Native Dancer

by John Eisenberg

  Ordinarily, the public is thrilled by such surprises, a champion toppling. It is human nature to root for those not expected to win, and to revel in their victories. The first half of the sports century had been littered with such moments, now burnished into the nation’s memory. There was little-known Francis Ouimet’s defeat of British stars Harry Vardon and Ted Ray in the 1913 U.S. Open golf championship, the victory that turned golf into a spectator sport in America. There was the only loss of Man O’ War’s career, to a colt named Upset in the 1919 Sanford Stakes. There was unbeaten Notre Dame, coached by Knute Rockne, losing to Carnegie Tech in football in 1926. There was boxer Jim Braddock, the Cinderella Man, struggling through the early years of the Depression on welfare before upsetting Max Baer to win the heavyweight championship in 1935. More recently, in 1951, baseball’s New York Giants had rallied miraculously late in the season to force a play-off with the Brooklyn Dodgers for the National League pennant, then won the play-off on Bobby Thompson’s ninth-inning homer.

  Dark Star’s upset of Native Dancer was just as surprising, but it didn’t elicit the same, sweeping delight. To the contrary, where the others had overjoyed, this depressed. “Thousands turned from their TV screens in sorrow, a few in tears,” Time magazine reported. New York Times columnist Arthur Daley wrote, “This reporter was never as emotionally affected by a horse race as [this one]. At the end he felt heartbroken. Since he didn’t have a pfennig bet on the outcome, it had to be pure sentiment which moved him.”

  The weeping wasn’t limited to press romantics. “I have never had the defeat of any horse I did not raise myself depress me as much as that of Native Dancer on Derby Day,” wrote a Kentucky breeder named Charles Kenney in a letter to Vanderbilt. “My wife, who is usually a stoic, burst into tears. I sure felt like joining her. [And] my reaction has been echoed by practically every man, woman and child in the Blue Grass.”

  Kenney’s letter was one of hundreds Vanderbilt received. Never, safe to say, had a Derby defeat generated such emotion. “I don’t believe I have ever felt so bad as the moment the Dancer lost the Derby. I’m not ashamed that tears welled in my eyes,” wrote a man from Omaha, Nebraska. Bayard Sharp wrote, “I have never heard of so many people who were genuinely sick” after a race.

  Not everyone was “sick,” of course. Those who had bet on Dark Star and earned $51.80 for a two-dollar wager were not the least bit sad. Neither were Harry Guggenheim, Eddie Hayward, and Henry Moreno, Dark Star’s owner, trainer, and jockey, all instantly earmarked for a place in Derby history as the purveyors of a monumental upset.

  Across the country, though, there was far more sadness than elation. Why? For starters, the Dancer was enormously popular, so naturally, his defeat was disappointing. “He was just so good that you didn’t want him to get beat,” recalled Hall of Fame trainer Allen Jerkens, who watched the race on TV. Now he had lost, and the circumstances cast him as that most alluring of figures, the noble victim. He had faced two obstacles, many agreed, the bump on the first turn and a less-than-perfect ride from Guerin, yet had still come within a head of winning, his furious rally illustrating to a public already fond of him that, indeed, he possessed a champion’s heart.

  Outside of Dark Star’s camp, there was the vague sense that racing’s natural order had been violated, that a wrong had been committed, that the best horse not only had lost but also deserved better. Arthur Daley wrote that his sadness probably stemmed from “a bitter and brooding feeling that the best horse didn’t win.” Joe Tannenbaum concurred in the Miami Daily News, writing that Vanderbilt’s colt “appeared to be the best horse in the Derby and certainly must still be rated as the potential champion of this year’s three-year-old class.” Momentously, even the Daily Racing Form’s chart caller, supposedly the most neutral man in the press box, wrote that Native Dancer was “probably best.”

  The postrace dissection centered on four topics: the bump, Guerin’s ride, the Dancer’s fitness, and Dark Star’s undeniably fine performance, with the bump becoming a source of great controversy. Although Vanderbilt was gracious in Louisville after the race, the stare he gave Popara on the apron made it clear he believed Money Broker’s jockey had intentionally impeded the Grey Ghost. He told the Morning Telegraph as much at Belmont two days later, commenting that Popara was guilty of “deliberately going and getting” the Dancer. The comment made headlines, and Vanderbilt quickly distanced himself from the issue and never again blamed Popara in public. But his inner sentiments had been revealed. “He did think Money. Broker and Popara were laying for him,” Alfred Vanderbilt III said years later.

  Guerin levied his own charge several days after the race, telling a United Press reporter, “I talked to Popara, and he told me his horse was lugging in and he couldn’t hold him. But truthfully, I think he was lying. I don’t think it was an accident.”

  Why would Popara have come after the favorite? Not because of some plot involving money changing hands in an attempt to orchestrate the finish. That surely happened from time to time, but in this case, it was ludicrous to suggest that a race-fixer wanting to knock off the Dancer would have identified an obscure jockey on a 45-1 shot as a willing, able, or effective accomplice.

  On the other hand, it was entirely possible Popara could have “come after” the Grey Ghost as long shots often came after favorites in the early 1950s, or more accurately, as any jockey came after another in a major race. “In those days, everyone tried to get the favorite; get him out of the race,” Dr. Alex Harthill said years later. “Popara certainly did that. Money Broker hit the Dancer really hard.”

  Eddie Arcaro seconded the idea several days after the race, suggesting that the incident, which had occurred behind him, was a typical event in a race ungoverned by the film patrol. “Sure, Popara knew what he was doing, and he did just what I would have done,” Arcaro told the Baltimore Sun’s William Boniface. “When you are going after a big one like the Derby, you don’t let any horse through the middle, especially a favorite like the Dancer. That’s race riding.”

  A half century later, Shoemaker, who witnessed the incident, scoffed at the description of Popara’s actions as “race riding”—a jockeys’ term for doing what came naturally to try to win. “I suppose he thought he was race riding, but they shouldn’t allow that sort of thing to go on. They don’t today,” Shoemaker said. “Popara didn’t finish anywhere, but he caused a great horse that shouldn’t have lost to get beat. If that was his idea of glory, that’s too bad.”

  Popara vehemently denied the charge, telling the Courier-Journal’s Jerry McNerney several days after the race that “there was nothing intentional about the bumping.” The jockey was holed up at a trailer park in Louisville, sitting out the ten-day suspension Churchill’s stew-

  ards had handed him before the Derby. “I’m sorry Guerin feels the way he does,” Popara said, “and I know how Guerin and Mr. Vanderbilt feel, losing the Derby by a head. I hated to see a great horse get beat.”

  He gave McNerney his version of what happened as he tried to pass the Dancer on the first turn. “I thought we were clear of him, but Money Broker suddenly changed stride and we bumped into him and I heard Guerin yell,” he said. “It’s entirely possible the bumping kept him from winning. But you know, when you have a string of wins, racing luck is bound to catch up with you.”

  Popara would live another forty-nine years, denying every day that he intentionally bumped the Dancer. In an interview with Bolus in 1978, he even denied bumping the favorite at all, saying he really just cut off the Dancer and forced Guerin to check the horse and take him outside. Guerin had unwittingly come close to confirming that version of the incident years earlier, when he told the United Press, “When Popara came in, he pushed me on the heels of the horses in front of me, which could have caused a terrible accident.”

  Whatever really happened, it was beyond the claws of review—aside from the absence of film patrol footage, no newsreel or TV camera had produced a clear-eyed view—and Churchill’s stew
ards took no action against Popara, whom they had already sanctioned. “Everyone who saw the race is entitled to his or her opinion,” said presiding steward Sam McMeekin, who otherwise refused comment.

  The most infamous bump in Derby history eventually took on a life of its own, swelling to mythological proportions and stirring an unceasing debate. New York newspaper columnist Jimmy Breslin wrote years later that the Dancer “was nearly knocked down” and that “nobody who saw the race believes it was accidental.” Bolus interviewed Vanderbilt in 1978 and reported that the owner said “a blind man could see” that the bump cost the Dancer the race. Annoyed by these depictions, which he saw as inaccurate, Louisville Times sports editor Dean Eagle wrote in a responding column that, in fact, the bump was “mild,” few in the crowd saw it, and no one believed it was intentional. A consensus opinion still hadn’t formed a half century after the race, and likely never would. “Louis [Cheri] just told me that everyone was on their feet, and there was a gasp because they knew something happened, but no one could say precisely what,” Alfred Vanderbilt III said.

  Did it cost the Dancer the race? Again, there is no consensus opinion. The Grey Ghost was certainly thrown off stride and pushed closer to the rear than Guerin wanted. “I saw it as it happened, and there was no doubt, he was impeded; Money Broker did him pretty good,” Joe Tannenbaum said fifty years later. Yet there was still almost a mile left in the race, and the Dancer rallied to within two lengths of the lead by the top of the stretch, so there was time to win. “The bump was a long way from home,” Allen Jerkens said. “Things like that happen in the Derby every year—even worse.”

  There is more of a consensus regarding the bump’s effect on Guerin, who made several debatable decisions in its wake. “It probably shook Guerin up more than the horse,” Vanderbilt told Bolus in 1978. Indeed, numerous criticisms of the jockey’s performance slowly rose to the surface over time, with various rivals and observers second-guessing him for (a) holding the Dancer back in the first quarter mile, (b) asking for trouble on the first turn by getting caught in a pack, (c) racing up the backstretch too hurriedly, leaving little gas in the Dancer’s tank for the homestretch, (d) moving down to the rail, from where the Dancer seldom charged, on the second turn, (e) holding the Dancer back yet again at the top of the stretch, postponing his final charge until it was too late, (f) getting caught behind Dark Star in the stretch, forcing him to move off the rail as he rallied, and (g) in general, giving the colt a ride consisting of so many stops and starts and ins and outs that, as one steward reportedly later said, “He took that horse everywhere on the track but to the ladies’ room.”

  Ralph Kercheval told Bill Christine of the Los Angeles Times in 1989 that Guerin “panicked” after the bump. Moreno, the winning jockey, told the Knight-Ridder News Service in 1982 that Guerin “had to ease the horse up four or five different times—that was his mistake. Horses have only so many runs in them, but Guerin rode him like ‘I can do anything I want.’ ”

  Vanderbilt died in 1997 without addressing the issue publicly, but Alfred Vanderbilt III said, “I asked my father straight up about the ride one time, and he said it probably wasn’t the best ride Eric Guerin ever gave him. But that was as far as he’d ever go. He didn’t say it was a bad ride. He just said, ‘It probably wasn’t the best ride he’d ever given [the horse].’ Which was very fair.”

  Bill Winfrey also never addressed the issue publicly, but his son Carey said years later, “My father once said to me that he felt that Native Dancer probably raced thirty or forty yards farther than any other horse in the race, which was a huge number of yards. He never said it publicly. He also admitted to me that he felt Eric moved too late in the stretch. He didn’t know why he hung back. He felt that there was bad racing luck involved, that Eric gave him a bad ride and that’s why he didn’t win.”

  Years later, Guerin’s own first cousin Charles Ray Leblanc was critical of Guerin’s ride. “I might not oughta say this, but it was my opinion Eric rode a bad race,” Leblanc said. “There were some bad judgments he made; some of the few bad judgments he made in his career. He kept trying to take the horse back in the beginning and wound up getting in trouble. He should have just let the horse run. Then when he got in trouble, I think it riled him a little bit. It’s just my opinion, but he never should have got beat.”

  Tannenbaum said years later, “Guerin was one of the finest riders of his day, but everyone in any sport has temporary lapses. No matter how much of a pro Guerin was, and he was the consummate pro, it was still the Derby. He may have been tense. Instead of taking the horse to the outside on the second turn, he went to the rail to save ground. Maybe he was trying to save the horse after that furious run up the backside, but he should have gone to the outside and let the horse run, as he’d done in his other races.”

  Jerkens took a kinder view, focusing only on Guerin’s failure to gain ground in the first half of the stretch, and dismissing his delayed rally as understandable. “Guerin was such a good rider and had so much confidence in the horse that he knew he could make up two lengths in a quarter mile,” Jerkens said. “He had won a lot of races from a lot farther back than he was. It was incredible that he didn’t make up those two lengths. What happened was the other horse kept going, and they just missed. This happens in racing.”

  Strangely, there was little discussion of any of this immediately after the race. In the jockeys’ room, Guerin spoke mostly about the bump and told reporters the Dancer wasn’t himself. “He wasn’t running as well in the stretch as he was in his New York races; it may have been that he didn’t like the track,” the jockey said. Arthur Daley wrote that the jockey “bore a stunned and disbelieving look” and “was on his way home for a good cry.” But Daley’s postmortem column also offered unattributed second-guessing from a “veteran horseman” questioning Guerin for holding the Dancer back in the beginning. There was “talk,” Daley wrote, “that Guerin had given the horse a slightly less than perfect ride.” Things worsened from there.

  Guerin would ride for another two decades, retiring after a thirty-five-year career that included 20,131 mounts, 2,712 wins, and election to the National Museum of Racing’s Hall of Fame. But “because people never forget a mistake,” he said years later, he was remembered mostly for losing the Derby. “Anytime anyone interviews me, it’s the first question they ask: ‘What happened in the Derby?’ ” he told the Daily Racing Form in 1975. He handled the criticism with class, never publicly lashing back, although he did tell the Form he “got a little tired of hearing about it.” When he went into the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame in 1992, he chose Popara, of all people, to introduce him at the ceremony. Guerin had long ago patched up his differences with Money Broker’s jockey, who had settled in New Orleans. “They were best buddies, sitting there joking at the induction ceremony; it was water under the bridge,” said Guerin’s nephew, Frank Curry, who traveled with Guerin to the ceremony.

  But though he was able to joke about it, Guerin never consented to the notion that his ride had cost the Dancer the Derby. He remained true to his original assessment, offered immediately after the race, that the Grey Ghost wasn’t himself that day. “If he had been running his race in the first part of it, he wouldn’t have been that far back; Money Broker should never have been in front of him,” he told Jim Bolus in 1968. Later that year, he told Peter Finney of the New Orleans Times that the colt’s pre-Derby training affected him adversely in the race, that he was sluggish in the early going because he had been forced to run far behind Social Outcast in their one-mile “trial” three days before the race. “He never loafed out of the gate like he did in the Derby; I couldn’t get him going,” Guerin said. “He was just doing the same thing he had done in that trial.”

  Attempts to blame a horse often sit poorly with horsemen. “Eric was not too kind after the race,” Dan W. Scott said. “Every jock wants to assume it’s someone else’s fault or the horse’s fault or he got bumped or some other jock did wrong. He said Nativ
e Dancer just wasn’t himself that day. But Native Dancer was practically running over horses in the last quarter. Bill Winfrey said he had never seen a horse close that much ground as fast as he did.”

  History has generally dismissed Guerin’s notion that the Dancer lost because he “wasn’t himself.” To the contrary, many believe the Dancer’s greatness was, in fact, indelibly confirmed that day. His furious finish certainly laid to rest the idea—much discussed to that point—that he would have trouble racing at longer distances because Polynesian was his sire. Given the obstacles he faced, his near victory was quite a performance. Asked years later by the Blood-Horse to name the horse’s best races, Winfrey put the Derby on the list. “Only a superhorse could have finished with the drive that he did after the trip that he had,” Tannenbaum said.

  “Native Dancer ran magnificently,” Evan Shipman wrote in a Morning Telegraph column several days after the race. “Never during the two seasons that Vanderbilt’s great grey has charmed and impressed the racing public has he run better, or as well. Don’t let his defeat blind you to his true accomplishment, because it was remarkable, disposing once and for all the legend that he could not ‘go a distance,’ and attesting, as never before, to his admirable speed and courage.”

  Yet in Guerin’s defense, there is also evidence supporting the idea that the horse wasn’t at his best. Winfrey said in a 1989 interview with racing journalist Eva Jolene Boyd that he felt he didn’t have the Dancer ready for the Derby, and while Carey Winfrey wonders whether his father should be believed—according to Carey, his father had suffered a series of mini-strokes, possibly clouding his memory—it is possible the Dancer wasn’t in peak condition.