“Stevens”
January 17th, 2005by Jude T. Feld
Gary Stevens and Rock Hard Ten
Gennia Cui Photo
In case you were out of touch Thanksgiving weekend, Gary Stevens retired from the saddle on the closing day of Churchill Downs’ fall meeting. Racing has lost several Hall of Famers to the rocking chair in the last couple of years, but when I heard the news that Gary was hanging up his tack, it left me with an empty feeling, kinda like the one Don McLean wrote about in The Day The Music Died.
Gary and I had a lot of success together and our families have always been close. My daughter Rian and Gary’s daughter Ashley became friends playing in the sand on the 18th Street beach at Del Mar when they were just little girls and they are still tight into their twenties. Our families barbequed together, bowled together, boogie boarded together and won a lot of races together.
Patrick Biancone, who saddled Gary’s final mount, said he regretted not meeting him 25 years ago. I was lucky enough to have that pleasure.
I remember the first time Gary rode for me. I had a little maiden filly entered in the only 12-horse field of the day at Santa Anita. My jock got hurt a couple races earlier and my choices were limited to two riders. Charlie McCaul, then the assistant clerk of scales, met me outside the jocks room.
“Stevens or the bug?” he asked.
“Stevens,” I replied.
“Excellent choice sir,” Charlie said sounding like a maitre’d.
The filly ran fourth — pretty good for a Jude Feld first time starter.
“Whaddya think?” I asked Gary.
“She’s a nice little filly Mr. Feld,” Gary said. “She does everything right. I think she’ll be very tough to beat in San Francisco for $8,000 maidens. Thanks for giving me a shot Mr. Feld. I really appreciate the chance.”
Fast forward about 10 years to a day at Del Mar when I managed to have Gary named on horses in four races. The venerable jock agent Ray Kravagna was handling Gary’s book at the time and later, I’d tease him that reason Gary fired him is that he gave me four calls in one day.
Gary came out for the first race sporting Robert Moreno’s Dodger blue silks and I gave him instructions.
“Listen,” I said. “We have to live with one another all day. You ride these horses any way you want. I have just one request. Don’t yell at me after the races.”
Gary, a fierce competitor, who could get pretty hot after a losing race, smiled and agreed to the plan.
Scorpio Marjorie, making her turf debut, in a new pair of blinkers, made the lead at the sixteenth pole but got nailed by Eddie Delahoussaye in the last jump. I was ecstatic with her performance. Gary was not.
“You stupid sonofabitch,” he said as he unsaddled. “If you would have put some (bleeping) holes in these blinkers she could have seen that horse coming. I can’t (bleeping) believe it.”
I walked back towards the paddock to watch the replay and bumped into Kravagna.
“That filly ran great,” he said.
“Yeah,” I replied. “But your jock didn’t follow instructions.”
“Whaddya mean?” he said. “He rode her perfectly.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But my only instruction was not to yell at me after the race and he called me a sonofabitch even before he dismounted.”
Gary came out for the next race and sauntered up to me like a guy going to the gallows.
“Ray said I didn’t follow instructions,” he said sheepishly. “I promise I won’t do it again…at least today.”
We finished in the money with all four horses without winning but it was very enjoyable the rest of the day.
Eastern philosopher Deepak Chopra says, “Everyone has a particular talent, something that they do better than anyone else.”
If you wanted to make a jockey as smart as Bailey, as dedicated as Laffit, as cool as Eddie D., who rode the turf like Toro, could break like Flores, nurse one like Shoe, coax one like Krone, finish like Chavez and win the big ones like Day, you will have finished second, because God already made Gary Stevens.
Arguably the best rider in the last century, Gary could do it all — and has. Short or long, dirt or turf, at Les Bois Park for his dad or at Ascot for the Queen — any country, any track, anywhere.
What was Gary’s “particular talent?” In my opinion, he made the fewest mistakes on the racetrack of any rider I have ever seen.
We have all witnessed Tiger Woods knock a two-iron 280 yards — to within a foot of the cup — and then be angry because it was on the wrong side of the flag. Most mere mortals would be happy to have the ball on the green! Tiger wanted it to the right and the ball landed left. That’s a huge mistake to him. Gary was like that. He expected to ride a perfect race and he expected to win. And just like Tiger, most of the time, he was successful at both.
Racing, like golf, is a game of inches. Gary knew this and rode accordingly. He saved ground when he could, angled out at just the right time, went through the hole before it closed and could get one up in the last jump or nurse one to the wire. He was a relentless competitor, gracious in victory, agonized in defeat.
Gary could never win as many as Laffit, the Shoe or Pat Day, because he’s got knees like a guy who doesn’t pay the loan shark. He had to pick his spots. But if I had to pick a rider, my first choice would always be “Stevens,” sonofabitch or not.
