B. K. Beckwith - Seabiscuit: The Saga of a Great Champion

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Text originally published in 1940 under the same title.

Pickle Partners Publishing 2016, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publishers Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Authors original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern readers benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

SEABISCUIT: THE SAGA OF A GREAT CHAMPION

BY

B. K. BECKWITH

DRAWINGS BY HOWARD BRODIE

FOREWORD BY GRANTLAND RICE

Contents

4,24,29,32,35,50, 54, 59,62, 63,64, Carroll Photo Service; 8, 20, 42, Haase Photos; 12, Sutcliffe Pictures; 17, Tom Kelley; 46, Turf Pix, Morgan Photo Service, Morton & Co.

Frontispiece, Reproduction of an original painting of Seabiscuit by F. R. Voss Printed in Canada

HERE is a chunk of rawhide, surrounding a heart of iron, planked upon the four flying legs of a gazelle. Here is a combination of stretch thunder and wire lightning entered under the homely sobriquet of Seabiscuit, the horse that always gave you all he had, and often just a little bit more.

I saw him get the jump on the famed War Admiral at Pimlico in one of the great match races of all time. I saw War Admiral close up the gap and as they hit the head of the stretch, eye to eye, I could almost hear Seabiscuit sayWere in the stretch now. This is where it counts. Lets see who can run.

I saw the game and gallant Biscuit break down at Santa Anita in 1939. I saw him limp from the track in the direction of a pastureand racing oblivion. He was then six years old, a veteran whose flying feet had churned up dust from Texas to New England, from California to Florida, crossing the country from one ocean to another, moving from one box car to another in his transcontinental tour.

I saw him come from retirement in 1940 at Santa Anita, tackling one of the toughest slogans of sportThey dont come back. And then from No Mans Land of racing, out from the mists and the fogs, the Mighty Atom from the equine world, proved the value of character and courage, the double value of heart and hoof. Seabiscuit came up the hard way. Grandson of Man OWar, he was never the pampered scion of a world renowned grandsire. To this fact I think he owes at least part of his greatness. The racing world left him on his ownand he accepted the challenge. Greatness was born within him. He had nothing exceptional to show on the outside. In this respect he was just another horse. He proved that while beauty may be only skin deep, the true greatness must reach the unfathomed soul.

The racing public that knew him, loved him I think, above any other horse that ever ran, not even barring Man OWar. He was one of the mob or crowd, no spectacular prancer that caught your eye. Man OWar was retired in his third year. Seabiscuit was retired in his sixth year and he still had enough left to set an all-time winning mark. Man OWar was never called upon to face the vital test of competitionCan you come back? Seabiscuit was. And it is here you get the true story of the most dramatic thoroughbred American racing has ever known.

There may be faster horses later on who will win more money. But there will never be a gamer horseand I dont believe there will ever be another Seabiscuit. I think you will agree with me when you have read the story of his career.

Grantland Rice

Being the owner of Seabiscuit is an honor and privilege of which I am deeply appreciative. His courage, honesty and physical prowess definitely place him among the thoroughbred immortals of turf history. He has intelligence and understanding almost spiritual in quality and all of us who are close to Biscuit naturally have the deepest affection for him. The thrills he has given us will never be equaled unless one or more of his sons proves equal to the task of carrying on where the champion left off.

IT cant be done, they said. All night before the race they said I it...all manner of men...all over the world....It cant be donethey never come back.

They said it over gleaming dinner tables, in club rooms, in good motor cars, in beaneries and barrooms, in pubs and palaces, in the air and on the ground, by phone, by wire, by daylight and by dark....A great horse, sirbut champions dont come back.

Yet they kept their fingers crossed, and they prayed a bit, for they loved the old horse...so long now his gallant hoofbeats had drummed upon their hearts.

It cant be done, said the taxi driver to his midnight fare. I tell you its askin too much of him. High weight and a hard field. As I was sayin to my missus....

Laid up for nine months, interrupted the fare. Nohes in too tough, even for him. But, by George, theyll know theyve been in a horse race.

Now take Dempsey or Jeffries, said the bartender as he polished a glass, they couldnt make itlegs go, maybe a bit of the heart goes too. Champions dont....

They said it in crowded trollies and roaring subways; they said it over back fences in the long twilight; they argued over it in a million hotel lobbies that spanned the spinning earth.

Ah come from old Kain tucky, myself, said the hotel cook to the second maid. Me an that little hossa long way from home. Id sho like to see him do it.

Standing in the darkness of a shed row, looking into a lighted box stall, an angular, tight-lipped man said slowly: