Sport: Four Hundred Grand

"They're off!" A hushed silence fell over Santa Anita's quarter-of-a-mile of grandstands last week as 75,000 racing fans craned their necks for a glimpse of the start. It was a day of days for California railbirds. Not only was it the day of the $100,000 Santa Anita Handicap, world's richest horse race, but this was the now-or-never race for doughty old Seabiscuit, darling of U. S. racing fans, Cinderella of the turf.

Few there were who did not know what the Biscuit had gone through. Ugly-duckling grandson of glamorous Man o' War, Seabiscuit had been sent out to race 35 times when he was only two years old. Not much as a breadwinner, he was put in a Saratoga claiming race when he was three, but no one thought he was worth $6,000. Shortly afterward, the sturdy little bay caught the eye of San Francisco Automan Charles S. Howard, who bought him for $7,500.

Under Howard's silks and Trainer Tom Smith's care, the Biscuit rose like a popover. In 1937, as a four-year-old, he won more money ($168,580) than any thoroughbred that year. At five, when most U. S. race horses are ready to retire, the Biscuit ran anywhere & everywhere, finally clinched the title of U. S. thoroughbred champion by showing his hoofs to War Admiral in the memorable Race of the Century at Pimlico (TIME, Nov. 14, 1938).

To California racegoers, the Biscuit had been known as a hard-luck horse. Twice before he had just missed winning the $100,000 Handicap by a nose. Last year, almost on the eve of the Big Race, he tore a ligament in his ankle, was retired to stud—his lifetime earnings of $340,000 just $36,000 short of the world-record winnings amassed by fabulous Sun Beau, a decade before.

Last week it was the Biscuit and none other who attracted a record crowd to Santa Anita's magnificent track. Could Seabiscuit win the Hundred Grand in his third try? Could he, after a year on the farm,* beat twelve of the country's fastest thoroughbreds? He had outrun a classy field the previous week in a tune-up race. But this time the Biscuit was assigned top weight of 130 lbs., six lbs. more than he carried the week before and 16 to 20 lbs. more than most of his fleet footed rivals.

Could his seven-year-old legs, never very sound even in his heyday, stand up for a mile-and-a-quarter?

As these thoughts flashed pell-mell through 75,000 minds, the thudding hoofs were coming closer. By the grandstand they flashed: Austin Taylor's Whichcee in front, Seabiscuit half a length behind. Rounding into the backstretch, the old trouper kept up with Whichcee's swift pace. Down the long stretch, silhouetted against the purple Sierra Madres, the Biscuit seemed glued to Whichcee's tail. Louder & louder the crowd roared as they seesawed coming into the homestretch—Seabiscuit nosing in front, then falling back, then in front again. Approaching the grandstands, Red Pollard flipped his whip and the Biscuit, in as dramatic a finish as has ever been seen, streaked down the stretch to immortality.