The Derby: ‘A Sudden Move’ — 50 Years Ago

At the 99th Run for the Roses, the Kentucky Derby record was shattered by a three-year-old demi-god (maybe not so demi, some would say) named Secretariat.

AP/file
Secretariat, with jockey Ron Turcotte up, passes the twin spires of Churchill Downs during the running of the 99th Kentucky Derby at Louisville, Kentucky on May 5, 1973. AP/file

When the Kentucky Derby goes off this afternoon, we will be thinking of what happened exactly 50 years ago at the 99th Run for the Roses. That’s when the Derby record was shattered by a three-year-old demi-god (maybe not so demi, some would say) named Secretariat who would go on to break the record in the Preakness and, again, in the Belmont, to emerge as the greatest multicellular being of all time.

It happens that we were there. We, a young reporter in town to visit a friend on the Courier Journal, had purchased a cheap ticket for the infield. We had managed to squirm to a spot pressed up against a kind of chain-link fence a few feet in from the wood fence that Secretariat’s jockey, Ron Turcotte, would see as the left hand rail. We remember our spot being one or two persons away from the closest one could get to the finish line.

Everyone knew it was going to be an epic race. Secretariat had come in only third in the Wood Memorial, two weeks prior, but he’d already been syndicated for an astounding $6 million and had already been named Horse of the Year. So the mood was exciting. “Old Kentucky Home” was sung. A fellow behind me had a woman sitting on his shoulders, and she was holding a large — we learned later — bucket of beer.

There were 13 horses in the race, and the betting suggested a lot of confidence in the big red thoroughbred. He went off at 1.5, meaning a two-dollar bet returned a scant $3. And when they came out of the first turn, the caller was shouting: “On the inside it’s Angle Light. That’s for the lead on the outside Shecky Green, Royal and Regal and, on the rail, it’s Restless Jet followed by Our Native. Up on the outside, it’s Gold Bag.”

As the horses hurtled by the stands for the first time the announcer bellowed that “Shecky Green is showing the way by a length and a half. Royal and Regal now being moved to the inside looking for room. Gold bag is up on the outside. Then on the rail is Angle Light followed by Sham, Our Native, Restless Jet, My Gallant, then Forgo. On the outside Navajo, followed by Secretariat, Warbucks, and, finally, Quite the Prince.

“They’re moving on the turn, the leader is Shecky Green, leading by two and a half lengths, Gold Bag is second by a head. Sham now third on the outside by two lengths. Royal and Regal Fourth two lengths and back to Angle Light in fifth.” This is where — we remember it like it was yesterday — the announcer rumbled what could well be the most famous words in sport, “Secretariat has made a sudden move.”

What he was talking about is that Secretariat, at that point in sixth place, had moved to the outside and, suddenly, without any histrionics, elbow-flapping, use of a whip, or any other accoutrement, had floored it in a foretaste of what we would see in the Belmont. Not that it was easy, the horses were all bunched up, and as the ponies thundered through the far turn toward the top of the stretch, Secretary had advanced only two places.

“Secretariat,” bellowed the announcer, “is fourth and moving up on the outside and is now third and moving at the leaders as they come for the head of the stretch. They’re at the head of the stretch, and Sham is the leader. He leads it by a length. Secretariat is in the” — mark the point — “center of the race track and driving. Shecky Green now drops back. Coming on a bit is Forgo, Our Native on the outside.”

“Now they’re in the stretch, it’s Secretariat — Secretariat on the outside to take the lead, Sham holding in Second. It’s Secretariat moving away, he has it by two and a half. Sham, and then on the outside, our Native. At the wire it’s going to be Secretariat. He wins it by two and a half.” Upon which, the woman on the shoulders of the fellow behind us threw the large bucket of beer into the air and it descended on our back.

No big. When the numbers went up, it turned out that Secretariat had broken the Derby record set by none other than Northern Dancer. The Dancer was himself one of the greatest horses that ever ate an oat. Maclean’s once reported that every one of the 20 horses in the 2014 Kentucky Derby were descended from Northern Dancer. Secretariat broke not only the Derby record but those of the Preakness and Belmont. All three stand today.


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