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, WEIGHING IN — — — — — — By Evan Shipman Fire Is a Word of Terror to All Horsemen Smoking and Overloaded Circuits Are to Blame Grooms Have Often Displayed High Heroism Direction of Wind Saved Reigh Count at Leona AQUEDUCT, L. I., N. Y., June 17. "Fire!" there is terror in the word to all horsemen. None of us know when and where it will strike, but we live under the constant threat of disaster, and when a stable, inevitably a veri-. table table tinder tinder box, box, goes goes up up in in flames, flames, horse- , table table tinder tinder box, box, goes goes up up in in flames, flames, horse- horsemen are likely to lose not only their livelihood, but their lives. Rapping on wood and with our fingers crossed, we can say that we have never seen a stable fire. It is an experience that we can do without. But we have heard about them from the time we first began to work around horses, and there has always been a striking similarity in the stories. First, there is the astonishing speed with which a smolder becomes menacing flame; then there is the frantic attempt of one or two men to do the work of a dozen in this this emergency: emergency; finally, finally, there there is is always always the the this this emergency: emergency; finally, finally, there there is is always always the the crazed fright of the horses, and their return, or attempts to return, to the burning hell after being loosed— and that is when both men and horses face death. The catastrophe, when it strikes, as it did early yesterday morning in the steeplechase barn at Belmont Park, resembles the wreck of a ship at sea. Discipline, courage and quick thinking are all called for, and it is to the credit of grooms that, in this predicament, they usually exhibit the same kind of self-sacrifice that is traditional with the sailor. The ex-jockey, Alfred Mitchell, lost his life when he attempted to lead Syracuse Lad out of the burning barn. Kicked in the head, he could not be dragged to safety. This groom adds another name to a long list of horsemen who have died at their post and "in line of duty." How do these fires start? We know of three ways that probably explain most of them. First, carelessness with cigarettes; second, overloading an electric circuit with gadgets, such as heating plates, for which the line was not intended; third, spontaneous combustion from damp hay stored above stables. Very occasionally, arson enters the picture, but less often, we believe, than first reports of stable fires would indicate. It is true that disgruntled employes have set fires, but those rare persons who are guilty of this heinous crime are pyromaniacs, definitely insane, and, in virtually all cases, they carry a record of arson with them. Why they should gravitate to race tracks is a mystery, but Spencer J. Drayton, chief of the Thoroughbred Racing Protective Bureau, has told us that careful screening has found men with a history of arson behind thorn making repeated attempts to gain employment at our tracks. When we think back to our own early days as a groom with a racing stable, we shudder at some of the things we recall as common practice. We often slept in stalls with the horses, and we always smoked. It is true that we tried to be careful, that we always kept a shoe beside us to use as an ash tray, and that we were quite conscious of the danger of a loose spark. Still, that is not enough, and we imagine that many a fire has been involuntarily set by some man who "tried to be careful." When we followed the Grand Circuit, the Bay State and the Orange County, the feed stall was the hostel that welcomed any stray grooms. Blankets were available, and every stable sheltered more than its own quota. The feed stall, of course, was where the baled hay and straw was stored, and we who slept there did not go outside every time we felt like smoking. As for the overloading of circuits, we well remember that Frank Keogh, our friend who was for many years track superintendent at Aqueduct, would never leave the track even during the off season. He was afraid of fire. Koegh had forbidden use of electric heaters and hot plates, but, having been around more than a little, he knew that they were concealed in the barns, and that they were a constant threat to everybodys security. Two stories remain in our mind. The first was told us by Mrs. John Payson Adams, and deals with a fire at the San Francisco horse show. The second is an experience of John D. Hertz at his old Cary, IU-, farm, Leona. Mrs. Adams lost her horses in a terrible fire, and one of her grooms, overcome by smoke, but led to safety, dashed back into the inferno in an attempt to rescue his horse. Evading all restraint, the man disappeared into the smoke and flames. He did not come out, or, at any rate, nobody saw him come out. Plenty of horses died in that fire, and men died, too. Mrs. Adams searched the San Francisco morgue day after day, looking for the body of that groom. It was a grisly chore. She never found him. And then, one day a full year later, he turned up at her San Jose farm. He had no recollection of anything that had taken place since the fire, recalling only that he had once worked for Mrs. Adams. His mind was gone, but he had a home at San Jose for as long as he lived. After Reigh Count had wound up his three-year-old campaign by winning a sensational Jockey Club Gold Cup, he was stabled for a while at Belmont before shipping to home quarters at Leona Farm. There was a fire in his barn, but Reigh Count and the other Hertz horses were led to safety. A year later, after Reigh Count had returned from a trip to England, and when he again was at Leona in company with the 1927 Futurity winner, Anita Peabody, there was a fire at the farm. Hertz returned one evening from an afternoons racing at Arlington and found his farm superintendent in tears outside the barn, which appeared normal. A fire had started, but it was mostly heavy smoke. All the horses on one side of the barn, some 13, had been suffocated. The wind had carried the smoke that way. The horses in the direction from which the wind blew, including Reigh Count and Anita Peabody, were unharmed. This fire took place during a peroiod of violent labor trouble in Chicago, and it was at first believed that hoodlums might have set fire to the barn. Hertz, however, on examining the loft, where baled hay was stored, found enough charred stems to convince him that spontaneous combustion was the real culprit, but he was in no hurry to make this conclusion known; if the hoodlums had not been guilty of the particular crime, they had so many others to answer for that an additional clause in the bill of indictment was all to the good. But anyway, be careful of that cigarette. [Editors Note — Nelson Dunstan is visiting breeding farms in Kentucky, inspecting yearlings to be offered at the Keeneland and Saratoga sales. His columns, "Reflections" and "Sires and Dams," will be resumed next Tuesday.]
