Glorious Battle Cry

By William E. Austin

Web Site Book Description
The entertainment and sports transformation of Atlanta Georgia began with the arrival of the Atlanta Braves baseball team in 1964 and didnt slow down until the 1996 Olympic Games. Every type of sporting event either passed through or called Atlanta home - except thoroughbred horse racing.
Long known for its attraction to gamblers and underworld figures horseracing has always lived under a cloak of suspicion. Here is a story about a man with a tremendous stroke of luck who set out to remove that cloak and bring horse racing into the limelight. Not as a game of chance, where people squander away their money and their futures trying to hit the big payout, but as a sport of competition between the fastest and most enduring athletes on earth.
Come on in and meet the players of this complex game of strategy and discover that they are typical Americans with the heart and desire to chase after their dreams.
Go back and follow the history of Atlantas transformation from an ordinary southern town into a thriving metropolitan city. Realize that the cloak of suspicion placed on horse racing could also apply to any professional sport when people stray from the path of honesty and morality.
Inside you will find the formula and all of the ingredients to change the face of horse racing as you look into the hearts and souls of the people who are there for the love of the game.
In this age of ultra technology there is a great opportunity for a daring entrepreneur to create a great enterprise and leave his or her mark in history. Atlanta Georgia is home to an outgoing population that thrives on fun, adventure, and excitement. It is also the last best chance for horse racing to start over with a new set of rules casting the race horse as a competitive athlete instead of a number in an exotic lottery.
Glorious Battle Cry is a story about a man who lucks upon the oppurtunity to start his own racing program with his own rules. Along with racing he offers everyone a look at some things and places that are beyond our horizon. He re-introduces horse racing to a new fan on a smaller and simpler scale. His goal is to restore credibility and preserve the rich rewards befitting a champion.
In the heart of the thoroughbred there is a wealth of history about horse racing that needs to be regarded and preserved. There are comedies and tragedies, stories about rags to riches, and riches to rags. There are stories about love and deceit, heroes and villans. There are stories about great races that have been told and written that can now come alive.
Follow this story of an ordinary fellow with extraordinary dreams as he takes a bold, yet calculated, risk to chase an elusive dream, and along the way encounters lifes greatest tragedies which makes everything seem insignificant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 22, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462830305

Book preview

Copyright © 2008 by William E. Austin.

Cover by:

Nanette Langner

Aiken South Carolina

Edited by:

Vicki Williams Long

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4257-8724-0

                  Softcover                                 978-1-4257-8722-6

                  Ebook                                    9781462830305

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

CHIEF TOMAHAWK

ATLANTA

MIAMI MEADOWS

LET’S MAKE A DEAL

BYE BYE BLACKBIRD

BACK TO FLORIDA

BACK TO WORK?

NEW HOME SWEET HOME

MONK

THE WEST COAST INVADER

CORNBERRY STABLE

LET’S GO TO THE RACES

DOWN THE STRETCH THEY COME

LIFE GOES ON

DEDICATION

In Loving Memory of:

Reverend J. Shelby Cook

Special thanks to my wife Jeanene

for all of the wild crazy ventures she has supported.

CHIEF TOMAHAWK

If they drop him to twenty thousand, I’ll claim him myself! Shelby Bryant said as he stared at the computer screen. That horse is running so far below his potential.

Dear, you can barely afford to claim your seat at the dinner table, Martha, his wife, called out from the kitchen.

Shelby had gotten his first glimpse of Chief Tomahawk after returning from a Caribbean cruise. After returning from the cruise, Shelby had spent a day at Miami Meadows racecourse. Chief Tomahawk looked as though he out-classed that field of horses but never seemed to get in sync with the race. Not necessarily disinterested, but more like he was just physically uncomfortable and couldn’t execute his stride.

He’s racing on Wednesday in the fourth race. Since I’ve got a few days off work, I think I’ll drive down there and take a look at him, he said.

Shelby, you know you’re supposed to play golf with Sam tomorrow. He’s going back to Iraq in a few days and you need to spend a little time with him.

I’ll go after golf, he muttered as he wondered what he had seen about that horse that was saying so much. The message he heard was about the horse’s future. He was the diamond in the rough hidden in a puzzle of unsoundness. Not that he walked with a limp—he did not. Something in the way he moved his hindquarters was not right, not fluid or coordinated with the body or the front-end movement. Now the trainer was entering him in a twenty-five thousand dollar claiming race, and Shelby believed he had to be better than that.

Young horses are like children. It is counterproductive to race them against horses that are mentally or physically superior, because getting out-run and having their faces bombarded with sand and race track material make them less competitive and more likely to shy away from racing. Sometimes trainers have to put their horses in claiming races to find easier competition and give them a better chance to win and to build heart. Heart is the measurement of a horse’s effort and determination to win.

Sometimes horses have minor or major injuries that won’t allow them to compete at their optimum level and are dropped into claiming races with less competitive horses to give them a better chance to earn money. Any owner or trainer can claim a horse as his own out of a claiming race by placing the claim amount plus state sales tax into his horseman’s account, and fifteen minutes before the race submit a claim ticket into the claim box. After the race is run that trainer or owner owns that horse be it sound or unsound, or dead or alive.

There is a twist! Stealing races! A trainer is said to have stolen a race if he enters a horse into a race with obviously lesser competitive horses, wins the race, and no one claims it. It is a very common practice; however, there is usually a sharp-eyed trainer who will claim the horse. But, on the other hand, that same sharp-eyed trainer could end up with a very expensive horse that has broken down and will never run again. Money lost! If a horse were to suddenly drop from a fifty thousand dollar claiming level into a fifteen thousand dollar claiming race, alarms would go off in every corner of the back stretch. Most trainers would be very leery about a huge drop in class and sit out the temptation to submit a claim on the horse. Claiming trainers and their assistants spend hours at the trackside rail surveying and examining horses while they train and race. The successful ones pick out the horses they feel are under-achieving but have the potential to improve, make training or conditioning adjustments, and raise the horse’s value. Trainers do have their limitations when it comes to scouting out the competition. Entering another trainer’s stable and sneaking a peek at claim prospect is certainly unacceptable and looked down upon by the racing community.

Ideally, owners and trainers want their two-year-old horses to start out in a maiden special weight race. A maiden is a horse that has never won a race. The weight it carries is assigned by the racing secretary: usually one hundred fifteen pounds to one hundred twenty pounds, depending on the horse’s age, allowing five pounds less to fillies running against colts. A rider, or jockey, who is just starting his or her career, is allowed to carry less weight than journeymen riders starting with ten pounds for the first six months and five pounds for the next year. After winning a maiden special weight race, a horse may then run against horses that have won only one race, or non winners of two (NW2); and so on, until the horse has won non winners of three races (NW3). These races are called condition races. After winning the three condition races, horses run in open allowance races where weight carried is (allowed) to be taken off horses with lesser achievements over a period of time. For instance: a race for two-year-old colts and geldings going one mile requires a weight of 120 pounds. Horses that have not won ten thousand dollars since September 1 are allowed five pounds: horses that have not won ten thousand dollars since October 1 are allowed three pounds.

Handicap races are just the opposite from allowance races. Successful horses are penalized and handicapped with more weight to try and slow them down and give the lesser rated horses a better chance. Kelso was a famous handicap horse that, in some races, may have carried thirty pounds more than his competition. Stake races are races with huge purses that place an equal amount of weight on the horses but require early nominations and periodic payments to be eligible to compete. Sometimes these races have corporate sponsors’ contributions to make them more inviting to the owners of top horses. The field is usually narrowed down according to which horses have earned the most money. Racing secretaries are free to write these races for horses of either sex of any age at any distance. Two-year-old horses only run against two year olds. Three year olds run against three year olds until late in the year when they start running against older horses of any age. The purses depend on the success and income of the particular racetrack and are provided by a percentage of the profit made from pari-mutuel wagering. Money made from admissions and concessions is kept by the track owner and manager and is usually not included in racing purses. The dream is for a two year old to follow the maiden special weight course, through the allowance conditions, and then run and win enough stake money to get into the Kentucky Derby. Horses that were not successful at the MSW and allowance level races are entered in claiming races starting for values as much as one hundred thousand dollars to as low as thirty-five hundred dollars depending on the location of the track and the caliber of the horses at that track.

Chief Tomahawk was going in the wrong direction racing in a twenty-five thousand dollar maiden-claiming race, and Shelby Bryant thought he knew why. It’s his back. I know it’s in his back! Shelby said running his fingers through his graying hair.

He had just turned fifty-four and it was starting to show in his no longer boyish face. The years had been kind to him and most people had no idea how old he was. They just knew he was a little bit older. He was about ten pounds overweight and he could feel them. In his day he was quite an athlete. He excelled in every sport he wanted to play, but his size or lack of it, always set limitations. Exceptionally fast, he was a terror on the baseball base paths, but a weak right eye, probably from being kicked playing soccer goalie, affected his hitting. He would bunt or try to draw walks to get on base. Being as strong as he was, when he would connect on a pitch, he could drive the ball out of the park. He was tenacious at defensive back and wide receiver, but the weight of football pads slowed his speed to merely average. He had an uncanny leaping ability, a good jump shot, hustled up and down the court, and played above his size, but the basketball coaches said he was just too short.

There was this something Shelby had inside, a feeling and belief that something great would happen one day. He carried this belief from his early youth forward not being distracted or deterred by small setbacks or even great losses. He was eighteen before he realized he wasn’t going to be a professional athlete. But, he believed, there was still something just beyond the horizon.

Shelby served a four-year enlistment with the U.S. Air Force, traveling all across the United States, visiting Canada and Mexico, and making excursions to Europe and the Orient. He had a tremendous sense of pride in his job working on navigation equipment in the once feared F4 Phantom jet fighter. He spent many hours in the small cockpit of the warplane running tests and trouble shooting abnormalities and malfunctions, marveling at the thought of if they could see me now. But it wasn’t until after the Air Force and a couple years of college that Shelby found his place. He found racehorses. He was small enough to exercise them and strong enough to handle them. He had found a job that he would do for free! He had been a horse racing fan as long as he could remember. He couldn’t quite recall if it started when he watched the great horse Damascus in his foiled attempt at the Triple Crown or if it was the movie about the pretty little girl and her horse she called Pie. Each had an everlasting impact on the way he viewed horses—and pretty girls.

Although Shelby’s father, Oscar, was a devout Southern Baptist, he did allow his small son to participate in the TV game show Let’s Go to the Races. It seemed to tickle Oscar to watch his small son jumping up and down with excitement as his horse got nosed out for the one thousand dollar grand prize in front of their black and white TV.

* * *

Dear, I’m going to Miami, he said as he stepped away from his computer and walked into the kitchen. I’m going to Miami and I am going to claim Chief Tomahawk.

Martha gave him a bewildered and ominous look and countered, Will you shut up about that and go wash your hands so we can eat?

* * *

He had known Martha since he was eleven years old and she was ten. They had met at the city pool of the small town where they grew up. Parents would drop their children off after lunch and pick them up at five when the pool closed for the day. Living nearby, Shelby would either walk or ride his bicycle to the pool practically every day in the summer. He watched as Martha developed into a pretty young teenager. She had long, copper blonde hair, hazel eyes, a fair complexion, and she was built like a beauty queen. She was feminine and fragile. Although he was a natural hellion, Shelby was always a gentleman when he was in the presence of Martha.

The only daughter of farmer Wylie, Martha grew up on the old Busbee farm in Cedar Valley at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Her grandfather had sharecropped cotton for farmer Busbee until he had saved enough money to buy a fertile corner of the plantation. As Mr. Busbee got older he relinquished tracts of the farm to Mr. Wylie until Martha’s grandfather owned a huge portion of the farm. He grew cotton, corn and other vegetables that kept Martha busy in the early summer processing and canning. Her mother and grandmother taught her to sew and quilt, as she became a master in art and crafts. Although she never turned a wrench, Shelby believed her to be a natural mechanic from the way she could take things out of boxes and quickly assemble them. Martha was nice, but the other thing that attracted Shelby to the Wylie’s farm was their horses. The Wylies had lots of horses! They owned every shape, size, and color imaginable. Shelby would ride them all, saddled or bareback. He believed there wasn’t a horse he couldn’t ride. Whenever the neighbors would come around and want to race, Shelby would pull off his belt or cut a twig and win every time no matter which horse he happened to be riding. Even the slow horses got fast under Shelby.

Mr. or Mrs. Wylie would pick up Shelby on summer days and Saturdays and take him to their farm where he would spend the entire day and sometimes overnight riding and working around the farm with Ted and Tony, Martha’s brothers. The best days, however, were the days Martha would ride. When Martha came out, it was hoochie-coochie time. She always had a girlfriend or two to come out and keep her brothers occupied while she and Shelby would sneak away to the forest or the hayloft in the barn. She was hot and so good-looking and was always there for Shelby. She loved him, but she knew he was searching for something and he had no idea where to look.

Shelby thought he had Martha measured and whenever he said the word she would marry him, but he was bedazzled when he joined the U.S. Air Force and asked her to come along and she said no. That was nothing compared to the bomb she dropped on him four years later at a high school football game when she tapped him on the shoulder and asked, Do you want to meet your son?

He turned and saw Martha with a little brown haired boy with hazel eyes. It was loved at first sight when Shelby first saw Sam and knew instantly he was his son.

Martha still had serious doubts about Shelby’s maturity and ability to commit himself to her and their son. It wasn’t until Shelby had found racehorses and had worked his way into the trainer’s role and she had finished college that she would marry him. Later he would reveal his love and devotion to his family by giving up his struggling stable and move them back to Georgia for Sam to have a home and be near their families.

* * *

Well, I’m going down there anyway to look around and see what’s going on, Shelby said as he sat down at the table.

Martha snapped back, You’re supposed to play golf with Sam tomorrow. You know he is going back to Iraq in two days!

Oh my God! Shelby thought. He had a terrible uneasiness about Sam going back to Iraq. Something was suspicious. Sam had just re-commissioned and had been promoted from captain to major. Shelby was thrilled but somewhat suspicious because he thought that was a lot of rank to accumulate in just four years.

Sam flew the milk run. He flew a refrigerated C130 cargo plane out of Baghdad and made numerous stops all around Iraq delivering milk and refrigerated foods to the troops. He was full of stories about the sites and events he had witnessed in Iraq and other countries he had visited. Now he was quiet. Eerily quiet! He never spoke of his job, and whenever Shelby would probe into his exploits, Sam would shrug him off and divert the conversation into a different direction, usually racehorses. Sam knew he could get his father talking racehorses whenever he wanted, and Shelby knew the Air Force well enough to know that there were some things that he did not need to know.

Okay, but after golf I’m going to Miami. Okay? Shelby pleaded.

Martha did not speak because she knew Shelby would play golf and then drive all night if he really wanted to see this horse.

Sam took after Martha’s side of the family. He stood six feet one and weighed about one hundred sixty pounds. He was quite content flying cargo planes around Iraq. Shelby was really proud of the way Sam had turned out to be such a fine young man, especially after he was practically left standing at the altar by some party girl who thought she would live a life of luxury when she hooked up with the mayor’s son who dumped her after the new wore off.

Mom says you’re going to Miami after we play golf, Sam said as he teed the ball for the first hole.

Yea, there’s something down there I can’t get off my mind, said Shelby.

A horse, no doubt, Sam laughed as he drove the ball straight down the center of the fairway. Even though Sam was a very close to Martha, he loved Shelby deeply. Shelby had a tremendous influence on Sam. He was teacher, coach, competitor, and, whenever it was called for, disciplinarian. At this stage of Sam’s life, discipline and respect were very important. The tough love that Shelby imposed at times had given Sam strength and courage that he called on every time he flew through the ground fire and missiles that crossed his path too often. That toughness was why Sam had been re-commissioned at the rank of major and given the Top Secret mission of flying Black Birds, the solid black C130s that weren’t carrying milk, but were carrying sophisticated espionage equipment that flew mainly at night.

So? Shelby asked as he spiked his ball for the next hole. How come a kid like you can accumulate so much rank so fast? You flying some top secret mission these days?

Come on, Dad, you know I can’t talk about stuff like that, Sam insisted. He really wanted to let everything out and tell his father about his new assignment, but Sam was a rock, the kind of person that our country can depend on to do a job exactly the way it had to be done. When are you leaving for Florida?

Father and son played a round of eighteen holes, catching up on friends and relatives. Sam lit up when Shelby told him about his ex-fiancé’s marital break up but expressed strong reservations about ever seeing her again. After golf they stopped by the clubhouse for dinner and said farewell. Shelby began missing his son the moment he drove out of the country club. A wave of fear rushed through him as Sam’s car faded