For the Love of Su Mac Lad

by Mae Frances Barrena

With a burst of speed Su Mac Lad heads into the homestretch with his hooves stirring dust his belly glistening sweat. And behind him Stanley Dancer's sulky wheels spinning to victory.

"He won!" I scream while jumping up and down in front of the television set. I say to my brother Sonny, " Look at how the light shines on his chestnut coat, how dense it is. What a perfect croup. Oh how he commands the very spot he stands on. He belongs in the winners circle."

The great Stallion 'Messenger'

"You know, Mae" Sonny says. "I read where Su Mac Lad's lineage can most likely be traced to the great Messenger, an ancestor of thoroughbreds, brought to America from across the sea, England in 1780. His bloodline produced not only runners but standardbreds as well."

"Do you think I'll ever get to see him race live?"

"As poor as we are, I doubt it," Sonny says.

"Why don't you call Roosevelt Racetrack in Westbury, L I. and try and get a color photo of him, since all you have in your scrapbook is newspaper black and white."

"I'll get the number."

A nice man answers the phone and gives me the number of Su Mac Lad's owner. I call and when he answers I go on about his horse and how I only get to see him on TV. Then I ask for a picture.

He says, "Okay give me your address. What he says next floors me. "If you'd like to see him he's at Egyptian Acres in New Egypt, New Jersey. Here are directions."

A week later an 8X10 color photo arrives. I dance around our apartment as if I'd been given a lottery check. When I realize he has given me instructions by car my heart sinks. We don't have a car and I am unable to think of one person, family, friends, or boyfriends who will drive me 65 miles to see a horse. My dream begins to fade. I will just have to be happy with my picture.

A month later I meet Karl. He's cute, has a job, and more important a car. I ask him to take me to see Su Mac Lad.

"What! That's too far my car will never make it. Who will pay for the gas?"

"Take me to Roosevelt Raceway instead, it's only 19 miles."

"No! I do not go to races."

"But you don't understand. I only see him on a television screen. Please."

"No!"

Karl is my only chance; I can't give up. I promise myself I'll get there, no matter what. The 'no matter what' nearly strips my pride: I kowtow to Karl, promise more dates and practically beg him to drive me.

I ask again. "Mae, all this trouble to see a horse. You are persistent. If it's the only way to shut you up, okay, but you help pay for gas and bring your sister Fran in case I need her to help push. We'll go Sunday."

Karl is driving 20 miles an hour and stopping every 10 miles to put water in the radiator. After what seems like forever, we pull into Egyptian Acres. When I get out I stretch then bend to brush rust stains from my white pedal pushers. I see a boy and ask where Su Mac Lad is. He points to a stable. Fran and Karl wait outside. I walk inside.

I take a moment to catch my breath before approaching him. As I walk towards him he lifts his head from his feedbag and looks right at me. I go to him. I am surprised. He has the faint aroma of a horse. I think because he famous he is supposed to be all sweet smelling. I look into his soulful eyes-eyes that open to love in its purest form. He and I are spellbound.

He listens as I talk. "The first time I saw you race was on a 15 inch screen and I still thought you were the most handsome horse." He whinnies when I say, "You won the International Trot twice--you are a champion. People are talking about how you will make racing history. You know I heard that your owner, Stanley Dancer, got his start after WW II as a contract driver on the county fair circuit. He is fast becoming one of the most celebrated drivers in harness racing history. And I'll tell you something else--if you won't let it go to your head. He said that you are the most consistent--no doubt--gelding ever. You should see your scrapbook, it's full of pictures and stories like those I just told." He perks his ears when I whisper, "He may own you but in my heart you're mine. And I'll always love you no matter where you go--no matter where fate takes me."

I stroke him with a pretend brush, pat his cheek, then hug his neck while checking to see no one is coming. Grasping a few strands of his mane I feel their softness between my fingers. A keepsake I reason. But I can't do it and am ashamed at the thought.

When he looks up from his feedbag. I say, "You are a clever horse, and belong in the winner's circle. I'll see you there, and not on a television set. I stand in the doorway turn to him once more my voice swelling with sorrow, "Goodbye for now."

The drive home seems to take longer. After thanking Karl Fran and I go into the project. I tell her that now I am really determined to get to Roosevelt Raceway. "But how?" She asks. Karl isn't going to taxi you around anymore. Guess you'll just have to be happy with your memory and your picture."

A few months later Frank comes into my life. Judging his ways, I can tell he is a good sport. When he calls to ask for our first date, I say, "I want to see my horse race. I promised."

"You don't have a horse."

"Well, he's not really mine, but I do need to see him race."

"The racetrack on our first date! I had something a little more romantic in mind, like the movies." "Movies? But I-ah-don't…."

"Okay, if it'll make you happy." Frank picks me up Saturday night and off we go.

During the drive he asks me to tell him why I love Su Mac Lad so much. I think for a minute then say, "Remember the lines from the song Some Enchanted Evening? Well, they go like this: Who can explain, who can tell you why? Fools give you reasons--wise men never try."

"Well put." Frank applauds then winks.

I am captured by the reflection of lights dancing in the fountain outside the track. And inside, I become caught up in the excitement of the deafening roar of the crowd, the people buzzing like bees back and forth to the sweet hope in the betting window.

Waiting for the race to start, I fidget at the rail. I ask Frank, "Where is he?" When Su Mac Lad comes around the first turn, close to where I am my heart pounds. I scream at the top of my lungs and jump up and down. He trots by the rail very close to me. I squeal.

Su-Mac-Lad

The August heat feels like the heat from exertion-I am wringing wet. I have my soggy program clenched in my right hand as I chew on the fleshy part between my left thumb and index finger. My heart is about to burst-he's boxed in. I hide my head in Frank's chest, like a bug in a bud. "Mae, look. Here he comes."

They're headed into the homestretch. Su Mac Lad in the lead. He crosses the finish line and I cry. The lights shine on him--much brighter here than on the television screen. He is magnificent.He is in the winners circle and I am here. He knows.

A year later Frank and I marry and have children. As with many things dear to one's heart my horse falls into the backstretch of my life. Years later I paste the last newspaper clipping into my scrapbook: Racing has lost a legend.Su Mac Lad died today.

My scrapbook is gone, but I have his photo, a few tattered pages from my diary and the letter Frank wrote during our courtship. "Dear Mae, If I had 3 wishes, one would be to buy Su Mac Lad for you."

I tell this story of the past in the present tense because Su Mac Lad is still very much in my heart.

Editor's Note:- The Joy of Horses would be delighted to publish other articles in a similar vein to Mae Barrena's loving remembrance of her favourite horse of all time...so who was your greatest equine hero?

All articles published will automatically be entered in our "Writer of the Year" Competition so please start writing!