The Legend of Zippy Chippy (17 page)

“Welcome to New Jersey – now go home”: Often passed off as the state motto and printed on T-shirts designed for Guidos and Guidettes
.

From “New Jersey, the Attitude Capital of America”

The answer to the question of when and where his fans could see Zippy run again was March 22, 2000, at Garden State Park in New Jersey. In its heyday, “the Garden” was a beautiful track with a dramatic three-sectioned, iron front gate. Around the entrance loomed the gatehouse and, beyond that, the Georgian-style grandstand – both made of wood, since the 1940s war effort had commandeered America's steel.

Cold but bright, this was the first day of spring – the vernal equinox, when the sun crosses the celestial equator and hope springs eternal. Felix had moved his horse to this venerable track near Cherry Hill in January, thinking that if they were successful, this might be Zippy's home for a while. Exiled from the track at Finger Lakes, Zippy had spent the last fifteen months on the Monserrate farm, keeping fit and giving the family fits. That balance between running like a racehorse and living like a rogue had become Zippy's trademark.

Rarin' to go, he spent the morning in his stall kicking the wall for something to do and occasionally scaring the hell out of passersby on shed row. Just getting back into the swing of things, is all.

“He been runnin' good and practicing very well,” Felix shouted above the banging noise in the background. Assessing the situation, he latched and locked up Zippy's stall, hoping the horse would calm down in the dark. Now nine years old and still without reproductive hardware, Zippy was in his prime. At least, that's how his growing retinue of regular followers felt, many having traveled to New Jersey from track towns in the Northeast, including some from Finger Lakes. The thinking was that as long as Zippy was game to go, they didn't mind the drive. He wasn't just with them in spirit; they were also wearing his brand. Zippy wore leather, and his fan base wore “Zippy Chippy tacky” – colorful caps and T-shirts that carried his name and a cartoon likeness of him. One popular shirt read, Y
OU
'
LL ALWAYS BE A WINNER WITH US
, Z
IPPY
!

While his horse was slowly demolishing his stall, Felix was reading an oversized Hallmark card from the New Jersey contingent of Zippy Chippy's rapidly expanding fan club. His banishment had actually brought more sympathizers into his hallowed corner.

“We brought Zippy this card to try and encourage him and tell him we love him,” said Judy Nason, of nearby Hamilton Township. The card was signed and inscribed by twenty members of the horse's faithful following. A woman named Elizabeth wrote, “The key to a true winner is that you keep on trying.” David added, “Keep trying. God knows there are millions of us who relate to your struggles.” Hearing Zippy behind him, head butting the stall door, Felix was almost brought to tears by the card.

The unswerving fortitude of a horse that keeps on going after so many disappointments had become an ongoing source of endearment for many who themselves had been smacked down in life. People responded to “the Zippy horse” with instinctive sympathy and raw emotion. It was the same feeling you get watching
a border collie hopelessly trying to herd his flock of sheep as they wreak havoc on a downtown street, or a goose trying desperately to get all her goslings to cross the busy highway. Sure, they're making a mess of things, but God knows their hearts are in the right place – and above all, they're trying to do the right thing.

Zippy's disastrous record did nothing to dampen his go-get-'em spirit. The losses may have tarnished his résumé, but they could not blunt his ambition. Those three straight dwells might have cost him his career, New York–style, but nothing could curb his love of life and racing. It didn't matter where he and his owner went; a track was a track and Zippy was ready to race.

Buoyed by his loyal supporters, Zippy Chippy was stoked and all saddled up and circling the paddock at Garden State, waiting for the bugler to deliver the call to post. But the horn would not be heard on cue today, as the men in suits rushed down from their lofty lairs above the grandstand to stop the proceedings. Postponing a race is something that is seldom done. Tracks work like clockwork; the timing may seem casual to an observer, but it is exacting to the masters of the meet. The officials had stopped the show to have a serious word with Felix. They sensed a potential scandal brewing, one that tracks everywhere try very hard to avoid.

Although the trainer assured them his horse was good to go, cleared by the vet and all, the officials of this rundown track that was a year away from the wrecking ball strongly disagreed. Only minutes before Zippy was to be led out onto the red, raked oval for the colorful post parade, a telephone call had come in from Finger Lakes. Racetrack starters share information, and this was kind of a courtesy call: “You might have a problem on your hands!”

The fastidious Finger Lakes starter, noting the banned horse's name in the Garden's program, had dropped the dime on Zippy. The Garden State head steward authorized a very late scratch,
and Zippy Chippy was done for the day – actually, this and every other day, as long as he was in New Jersey.

Garden State spokesman Ed Vomacka confirmed that Zippy had been disqualified because his name appeared on a list of ineligible thoroughbreds at Finger Lakes. Incredible but true – the horse had been turfed out before he hit the dirt. Zippy Chippy may have been the only thoroughbred in history to lose a race before he even got to the starting gate.

Felix was livid, incorporating a lot more Spanish and a few more expletives into his language than usual. He claimed it was a state ban, lawful only in New York. It wasn't. Zippy had been barred from racing in New York State and any other American or Canadian track that chose to honor the banishment. Almost all would. Felix could protest all he wanted, but the track officials dictated that his horse needed to get undressed and leave the Cherry Hill premises in a timely fashion. It's safe to say that Zippy Chippy did nothing in a timely fashion except eat, so his departure from the barn took longer than they would have liked. As he was led back to his stall, he was particularly peeved, because normally he liked to get a little exercise before he returned to the barn for his victory dance. Nobody was happy about Zippy being scratched, except maybe the jockey who didn't have to ride him. When Zippy was in a bad mood, riding him was like trying to stay aboard a mechanical bull during erratic electrical surges.

Felix in dirty denim had been confronted by well-dressed men his whole career – from the cheap suits of track stewards to the expensive wear of wealthy owners. Never far from his mind or beyond his bashful smile was the old English saying: “On the turf or under it, all men are equal.”

While loading up for home, Felix walked past Zippy's stall with an armful of equipment, and the horse took a run at him.
A sportswriter unfamiliar with their relationship said the horse's head came over the gate with “the quickness of a cobra.” Equally eye-opening to the reporter was the fact that Felix avoided the attack “with the efficiency of someone completely at ease with such defensive maneuvers.”

Needing to explain the backside skirmish to an unfamiliar press, Felix said, “He's mean, but in a nice way. You know those wrestlers who talk mean but it's really nothing? I put him in that category. It's just an act.”

One confused horse and one pissed-off owner boarded the Zippy Chippy tandem truck and trailer for the drive back to Farmington, New York. Once on the road, Felix was able to see the bright side of the New Jersey fiasco: Zippy's official record had not gotten any worse. Little consolation, but as they got closer to home, more and more drivers honked and waved at Felix when they passed his vehicle, spotting the Zippy Chippy logo on the driver's-side door.

One year later, Garden State Park was completely demolished, leveled to the ground, with only its iconic wrought-iron gates still standing. I know what you're thinking, but no, Zippy was not involved, although he did his best to start the process in the barn the day they wouldn't let him run.

Once a classy racetrack, today Garden State is just another North American mall with a mixed-use town center housing shops, restaurants, and condominiums. There's no pink hotel, but there are boutiques and swinging hot spots, so yeah, they paved paradise to put up a parking lot. Instead of a statue of the speedy Spend a Buck, who captured the 1985 Kentucky Derby with a courageous wire-to-wire victory … now they have Bed Bath & Beyond.

And the first day of spring, the vernal equinox? It is indeed the symbol of eternal hope – and also lost causes.

The senator has got to understand … he can't have it both ways.

He can't take the high horse and then claim the low road
.

President George W. Bush, admonishing Senator John McCain while savaging the English language

With the word out that Zippy Chippy was a high-risk performer, it's likely all Massachusetts racetracks would have followed New Jersey's lead. However, Three County Fair in Northampton was not a racetrack, per se. It's … a county fairground. And not just any fair – America's oldest agricultural fair, shearing sheep and tossing cow patties with distinction since 1818. Besides the tractor pull and the demolition derby, beyond the tilt-a-whirl and the stuffed toy shooting gallery was Northampton Fair, a thoroughbred track that ran for ten days every year, starting Labor Day weekend and attracting quite a variety of contestants, some of whom had rarely (or never) won a race and were one step away from becoming a ride for children or from joining a police force. Some horses had been winners at bigger tracks but were now on the downside of their careers.

Beginning in the mid-1800s, fairgrounds were once a rip-roaring piece of Americana and, all over the United States, offered a crude form of horse racing for $50 purses or sides of beef or jugs of cider. Some tracks were narrow, limiting the size
of the gate and, therefore, the number of horses allowed in a race. At Marshfield the horses had to run under the seats of the ferris wheel as it rotated overhead. All fairground tracks were small and referred to as “bullrings” for their tight turns. Bubba Wilson, a leading rider, recalls the routine: “Turn hard left at the French fry stand. Then hard left again where they sell funnel cakes. Takes nerve, I tell you.”