The Unforgettable Journey of Smarty Jones Part 1

To celebrate the 20^th anniversary of Smarty Jones’ Kentucky Derby victory and his remarkable story I am turning back the pages and returning to Smarty’s early days and following him right up to that memorable day at Churchill Downs. It is quite long, but Smarty’s story needs to be told in full detail. Part 2 will appear between the Preakness and Belmont Stakes. ~ Steve Haskin

The Unforgettable Journey of Smarty Jones – Part 1

By Steve Haskin

 

The legend of Smarty Jones has numerous chapters for such a brief story, but each one is so rich and ripe with emotion they are able to coalesce and form one of the epic tales of the Turf.

Smarty’s legacy extended well beyond the racetrack. If you wonder why racing in Pennsylvania has thrived since the introduction of casino gaming you can thank the efforts of one chestnut racehorse and the phenomenon he created known as Smarty Mania.

Pennsylvania governor Ed Rendell credits Smarty Jones for playing a major role in the state getting slot machines. “As Smarty caught fire, and it hit home, he absolutely captured the imagination of the legislature,” he said. “All of a sudden horse racing was big in Pennsylvania, and it’s not an exaggeration to say that Smarty got us the extra votes that we needed down the stretch, and that his tremendous run helped us pass the law.”

To many, it seems like only yesterday that the name Smarty Jones was on everyone’s lips, as hundreds of thousands of letters came pouring in to owners Roy and Pat Chapman and trainer John Servis. It still seems hard to believe the saga that would unfold from a nondescript Pennsylvania-bred colt owned and bred by small-time breeders who were down to their last couple of foals and looking to get out of the sport.

Although it sounds like a children’s novel, The Legend of Smarty Jones reads like a soap opera, complete with murder, misadventure, and debilitating illness. But most of all it’s a story about perseverance and loyalty, and a very special horse, the likes of whom had not been seen in this country for a very long time. As if riding in on the tail of the Seabiscuit and Funny Cide comets that had turned into two books and a full-length motion picture at the time, Smarty Jones carved his own niche in racing folklore. And like The Biscuit and Funny Cide, he transcended the sport of Thoroughbred racing, reaching deep into the heart of mainstream America.

The legend was spawned on the Chapmans’ 100-acre Someday Farm in Chester County, Pennsylvania., where a chestnut colt by Elusive Quality out of I’ll Get Along, by Smile, was born on Feb. 28, the same birthdate as Pat Chapman’s mother, Mildred, whose nickname of Smarty Jones was passed on to the young horse. The prologue had been written.

But the story of the little colt with the children’s book name took a sudden detour when the Chapmans’ trainer, Bob Camac, who had picked out I’ll Get Along and recommended Elusive Quality, was murdered in December 2001 by his stepson, who also killed his mother, Camac’s wife, Maryann.

With Camac’s death and Roy Chapman in ill health, suffering from emphysema, the Chapmans had lost their enthusiasm for the sport and sold almost every one of their horses, leaving themselves with only two Pennsylvania-bred weanlings, one of whom was Smarty Jones.

“When Bobby got killed, it took the starch out of Roy,” said the Chapmans’ former trainer Mark Reid. The Chapmans decided to keep Smarty Jones after getting a call from their farm manager telling them he thought the colt was something special. The decision was made to keep the horse and train him at Philadelphia Park. When Roy Chapman contacted Reid, who was now a noted bloodstock agent, and asked him about a possible trainer, he recommended his former assistant, John Servis. End of Chapter One.

The wheels were now in motion. The magical journey of Smarty Jones was about to begin.

Chapter two begins on a spring morning in 2003 with Servis’ assistant Maureen Donnelly getting up on young 2-year-old having his first gate-schooling . But this would be no ordinary morning, as she watched in horror as another of their colts, Smarty Jones, reared up, hitting his head on one of the iron bars that runs across the top of the gate.

Smarty Jones fell to his knees, blood pouring out of his eye. “It was pretty messy,” Donnelly recalled. “The next day, we thought for sure he was going to lose the eye, because you couldn’t even see the eyeball. It was just the flesh coming out from inside the socket. He looked like something out of a horror movie.”

The scene shifts to the Cream Ridge, New Jersey home of veterinarian Patricia Hogan, who operated the New Jersey Equine Clinic in Clarksburg, with founder Dr. Scott Palmer. Hogan never could have imagined how her life would change the day they rushed an unraced 2-year-old colt named Smarty Jones to the clinic looking so hideous they nicknamed him Quasimodo. “His whole face was horrible, and his left eye was so swollen it wasn’t even visible,” Hogan said. “I really wasn’t sure if I could save it or not.”

In addition, Smarty Jones had suffered multiple fractures of his skull, fractured his sinus cavities, and the orbit (the circular bone that holds the eyeball) was broken.

When Hogan received the report on Smarty from track veterinarian Dan Hanf, who explained to her the severity of the injury and how grotesque the colt looked, she feared the worst as the van pulled into the clinic.

Hanf had described the horse as being extremely swollen and with blood coming out of both nostrils. He told her this was “a real emergency and needing removal of a ruptured eyeball.” When the van arrived, Hogan went out to meet it, thinking that the horse might have difficulty unloading or be quite stressed. But as she walked out through the barn to the doorway, she heard “clip-clop, clip-clop,” and here came Smarty Jones “trotting” around the corner of the drive, dragging his handler, whinnying, and with his ears straight up. As awful as he looked, he was as bright as could be and actually acted, as Hogan said, “like he was THE MAN and was trumpeting his arrival to the stable.”

“I was really shocked at his demeanor,” Hogan said. “His head was terribly swollen because the sinuses had leaked so much air through the fractured portion that it filled up like a balloon under the skin. The left eye was unrecognizable — it was swollen shut with orange-red tissue bulging out of the slit where his eyeball should have been. It was that appearance that led all of us to believe he had ruptured his eye and required an emergency removal of the injured eyeball. But when we ultra-sounded his head, we saw that the eyeball was indeed intact.”

Hogan injected all of the swollen tissue with medication and wrapped his entire head with a large pressure bandage to limit the amount of swelling. Only the horse’s ears and his right eye were visible. The rest of his head was wrapped up tight.

“That was why we nicknamed him Quasimodo,” she said. “But his attitude was so impressive, and he was so intelligent. He had a real charisma about him and he was all about ‘fun.’ The way he looked at you and communicated to the other horses, and the way he carried himself, he was just so confident and exuded such star quality. He acted like the proverbial Big Man on Campus.

“We had him at the clinic for two weeks and I remember everything about him. He was a nothing 2-year-old at the time, but for some reason, he and all of us here knew he was special. That has to mean something. I examine a few thousand horses a year, and yet I remember every hair on this horse’s head. Something had to be at play there.”

When Smarty returned to Philly Park, any fears about his attitude toward training and the racetrack were quickly put to rest. Not only did he exhibit no psychological trauma from the injury, he couldn’t wait to get back to training.

After he returned to the track and began racing everyone at the clinic followed his career closely, clipping out articles about him and posting them in the surgery room.

The number of articles became much more than they could have ever expected. Smarty dominated his opponents at Philadelphia Park and Aqueduct before tearing through the Oaklawn series of Kentucky Derby preps by winning the Southwest, Rebel, and Arkansas Derby, putting himself in position to win a new $5 million bonus offered by Oaklawn on its 100th anniversary to any horse who could win the Rebel, Arkansas Derby, and Kentucky Derby.

On Thursday, April 22, nine days before the Derby, Smarty Jones arrived at Churchill Downs. Unlike most horses, he came charging off the van and strutted into Barn 42 as if he were announcing to all the occupants he was taking over, as he had done at the clinic the year before.

“The big dogs are on the backside,” Servis said, as he helped get Smarty Jones settled in. “But I feel like I’m coming with a loaded gun. The way he charged off that van, he knows something big is in store.”

On the Saturday before the Derby, Smarty Jones went out for his final work with jockey Willie Martinez up. By the time he was finished, all of Churchill Downs knew that this was no ordinary horse. With Martinez motionless throughout, Smarty Jones breezed five furlongs in :58 flat as if he were out for a morning stroll. His feet barely touched the ground as he glided smoothly over the Churchill strip. He was a powerhouse galloping out, and wasn’t even blowing coming off the track.

“All I know is that after watching Smarty Jones work today, we’re all in trouble,” said Bob Baffert, trainer of Derby starter Wimbleon. Nick Zito, trainer of Derby starters The Cliff’s Edge and Birdstone, had seen Smarty Jones gallop at Keeneland earlier in the week, and all he could say was: “Whew! I can’t believe the way he attacks the ground.”

After the work, Martinez, who has been a major part of the Smarty Jones team, couldn’t stop raving about the colt. “When you’re undefeated, you know you’re the man,” he said. “I’ve been riding for 16 years and I know the feeling when a horse’s confidence level keeps rising and rising. I don’t think anyone really knows how good this horse is or how good he’s going to be.”

In his gallops following the work, Smarty Jones literally dragged his 170-pound exercise rider, Pete Van Trump, around the track like a rag doll. After two days of Van Trump being forced to stand straight up in the irons, trying to rein in this rampaging bundle of power and energy, Servis finally had to gallop alongside Smarty Jones on the pony, keeping a firm hold of him. As he returned with the colt one morning, all Servis said was, “Man, I wish the Derby was tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how to describe him, I really don’t,” Van Trump said. “There’s just such an adrenaline rush to be on something like that. He’s so headstrong; all he wants to do is train. No matter what we do we can’t get him tired.”

The Chapmans arrived at the barn later that morning and went over last-minute details with Servis. Their main concern was getting Roy to the winner’s circle in his wheelchair. Roy, as feisty as his colt, told Servis through sandpaper-lined vocal cords, “I told them if he wins he is not going in that winner’s circle until I get down there. They called me back and said, ‘We’ll get you in. We don’t know how but we’ll get you in.’ The first time we spoke, the guy said, ‘We’re going to carry you across.’ I said, ‘Let me tell you something; you ain’t carrying me across that damn track in front of 150,000 people.’ ”

Servis then jumped in: “Unless they carry you on their shoulders. Just watch they don’t dump any Gatorade on you.” Servis then had the Chapmans listen to a phone message he had received from Oaklawn president Charles Cella, who told Servis, “I just want you to know I got the other half (of the bonus money) covered, so go get the money, honey!”

Derby Day was a mess with heavy rains turning the track sloppy. But as the track was beginning to dry out, Louisville was hit with a storm of biblical proportions. As the rain whipped through Barn 42 accompanied by rumbles of thunder, Smarty Jones seemed unfazed.

With the track again a sea of slop the horses lined up in the starting gate for the Derby. There wasn’t much to describe after that, as Smarty, under relatively unknown jockey Stewart Elliott, tracked the pace-setting Blue Grass Stakes winner Lion Heart. Elliott asked Smarty Jones to close the gap before Lion Heart got away from him. Smarty just cruised by him and drew away to a comfortable two-length victory. As Smarty crossed the finish line, Roy Chapman put his had over his chest and had to sit down. “They thought I was having a heart attack, but I was just out of breath,” he explained.

Watching the Derby at home with family members and several employees from the clinic was Pat Hogan. “When Smarty crossed the finish line in front there was a lot of crying and screaming,” she said.

Philadelphia at the time was craving for a sports hero and they embraced Smarty Jones with a fervor not seen in the City of Brotherly Love since the brief reign of the “Broad Street Bully” Flyers in the early ‘70s.

A few days after the Derby, a full moon had all but faded from the morning sky, and a salmon pink sunrise was now illuminating the tan sheet-metal barns on the Philadelphia Park backstretch. Inside Barn 11, peering out of his once-familiar stall 38, was Kentucky Derby winner Smarty Jones. That’s right, Kentucky Derby winner, Philadelphia Park. To many, the two may seem as closely related as the Belle of Louisville and the Liberty Bell, but there he was, his rich chestnut coat still glistening after a grueling, unforgettable four-month odyssey.

Gone were the lush green grazing areas and airy barns of Churchill Downs. Outside Barn 11, life was as it had been back in January before he embarked on his magical journey into history. Horses ambled about connected to automatic hotwalking machines. Exercise riders and grooms went about their daily chores, their thoughts light years away from the world from which Smarty Jones had just returned.

The night before, at around 9 p.m., Philadelphia’s conquering hero had made an entrance worthy of Julius Caesar returning from battle. With his van escorted by two Bensalem police cars, their sirens blaring, and a pair of TV helicopters that had followed him all the way from the airport hovering overhead, Smarty Jones’ arrival was announced well in advance.

Philadelphia Park did all they could to make his return home as pleasant and comfortable as possible. B.J. Sasser, the construction, carpentry, and maintenance foreman, put new plywood in the colt’s stall, and made sure everything possible was spotless. “We cleaned up as best we could,” Sasser said. “I’ve been here 30 years and never even thought about having a Derby winner here. We just felt fortunate to even have one running in the damn race.”

Servis received the biggest surprise when he returned to his Bensalem home the night before. “You come around the bend to our street, and the whole way down the development every single mailbox has got blue and white balloons,” he said. “And in front of our house is a great big sign that says, ‘Congratulations Kentucky Derby Winner Smarty Jones.’ I coach a little league football team, and everything was made up by the kids. There also was a big congratulatory wreath from the mayor (of Bensalem). Since I got home, it’s all finally starting to sink in. I get a little emotional when I start thinking about it.”

Maureen Donnelly was thrilled to have Smarty Jones back home after being away from him so long. “He’s pretty much the same horse that left,” she said. “He looks the same as I remember him. I’m sure it was like leaving the Hilton to come back here, but this is still his home. This is where he came from. He’s still so great to be around. After he won the Derby I got goose bumps, then I started crying hysterically. He’s been through so much and came out of it a champ. When something like this happens it’s the pinnacle of your life.”

For Servis, it was great seeing old familiar faces again. He spotted one, an exercise rider known only as Shorty, who passed by the barn on a horse. “Hey, where’s that crystal ball of yours? You’re the man,” Servis shouted.

“The guy is unbelievable,” Servis explained. “Over a year ago, he stops me one day and says out of nowhere, ‘You know what? I’m watchin’ you, and you’re gonna be in Kentucky next year.’ I told him I was going to be there for the sale, and he says, ‘No, no, no, I’m tellin’ you, you’re goin’ to the Derby.’ I figured he was just trying to get a mount, so I didn’t think anything of it. Now, it’s over a year later, and I’m thinkin’ that’s pretty strange.”

By 7:30, members of the media began trickling in, then more showed up, and more. And finally, a massive crowd of photographers, TV camera crews, and journalists had assembled outside Barn 11.

At 8:20, an announcement was made over the public address system: “Attention on the backstretch, the track will remain closed for 15 minutes from 8:30 to 8:45 to allow Smarty Jones to train.”

Servis then met with the media, answering all questions thrown at him with candor and eloquence. He summed up his home track and his horse best by saying, “We’re from Philadelphia Park, and even back to when we went to Oaklawn, it’s been, ‘Hey, he’s a Philadelphia Park horse; how good can he be?’ But he’s given everybody something to grasp on to. With everything that’s been happening in Iraq and Afghanistan, he’s been a bright light in the midst of a lot of dark stories.”

Then came the Saturday morning following the Derby. From tots in strollers to old men in wheelchairs, Smarty Jones fans showed up at Philadelphia Park in full force to watch their hero gallop and receive accolades by local and state dignitaries.

An estimated crowd of about 7,000 fans jammed Philly Park to cheer on Smarty Jones. Traffic on the busy Street Road backed up well before the 8 a.m. opening, and they were still piling in 30 minutes later.

When the gates opened there was a mad dash to get a spot by the rail. Young children sat atop their father’s shoulders to get a better look at this equine Rocky, many wearing Smarty Jones hats and T-shirts. By 8:15, the rail was lined nine and 10 deep, and the area outside the winner’s circle was a mass of humanity that stretched almost to the grandstand.

Sitting in his wheel chair was octogenarian Frank Gilmore, who lives in Rhode Island and was visiting his in-laws in Yardley, Pensylvania This was his first visit to Philadelphia Park.

“It’s amazing the size of the crowd that has come here just to watch a horse gallop up and down the stretch,” he said. “But he’s a celebrity, and my wife and my son-in-law had to be here to see him. It’s fabulous; what a great story.”

As the crowd continued to grow, Philadelphia Park’s Thoroughbred Racing Protective Bueau (TRPB) agent Lance Morell stood there in amazement and said, “Every time I think I’ve seen everything, something else happens.”

“It’s so hard to believe,” echoed CEO Hal Handel.

Finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. As the last tractor made its way off the track following the renovation break, announcer Pat Cummings, who had been keeping the crowd informed of Smarty’s whereabouts, bellowed, “And now, coming on to the track wearing a white martingale bridle and blue wraps…a horse to be immortalized as Philadelphia Park’s Kentucky Derby champion…ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Smarty Jones!”

The crowd let out a roar, even though Smarty still was only a mere speck off in the distance. Then Servis came galloping down the stretch on a pony. As the cheers increased, Servis waved to the crowd, then came to a stop and, like everyone else, turned his attention to the solitary figure building up steam around the far turn.

“Now, coming around the turn, and the horse looks full of run, folks, here comes Smarty Jones!” announced Cummings, his voice rising to a glorious crescendo.

Smarty Jones, as if knowing his solo act would be short and sweet, made the most of it, arching his neck in regal splendor and tearing down the track at a full gallop with exercise rider Pete Van Trump, as usual, straight up in the irons.

A wave of cheers followed Smarty Jones down the stretch, and from those cheers came a chorus of whistles and hoots, and several “Wows.”

By now the Chapmans and Servis were receiving thousands of letters, most of them from children. The letters and the morning crowd to watch him gallop would grow substantially following the Preakness and Philadelphia would become Smarty’s town. The story will continue after the Preakness with Part 2, which will conclude with a staggering record crowd of 120,000 pouring into Belmont Park, a record that will last forever, as will the legend of Smarty Jones.

Photo courtesy of Skip Dickstein

Racing historian, author, and award-winning retired journalist for the Daily Racing Form and The Blood-Horse, Steve Haskin was inducted into the National Museum of Racing Hall of Fame’s Media Roll of Honor in 2016. Known for his racing knowledge and insightful prose, he has been an exclusive contributor to Secretariat.com since 2020.