career was declared over.”

The second major injury to Pollard, in the summer of 1938, was so severe that his leg almost needed to be amputated. The fact that he returned from that to race again and win the hundred-grander with Seabiscuit in 1940 is a testament to his will and his heart, two of the main themes of the book. This also shows the kind of relationship Pollard had with the Howards. Jockeys had no medical insurance, and Hillenbrand explains how scant their medical treatment often was. The Howards, however, looked upon him almost as a son, so they gave him the best treatment their considerable resources could buy. 

“Late in the backstretch, Woolf shifted Seabiscuit to the outside and craned around Whichcee. He caught sight of the horse out in front, but he still didn’t know who it was. He looked at the horse’s jockey. He was leading with his left hand. Woolf knew that among the local riders, only Wayne Wright was left-handed. So it had to be Specify. He studied Wright’s hands. He was holding the reins loosely, and they were flapping on Specify’s neck. It was all Woolf needed to see. Specify was at the top of his speed, with nothing in reserve. Woolf was sure that he would soon burn out. He began to edge Seabiscuit closer but didn’t ask him for his best, thinking that Ligaroti was tracking him. A tentative cheer rose out of the crowd. Seabiscuit was only making up ground in inches, and he was still at least eight lengths behind. Time was running out.”

The passage above refers to the 1938 Hollywood Gold Cup and is an example of Hillenbrand’s writing style for the races described in the book. She uses lots of detail from interviews to recreate what riders saw and thought during a race, such as Woolf noticing a jockey’s left-handedness and the slack in Specify’s reins. This illustrates the talent of jockeys to be observant and make decisions, all in fractions of a second. It also puts the reader into the action and builds suspense.

“The final race time lit up the tote board. A second roar erupted from the crowd. Seabiscuit had run the mile and three sixteenths in 1:56 ⅗. No horse in Pimlico’s fabled and lengthy history, through thousands of races dating back to just after the Civil War, had ever run the distance so fast.”

This takes place during Seabiscuit’s 1938 match race with War Admiral and again shows his incredible speed. He set records at numerous parks, but few had such a storied history as Pimlico. He bested the times of thousands of horses that had previously raced there, proving what a unique talent he possessed. 

“‘What can I say? We just couldn’t make it,’ he said. ‘The Admiral came to him and looked him in the eye, but that other horse refused to quit. We gave all we had. It just wasn’t good enough.’”

This quote comes from Charley Kurtsinger, the jockey who rode War Admiral in the 1938 match race with Seabiscuit. War Admiral was the 1938 Triple Crown winner, and considered the best horse in America at that time. Kurtsinger’s words reflect the theme that heart matters above all else. The race was advantageous for War Admiral in several ways, yet Pollard correctly predicted that Seabiscuit had the heart to prevail.

“‘I am extremely proud of the horse,’ Howard said of Kayak, ‘but I can’t help saying I would have been happier had Seabiscuit been the winner.’”

Somewhat ironically, Howard finally won the race he coveted so much, the Santa Anita Handicap, in 1939, but with his horse Kayak rather than Seabiscuit. The above quote shows the sentimental attachment he had for Seabiscuit since he had been desperate to win the race in previous years. Winning with Kayak turned out to be not quite enough.

“Back in Willits, Doc Babcock had finally set Pollard’s leg properly, and it was beginning to heal. He limped out of the hospital in early spring. Babcock sent him out with a stern warning: His leg would not stand the rigors of riding. If he went back to racing, he could be crippled for the rest of his life. He must never mount a horse again. Pollard smiled. ‘Then I reckon I’ll have to find somebody to boost me up,’ he said.”

This again shows the seriousness of Pollard’s injuries. The risk of his being crippled by continuing to ride hung over Howard’s decision whether to let him be Seabiscuit’s jockey in the 1940 hundred-grander. It also shows Pollard’s offbeat sense of humor, joking even of such a serious matter, and his desire to do nothing else in life but race horses. 

“Red would go up to the barn, hitch a lead rope onto Seabiscuit, and head off into the meadows, swinging painfully along on his crutches while Seabiscuit limped beside him. ‘We were a couple of old cripples together,’ Red said, ‘all washed up. But somehow we both had a pretty good idea that we’d be back.’”

This is the greatest obstacle the two had faced in their racing careers and exemplifies the theme “where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Somehow both Pollard and Seabiscuit recovered enough to return and win the Santa Anita Handicap. It also added to the story line that endeared them to the public. Both jockey and horse were broken down at this point in their careers (as well as others) but came back to win big. It gave people the hero tale they yearned for during the Great Depression. 

“No elite horse had ever returned to top form after such a serious injury and lengthy layoff. Few great horses have competed beyond age five or through more than forty races; in a couple of months Seabiscuit would be a bewhiskered seven years old, more than twice the age of many of the horses he would be facing, and he had already raced eighty-five times. When word got out, the Howard team would be widely ridiculed. But Smith, Howard, and Pollard believed he could do it.”

The obstacles facing Seabiscuit were both numerous and serious. This passage sums up well the mountain he had to climb and the extent of public disbelief in his ability to return to form. Yet his team believed in him and in each other. It neatly sums up all three of the book’s main themes.

“He was the hottest name in the nation. Fans thronged into the Uptown Theater in Pasadena to see The Life of Seabiscuit, a compilation of the horse’s newsreel footage. The film relegated a much anticipated Jimmy Stewart movie to second billing. The stylish ‘Seabiscuit’ ladies’ hat, with a fishnet veil, was all the rage in department stores on Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue. The hat was the first of myriad lines of signature products: toys, commemorative wastebaskets, two varieties of oranges. All kinds of businesses from hotels to laundries to humor magazines were using the horse’s likeness in their ads. The horse even had his own parlor game, the first of at least nine.”

Hillenbrand writes this about Seabiscuit’s popularity in 1940, the year he made his comeback. It sums up well the depth of his effect on American culture, from such highbrow settings as Fifth Avenue in New York on down. It would be a remarkable phenomenon for a human celebrity to achieve, much less an equine one.