For triumph and tragedy the story of: Sweet Kiss..

[wildfire]

Sweet Kiss

In 1923 Frank Hayes was 35, a resident of Brooklyn, New York.
Frank was a horse trainer. He trained horses for straightaway races and steeplechases.
You know what a steeplechase is, sort of an equestrian obstacle course with hedges and walls and water filled ditches.

At any rate, Frank Hayes trained horses to run those courses.
He was not a professional jockey, much as he longed to be. He had ridden in one race, failing then even to place. That was the extent of his actual racing experience.

Still Frank's unrealistic dream kept nagging him, his dream of riding a horse to victory in a real race just once! He was a horse trainer who had always wanted to be a jockey.

His equestrian colleagues advised that Frank should stick with what he knew best: training.
Anyway, at 35 he was just too old to be competing with the youngsters who were then winning the big purses.
Frank understood the age factor. He understood that if he were ever to ride in and win a race, it would have to be soon.

He begged his horse owner employer for an opportunity. That opportunity was granted.
Frank would ride in the June 4 Belmont Park steeplechase.

That would be Frank's second race ever, was to be his last chance to win.
This was also true of the horse he was scheduled to ride, a gallant but aged bay mare named Sweet Kiss. Perhaps one good steeplechase race left in her, one last opportunity to distinguish her own theretofore undistinguished career.

The afternoon of June 4 they were poised at the post, two has beens who never were; Frank Hayes and his mount, Sweet Kiss. A two mile course of 12 jumps lay before them.

It would be difficult to imagine who was more surprised, the spectators . . . or jockey Frank Hayes himself. At the mile, Frank and Sweet Kiss, 20-1 underdogs, were still leading the pack, was in fact 2 lengths ahead of the horse most favored to win.

It was at the beginning of the second mile that the odds on favorite charged forward. Now the younger horse and his younger jockey were neck and neck with Sweet Kiss and rider Frank.

They stayed almost even, the young "team" gaining slightly on the straight and level, and the elder gaining slightly in the jumps.

In the last turn, heading into homestretch, Sweet Kiss swerved, almost collided with another horse.

For a fleeting second it seemed an error from which the old mare could not possible recover.

But she DID recover.
She DID straighten out in the stretch.
And by a length and a half, Sweet Kiss DID WIN!

Surely it had been one of the most exciting steeplechases ever run at Belmont Park!

What a sweet victory for Sweet Kiss and her jockey Frank Hayes, the 20-1 underdogs some believed "too old" to race!

At least I hope Frank somehow knew that his dream had been realized, that he had gone the distance and won.

For according to eyewitnesses, it appeared to have happened in the last turn, before the last jump, when Sweet Kiss swerved momentarily off course. In all probability, that is when . . . Frank's heart slipped out from under him.
You see, his head never lifted from the old mare's neck, not even after they crossed the finish line together.

As never before nor since in horse racing history, a race had been won by an over the hill horse . . . and a dead man.
Now you know THE REST OF THE STORY.

[Chrisnstar]

awwwwww.. snifff......

[KarenN]

Great story. Reminds of a friend I had - Dan Goss. I first met Dan on a cattle drive in 1990. He was the very image of a "cowboy." Rough and weather worn, he was by far more comfortable on the back of a horse than anywhere else. He told rough stories and worked as hard as any of the younger bucks. But Dan's kids were older than me, and he had grandkids a plenty. He taught me a lot on the first cattle drive, and I would watch in awe as he and his mount would plunge into thorny thickets to flush out a recalcitrant cow and her bawling calf. I have one image of him forever burned in my mind coming up a steep bank covered in thorn trees. His face streaming blood from the many scratches, he was waving a rope, shooing an old longhorn and carrying her new calf on his saddle.

I knew Dan for years. He would drift in and out of our lives. He had broken his neck twice in horse wrecks over the years, and the doctors told him he really should give up the "cowboy life," but Dan didn't know any other way to live.

A few years ago, Dan called and told us that he'd met someone who'd become his very best friend. Someone named Jesus. We rejoiced with him in his new-found life, and watched him and Jesus ride across the fields in search of that peace he had always sought and finally found.

One morning a couple years after that, we got a call that old Dan had gone on to meet his new friend. It seems that a friend of his had a two year old colt that needed a little breaking in. Dan had offered to ride the colt who was known the spook at a shadow and throw a buck now and then. They were slow loping off across a pasture with a couple of other hands going to bring in some strays when the colt saw a feed sack blow up out of the draw. He gave on buxk and crow hop. Old Dan's head snapped back then forward, and they say he was dead before the colt came to a rest, but he stayed ion the saddle to the last, just slumped over, still riding along before one of the hands called out, and getting no response reached over and realized that Dan was on his last ride.

[wildfire]

What a wonderful story and a fine way to go!

Thank You for sharing!
GLHR!