Evening star., 1938-12-25

rodeo broncho around with him as
a companion for Seabiscuit, the now
-mannered punkin.
Smith once bought and sold bron-
chos that could shake loose the best
of the punchers. Thus his trail
crossed that of the late Charlie
Cowboy Irwin, leading trainer
himself years ago on the old West
ern bullrings, and they teamed up.
After Irwin died Smith struck out
for himself
Rodeos are hard on horses and
punchers, too, for that matter, so
Smith knows plenty about keeping
his charges fit. Those rodeo years
still stand him in good stead, for
without capable man to handle
him, Seabiscuit might be just an
other horse with sore legs and not
the conqueror of War Admiral and
the champion horse of the year.
The afternoon before the Admiral
and the Biscuit met in their match
race at Pimlico down in Baltimore
Smith and C. S. Howard. the San
Francisco businessman who owns
him, spent the afternoon walking
around the track
Every few feet they would stop
and examine the dirt. They lit
orally went over every inch of the
track, not once but five times. Among
other things they wanted to find out
which spot was best for the Biscuit
to make his run.
The sun went down and Tom
Smith and Howard still were out
there walking around the track
They last were seen sitting dirt
through their hands out on the back
stretch. In all, they walked more
than S miles. but they won the race.
Tom Smith got the habit Of keep
ing quiet out West and he hasn't
lost it yet. Silent Tom is a nick
name with meaning. The inquisi-
tive writer who seeks him out for
report on Seabiscuit won't have
much to write about. He would do
better to find Howard. who doesn't
find talking such a chore.
Nh SOAASo VII Vic JVUs
B. A. Jones is another veteran of
the gaslight era who doesn't waste
words. Until he took over Herbert
NJ. Woolf's thoroughbreds he always
worked for himself Thirty years he
campaigned through the Midwest
with his own horses.
Now one of his charges is Lawrin,
the Kentucky Derby winner, and
right proud of him, too, is plain Ben.
A Well-built, ruddy-faced man,
used to life in the open, he is an
other trainer who doesn't believe in
ruling his roost from hotel bed.
The help is out at the track be-
fore the mists have cleared away
at dawn, and so is plain Ben. No
holds or tricks were barred IN the
Western bull rings, and he never
has learned to trust the handling
of his horses to another man.
Some trainers are satisfied when
the fifth assistant reports by tele-
phone on the morning workouts, and
afterward settle snugly down for
another snooze. Not plain Ben.
Every morning there he is, riding
his white pony, and what he says
goes.
Ben Bernie, the Old Maestro,
really doesn't belong in story about
trainers, but his one-horse stable
has become one of the best-known
losing propositions on Broadway.
Nobody knows better than Bernie
that sometimes it costs instead Of
pays to own a thoroughbred.
Bernie paid Sonny Whitney $1,000
for his horse, Yves, and then put her
in capable hands. All Bernie will
say about her is right in character.
She costs me a pretty penny,
alas he signs.
"Yowzir'
After more than a score of races
she finally did win down in Mary
land last autumn, astonishing all
concerned and Bernie most of all.
The day we talked with him she
was running again, at Laurel, it so
happened.
Tact isn't in our line, so we asked
him about the race.
Out of the money" he shrugged.
What would you expect?'
The only time he smiled was when
he learned we wanted only to talk
about Wes, not buy her.
Oh was his lament, Il thought
had customer"
He should have known better.