Sherman step by step with one final work of art

He rode Thoroughbreds for 22 years, then trained them for another 43 years. He helped raise a handsome, admirable family and loved their patriarch. Dark clouds roll in as he walks into a room with a never-fail and never-regret attitude, despite the fleeting highs and unceasing vicissitudes of life in a jobless job. what is guaranteed. And, if all that wasn’t enough, for 45 magical months, he was the primary caretaker of an equestrian celebrity whose popularity transcends the boundaries of the game. But now he is about to retire.

Art Sherman – is that all you got?

In fact, that is more than enough. Thoroughbred racing owes Art Sherman a debt of gratitude it can never repay. When he has his last saddle, put on December 12 at Los Alamitos . Racecourse, he’ll perfect a career that challenges the imagination in its arc from Everyone to Everyone’s Hero.

That means Sherman’s career tiptoed rapidly through his formative years as a gymnast and runner, anxious to hit his stride. California Chrome . Sure, the cinematic elements are obvious, and training the Horse of the Year twice with a fan club with a proportion of teen rock stars has placed Sherman in the category of just a few. student.

He rode the boot against Bill Shoemaker, Eddie Arcaro and Bill Hartack, names from which he was disqualified because he was more than just a wall-flying cruiser. They make up some good anecdotes, and Sherman has plenty. But when you take him down, it’s the powerful bumps in places like Bowie and Vallejo, along with the memory of fallen colleagues like Jack Robinson and Juan Gonzalez that give Sherman a host of ideologies. destiny coloring another sunny composition. It’s not a job for shy violets.

Sherman will begin, talking about his time working in Southern California for famed owner and breeder, Rex Ellsworth, and trainer Meshach Tenney. . “We used to do it the Western style. We would stuff them in the barn, put a little in their mouths, then throw a ghost sack under their stomachs. We specially made the saddles. fiberglass, very light, we’re going to shrink it, then Mesh will come in. We’re going to start them down this straight slide, and man, some of them won’t stick anymore.

“Helm, vest? No, I wear a cowboy hat. I’m a cowboy, making $75 a month,” he said. “As a kid, I was pretty good at sports, so it was fun to see if I could stay with them longer each time. We had a lot of kids going through there, scared, dropping out of school. I was a bit scared at first, but you can never say I’m scared.

“I was kicked in the face by a horse while riding with Ellsworth at the track,” Sherman continued. “We used to ride horses around the barns in Santa Anita. I stepped out of a stall just as he was approaching the corner. I clenched my fist and before I knew it he was approaching. – boom! – he turned the wheel and nailed me. What saved me was that he didn’t have a back shoe. Moved my nose up about half an inch.”

The boy from Brooklyn who was nicknamed Pee Wee in high school passed 11th grade in Whittier, California, then made the rest of his graduation post at the track.

“I was just a kid in Longacres,” Sherman said. “I got a hit off the scale. This old man punched me right in the jaw. Hit me back, but didn’t knock me down. I grabbed his neck, but they pulled us away.

“Back then, most guys took those diet pills and messed up all the time. I was young and smart and tough, never skipped a meal, and there were guys who were just too weak to have them. One guy, who can actually ride a horse, spends two or three hours a day in a sweat box. I would be very nervous if I were next to him at the starting gate. I looked over, and he was. will convulse something horribly.”

Sherman joined the parade after the second race at Del Mar on October 4, 1967, when he noticed Fred Robertson was struggling.

“He was one of those kids who thought no horse was too hard for him,” says Art. “This horse kept trying to get behind, so I told him to go forward. But he must be a man.” I’ve got this sonofabitch,” he said. It swam up in front of me to go down three-quarters of the slide. The horse jerked up and lost its balance. Fred swooped down and rammed his neck on the rails. low outside. I saw blood coming out of his ear as I passed. Sure enough, he broke his neck.”

And Sherman won the race.

“I was devastated,” he said. “Watching what happened, I was really shocked. I guess I witnessed my own murder of men.

“The person that annoyed me the most was Phil Grohs,” Sherman said. “We’re close to his family. He’s dropping a lot, and he’s riding on bad horses no one else rides. I told him he should go get a square meal, don’t lose weight and bounce. Then that horse went down at Bay Meadows and killed him. I wasn’t in the race, but I was there.”

It was December 6, 1965. Teammate Levi Gomez was suspended for meeting balance, plus 10 days, for rushing onto the field and causing a horse riding by Grohs to clip its heels and fall.

Sherman added: “What annoyed me the most was that his wife put him on display at the funeral home. “He looked horrible, all pale, and had a bandage on his head. I had nightmares about that for a long time.”

Sherman was asked if it was worth it, all those years as a semi-successful jockey on the road, losing friends, messing around, playing in small rooms and only hitting the occasional interval. big time. Even in your 80s, the answer seems fresh.

“People don’t realize, when you’re on a horse, and another horse comes up to you but your horse won’t let it pass, that’s the damnedest feeling,” he said. “And it’s just between you and your horse, like the individual, knowing that you don’t have to whip or hit it. You just sit there and feel the pure competition and the aggressiveness of the horse, like you’re one, and you both know, ‘I have this sonofabitch by my side.’ It’s the most damned feeling.”

It’s the most damn life. Thanks for the memories, Art Sherman. Be healthy and keep them going.