The legend that rode on lightning fades away
It seems that even the titans of equestrian mythology have an expiration date. The horse racing universe is in mourning, or at least, it is very well pretending to be in mourning between sips of sherry and nostalgic sighs. Ron Turcotte, the man who had the unusual privilege of hanging from the mane of a colt-shaped god, has died. The cause? The dreaded and prosaic “natural causes,” that fancy euphemism we use when the body simply decides it’s seen enough miles and preaknesses. It happened at his home in Drummond, New Brunswick, because what better place for a peaceful ending than the same place where it all began?
Turcotte was not just any rider. Oh no. This Canadian gentleman was the lucky mortal who, in 1973, climbed aboard Secretariat to sweep the Triple Crown and end a 25-year drought. Yes, a quarter century in which all the other horses were apparently too busy eating carrots or losing. His victory in the Belmont Stakes was not just any victory; It was a massacre, a public humiliation for the rest of the competition. He won by 31 lengths. Thirty-one! A distance so obscene that it probably gave Turcotte time to get out, stretch his legs and order a hot dog before the second one arrived.
A record that not even time dares to beat
Secretariat’s time, 2:24 in the 1.5 mile Belmont, still stands 52 years later. Let that sink in. In half a century, with all the advances in nutrition, genetics and technology, no one has even come close. Turcotte himself said it with the modesty of someone who has just parked a Ferrari in the neighbor’s garden: “I still had a lot of horse when I crossed the finish line”. Of course, because Secretariat was not tired; I was just bored of winning so little.
But life, in its eternal macabre sense of humor, decided that so much equestrian glory was too much for one man. In 1978, a fall during a race left him paralyzed, forever changing the rider’s life. Because what’s more ironic than the man who flew higher than anyone else on one horse ending up with his wings broken by another? However, Turcotte exchanged the saddle for a wheeled one and became a tireless advocate for disabled riders. Because apparently, being a living legend wasn’t enough; He also had to be a lay saint.
William J. Punk Jr. of the Permanently Disabled Horsemen’s Fund called him “one of the sport’s greatest champions and ambassadors.” NYRA’s David O’Rourke joined the chorus of praise, noting his “true character” and his “legacy defined by kindness and compassion.” Come on, with so much praise, one almost expects him to open a free therapy office in the afterlife.
The legacy beyond the circuit
To the world, Turcotte will always be the guy who set up Secretariat. To his family, he was “a wonderful husband, a loving father, grandfather and a great horseman.” A touching detail, if we ignore the fact that putting “great horseman” at the end of that list is like describing Picasso as “a kind neighbor who sometimes painted little things.”
His story is straight out of a movie: he left school to be a lumberjack, then moved to Toronto to get into the equestrian world, starting as the boy who walked horses (glorious euphemism for “equine poop scooper”) until he reached the top. He won the Preakness in 1965 with Tom Rolfe and the Derby and Belmont in 1972 with Riva Ridge. But it was his “love at first ride” with Secretariat that catapulted him to Olympus. He admitted it himself: “He was the kind of horse you will never see again.” And looking at the current copies, he is right.
With his departure, a unique chapter closes. Turcotte was the last surviving member of the original Secretariat team. The colt died in 1989, handler Eddie Sweat in 1998, trainer Lucien Laurin in 2000, owner Penny Chenery in 2017 and exercise jockey Charlie Davis in 2018. Now the jockey joins them, presumably to ride the famous steed again in those heavenly training grounds beyond where, we assume, the tracks are clouds and the carrots are endless.
So raise your glass, whether it’s cheap whiskey or expensive champagne. Here’s to Ron Turcotte, the man who rode lightning, defied gravity, and then adversity. His story reminds us that true greatness is not measured only in trophies, but in how you run the race of life, even when you fall off your horse.
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