The Shadows of Cassaleria

Nothing lifts the spirit of a ten-year-old boy quite like a moment that is shared with his father. It was 1983, a year of colossal awakenings in the Western world. Dr. Barney Clark had just become the first artificial heart transplant recipient, and in the progressive realm of technology, the Commodore 64 computer lengthened its reign as society’s latest craze. Entertainer Michael Jackson was on the verge of thrilling a generation, while an unearthly little being named E.T. continued to charm the affections of moviegoers everywhere.

Spielberg Strikes cinematic Gold with E.T.

It was a year of trendsetting and unique fashion. Denim jackets were in high demand and feathered hairdos were all the rage. Cabbage Patch Kids sprang to transitory life and the Valley Girls conversed as if they had totally hatched mankind’s earliest spoken language. Camcorders preserved a bevy of childhood firsts, and the most inquisitive minds of the day were pacified by encounters with the Rubik’s Cube. It was a far simpler era, an era when families sat together for supper, an era when text messages were scribbled out on paper.

Closer to home, rains fell over the San Francisco Bay Area in early 1983 with a ferocity that had not been seen in some ninety years. Mudslides in the mountains above Santa Cruz were televised nightly on the evening news, while levee breaks along many of the local rivers had communities feeling as though they would never get out from under the water.   

Sports have a distinctive knack for bringing other parts of our lives back into perspective. They supply us with well-measured hints of constancy in an age of unending change. Sports arouse vitality in times of indifference, unity in times of dissension, and hope in the face of adversity. Such was the case for one particular family on the morning of February 5, 1983.

Life leading up to this unexpected day had not been without its fair share of hardships. Mom had survived six weeks in the intensive care unit after suffering a brain aneurysm in 1978. Aside from the brilliantly clear memories of driving up to that hospital, or of my father as he tried to conceal his own pain from us kids, it would be many years before we were able to fully grasp how desperately close we came to losing her.

The following year, tragedy struck again, only this time it surfaced in the cruelest of ways. Anthony, my older brother, was diagnosed with Lupus at the tender age of thirteen. He was a kind and fun-loving boy, the type of youngster who could brighten the disposition of most anyone simply by being in their presence. Anthony’s love for family was rivaled exclusively by his love for athletics, yet it was not on a grassy field where his greatest battle would be fought. As his eyelids fell for the final time, childhood dreams of soccer stardom were laid to infinite rest along with a family’s sense of innocence.

Brothers Pose with the Anthony Burke Memorial Soccer Trophy

By the time the El Camino Real Derby was primed for its inaugural run, life had assumed a semblance of needed normality. Mom’s recovery had been nothing short of a miracle, and our entire clan had made gallant strides to find peace with Anthony’s unthinkable passing. Gifts need not come in fancy packages or be adorned with decorative bows, for in the year of 1982, a family’s capacity for healing became the most magical gift of them all.

Another type of magic was simultaneously unveiled in racing that year at Bay Meadows. Trainer Ron McAnally was busy conditioning a one-eyed, claustrophobic wonder named Cassaleria. The horse had lost his left eye in a stable incident shortly after being foaled. McAnally took Cassaleria under his wing at the request of owner James Brady, and it would not be long before the yearling’s giftedness became apparent to the Hall of Fame trainer.

Cassaleria's Trainer Ron McAnally

Cassaleria flourished under McAnally’s guidance, performing admirably enough to earn himself a spot in the starting gate for the very first running of the El Camino Real Derby. The colt would have to overcome a decidedly troubled trip to win the race, one in which jockey Darrel McHargue dove down to an opening near the rail, pressing the horse’s blind eye flush against the backdrop of the Bay Meadows infield. McHargue’s well-timed decision helped erase a twelve length deficit at the top the stretch as the twosome went on to claim victory in California’s newest stakes contest.

Despite the drama that unfolded during Cassaleria’s win in the 1982 El Camino Real Derby, Bay Meadows executives were hoping to pique the public’s interest further for the second installment of Northern California’s marquee racing event. After much consideration, it was decided that a pair of newly contrived activities would be staged as a sort of prelude to the El Camino Real Derby itself. Both activities were slated for the early morning, the first being a five-kilometer fun run for participants of all ages over the grounds at Bay Meadows. The latter of the two programs would be a fundraiser for the American Heart Association, an event the track’s marketing team was billing simply as Man versus Beast.

Organizers of the Man versus Beast event had little trouble locating their horse, but finding the man who would square off in a foot race against this horse proved to be a slightly more difficult task. Jesse Owens had gained notoriety for racing a horse decades earlier, but that was largely for the publicity-fueled dollars that were up for grabs years after he had tasted Olympic glory. Therefore, the good people at the American Heart Association set out to find their man through a series of suitably placed advertisements in local publications.

Never have I met a person who enjoys a lively contest or competition more than my father. As a young man, Pop was quite the accomplished track and field athlete. He took part in the California State Championships as a senior year in high school, and was widely recognized as one of the fastest sprinters in the area during his time in organized athletics. His passion for sports did not stop once his days on the track had ended. If someone or something was fast, be it a football player, a collegiate sprinter, or even a horse, then Pop just had to watch. He remained in great shape himself throughout his thirties, so when the advertisement by the American Heart Association caught his attention, the rest was merely a formality.

Dan Burke with the Burke Boys, Circa 1981

The family spilled out of the pine green station wagon and into the Bay Meadows parking lot shortly after sunrise on February 5, 1983. We were the first to arrive, although a steady stream of visitors would soon follow. Seagulls were working hard on the remnants left by Friday’s departing crowd, while the parking lot attendants smiled and welcomed in each new car as if they were greeting English royalty. There were no imminent signs of rain, but sharp winds seemingly choreographed a waist-high dance of scattered paper all around us.

It was cold for a February morning in California. Pop was decked out in his runner’s attire, which included sneakers, satin jogging shorts, as well as a terry cloth headband that surely would not be fashionable for long. He was unusually quiet as he made his way from our car to the track’s entrance. My brother and I skipped along in our jeans and Patagonia jackets, right in behind my grandfather. Mom had bundled up my baby brother as though we were destined for a remote location in the Yukon. This made us giggle. Others were also on their way to show support for my father as he attempted to take down the mighty beast.

Navigating our way through the building and down onto the track’s apron became an exercise for the senses. Recent rains left small beads of water draped across every exposed surface in sight, and the smells coming from both the track and paddock areas were unlike any I had detected before. The family looked for a favorable viewing spot to set up camp as Pop began his warm-ups for the seventy-five yard war. My brother and I could not contain our excitement, darting in and out of the countless rows of seats, and running our fingers over the hardened plastic from which they were made. Soon, a small crowd began to gather near the finish line. The sound of unclear chatter filled the once silent air, while onlookers readied themselves for the Bay Meadows spectacle known as Man versus Beast.

Pop was nervously pacing back and forth when the beast was led out onto the race track. Her name was Buttercup, and to this day, we continue to poke fun at my Pop, not solely because of the horse’s endearing name, but also alleging that Buttercup may very well have been a donkey dressed in a horse’s costume. That clearly was far from the truth, however.

The man was ready, the beast was ready, and we too were ready. Bang! The starter’s gun sounded and Pop shot away from his crouched position like a bolt of lightning. Buttercup got off to a slow start, and by the time the two combatants reached the midway point of the race, Pop had established a noticeable lead. My brother and I were screaming, flailing our arms wildly about in the air as Mom looked on with growing belief. My grandfather cupped his hands around the sides of his mouth, hoping to better project the motivational words he was outwardly howling.  

And then, it happened. Buttercup found an extra gear just as the two of them approached the wire. Horsepower would defeat manpower in the charity fundraiser, and Pop’s valiant bid to outrun a horse would fall ever so short. The notion of losing never crossed my mind, but an admiration for competing did. Not all triumphant stories end in victory. Our family was in need of someone or something to rally around, and my father provided just that.

Two incredibly special things occurred on this day. Here, in the house that Seabiscuit built, a bright-eyed little boy began a lifelong love affair with horse racing, but more importantly, a father became a hero to that same little boy. Several hours still remained until post time for the El Camino Real Derby. Together as a family we sat, talking and laughing, united and hopeful, all in anticipation of a race that would eventually be won by Knightly Rapport.

Over the years, there have been many memorable moments at the track, yet none could ever compare to the day we waited patiently in the shadows of Cassaleria. 

Dan and Kathy Burke, Five Years After Man Versus Beast

Cesar De Alba: A Year to Remember

2014 resulted in an assemblage of firsts for jockey Cesar De Alba. His fifteen stakes wins were tops in the nation among quarter horse riders, while the one-hundred plus victories he amassed at Los Alamitos had him vying for their annual riding title. Finding his way to the winner’s circle by delivering on the track has helped solidify Cesar’s rebirth as a jockey, yet it was a delivery of a different nature that spawned his most uniquely profound thrill of the year. On the second day in November, Cesar and his wife Becky welcomed the arrival of their first born child, a boy they named Kevin. “It’s amazing to think that I’ve played a part in creating another life,” Cesar stated. As the calendar year draws to a fulfilling close, there is little doubt that the events of 2014 will furnish memories to last the whole of a lifetime.


Cesar Entering the Winner's Circle at Los Alamitos (Photo Courtesy of Esther Kim)

Cesar De Alba was born in Guadalajara, Mexico and moved to the United States in 1989 when he was just eight years of age. Shortly after the relocation, his father went to work with his uncle at the Dragon Wind horse farm in Valley Center, California. The family took up residence in Valley Center, and as Cesar fondly recalls, it was a childhood marked by considerable happiness. The De Alba household was home to Cesar, his mother and father, as well as a younger and an older sister. Bonds originating during this youthful period have kept the family close up through the present day.

 

Rising at 5:00 A.M. to watch your father gallop horses may not sound like the ideal morning to your typical ten-year-old boy, but then again, Cesar was anything but typical. He relished the trips out to San Luis Rey Downs in the city of Bonsall, California. When his father was not busy galloping horses, he was hard at work breaking babies or performing any one of a multitude of other equine related activities. Cesar absorbed the unrelenting passion that his father exhibited, and he employed a similar work ethic while cleaning stalls or tending to other daily chores.

Nearly every facet of Cesar’s life involved horses in one way or another, yet this did not prohibit the growth of a teenager trying to navigate his way through high school. As Cesar explains, “I was extremely shy as a kid, but high school gave me the opportunity to break out of the shell I had been in.” At Orange Glen High School in Escondido, Cesar flourished both in and out of the classroom, giving all he had to scholastic studies, while taking part in soccer as encouraged by his parents. On the soccer field, Cesar discovered the competitive prowess that would soon become vital to his days in the saddle.

Upon graduating from high school, Cesar began to make his presence known on the Southern California thoroughbred racing circuit. Mornings consisted of shaking as many hands and working as many horses as possible. His first professional mount came in 2001 aboard a Bob Hess Jr. trained runner at Hollywood Park. He finished third in this debut ride more than a decade ago, but the race itself squarely laid a foundation for the prosperous career that then followed.

Life as an apprentice jockey is not for the faint of heart or weak of will. Unfamiliarity with weight maintenance or feelings of homesickness can leave a young rider frustrated and demoralized. Throughout the early stages of his career, these were struggles De Alba would come to know far too well. As Cesar confessed, “Picking up mounts on the East Coast was tough because I missed my family. And despite having an uncle (Eddie Garcia) who was a prominent quarter horse jockey in California, it always seemed I was missing a true mentor during my early days on the thoroughbreds.”

Cesar was introduced to Los Alamitos in the 1990’s. It was an exciting time, venturing out to the track with family to watch his uncle atop the short distance specialists. The facilities back then were quite different from what onlookers might see today. The paddock was erected in the middle part of the infield, and the fan friendly atmosphere allowed for closer relations between the athletes and spectators. These were times Cesar had not forgotten, times that ultimately made those first mounts at Los Alamitos all the more endearing.

Initially, Cesar came to Los Alamitos to ride thoroughbreds at the insistence of his agent, Neil Bricks. He enjoyed his share of good fortune at the four and one-half furlong distance, yet it was not long before trainers were thinking of Cesar as a plausible option for their quarter horses. The rest, so to speak, is history. Cesar’s talents on the thoroughbreds were quickly overshadowed by his mastery of the quarter horses. “Being able to ride each breed has enabled me to better understand the other,” Cesar said. “Thoroughbreds can get lost in a race depending on the traffic or their trip, but a quarter horse instinctively knows that it is time to roll the instant the gate breaks opens.” Prior to 2014, Cesar’s most notable season on record came in 2007, a year in which he tallied more than eighty victories on the track.


Cesar with Paul Jones and Assistant Trainer Rocke Gonzalez (Photo Courtesy of Esther Kim)



Morning workouts play a key role in the success of any horse racing stable. This is a fact Cesar has grown to appreciate and revere during his years in the saddle. He arrives at the track by 6:00 A.M. and immediately makes himself available to trainers in need of workout riders. This willingness to put forth effort for others has resulted in mounts being awarded from a variety of sources. In addition, Cesar prides himself on riding for different trainers, preferring not to identify exclusively with any one particular barn. “It is my goal to earn each trainer’s respect by not shying away from mounts that are offered,” De Alba explains.

Coming of age as a professional athlete requires not only experience, but a certain measure of time. At thirty-three years of age, Cesar De Alba believes that his newfound maturity has had a great deal to do with his revival on the race track. “I am more focused now than ever before,” he admits. Cesar takes pleasure in sharing what he has learned with young riders. His aim is to be the hand of reason that was absent during his own days as an apprentice.  “The best advice I can give to a young jockey is that nothing is as important as remaining humble,” he proclaims.

Cesar leads by example and handles himself with the utmost humility. He chooses not to highlight specific horses he deems as more memorable than others, yet does concede that Moonist has had a greater influence on his career than any other who came before. Trainer John Cooper’s three-year-old phenomenon has helped Cesar to regain an elite level of confidence. Over the course of the 2014 season, Moonist and De Alba combined to win nine of ten starts at Los Alamitos Race Course, four of which being highly regarded stakes races.

Despite the overwhelming achievements on the track, Cesar maintains that there are parts of his game he would like to improve upon moving forward. He believes his most valued asset lies in the ability to sit quietly on the back of a horse, but does hope to become even more proficient at getting his mounts to break exceptionally fast. It is with little hesitation that Cesar sings the praises of the gate crew at Los Alamitos, and he is quick to mention Rodrigo Aceves, Ramon Sanchez, and Cruz Mendez as fellow riders he admires sincerely.



Cesar De Alba with Becky and Baby Kevin

 

Cesar now calls the city of Cypress home, and he is just minutes away from the track that has brought him such acclaim. His wife, Becky Fitzgerald, is a state track veterinarian who is also employed at Los Alamitos. De Alba explains that time away from the track is spent working alongside of Becky as she makes farm calls to animals in need throughout the greater Los Angeles area. He remains fit by running three to four miles each morning on race days, a regimen that has nearly become necessity due to his deep-seated affinity for pizza. “I can never get enough pizza,” Cesar chuckles.

Cesar’s love for the animals is apparent from the second he begins to speak. “Horses are not machines. They are living, breathing creatures that can have an off day, an off hour, or even an off moment. This is something the general public sometimes forgets,” he says. What will not be forgotten is the resounding willingness to work and desire to learn that has aided Cesar in becoming a more accomplished jockey, and a more well-rounded man.

Whether the accomplishments of 2014 are duplicated in the upcoming season or not, one thing is certain: For Cesar De Alba, his wife Becky, and baby Kevin, 2015 is sure to be a year filled with an abundance of added blessings.

 

 

 

Crack Of Dawn Said He

Equine Variations on a Theme by E. E. Cummings

Crack of dawn said he

Morning frost said she

Did you sleep said he

Standing up said she

Busy day said he

Bluebirds sing said she

Much to do said he

Autumn scents said she

Will you run said he

Like the wind said she

Gobble fuel said he

No more gruel said she

Graded stakes said he

Just a race said she

Worth is earned said he

Human myth said she

Master's voice said he

Devil's trill said she

Near our barn said he

Loathe the thought said she

Piercing sight said he

Needles con said she

Do not fear said he

Not my first said she

Cannot watch said he

Through the hide said she

Curse the pain said he

Punctured pride said she

Will you run said he

Like a mule said she

Master's wrath said he

Lesson learned said she

Off you go said he

Giddyap said she

Anno Domini 2014

Et In Honorem Divinum Creaturae



Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by Victor Vasnetsov



Bits and pieces of our past are typically found in stories that are unraveling in the present. In biblical times, the apocalypse was considered to be a transcendent revelation, a turning point in history when good would overcome evil, an indication that a well-defined interval of time was coming to a decisive end. The rise and fall of empires signaled the birth of new ideas, and along with this progressive way of thinking, came an altered understanding of what these revelations truly implied. Recently, mankind has adopted the notion that this is a reference to the end of days, but time has an uncanny knack for distorting truth, and even the most devout historian will concede that an apocalypse unequivocally embodies change.

Horse racing offers the sporting world its own version of the apocalypse each and every year. Juveniles emerge as three-year-olds on the first day in January, while racing stables across the land cast their sights on the Garland of Roses and Black-eyed Susans in months that follow. Breaking news is a morning occurrence, unheralded barns charm their way into mainstream society, and defections from the Triple Crown trail are often pandemic.

As the last of July’s fireworks are being unleashed into the night sky, the horse racing world refocuses its attention on older, more accomplished equine athletes. Pillars of the sport are applauded with religious fervor as they run in a variable medley of graded stakes events, contests serving as stepping stones to the most coveted event of them all: the Breeders Cup.

The year in racing simmers to a collective calm during the early part of autumn, but as the days dwindle away to Breeders Cup weekend, fans begin to muse over the multitude of prophesies that have already been written. An apocalypse is defined by change, and at no other time is change greater than when the torch is being passed from one noble champion to the next. Mucho Macho Man prevailed in last year’s running of the Classic, but he and several other notables will not compete in 2014 due to retirement, or in some cases, injury.

The year of the horse has quietly become the year of the three-year-old. Many are touting the 2014 Breeders Cup Classic as the Kentucky Derby that never was. Roughly half of the field will be made up of horses that were eligible to compete in Triple Crown races. Chances are, one of these gifted creatures will be anointed Horse of the Year.  We must summon up the trumpets and sound the bugles, for the four horses of the apocalypse are about to ride.

The White Horse is most accurately depicted by California Chrome. He was the first to have surfaced as he spread the word of racing across the land throughout his victory campaign. The Kentucky Derby and Preakness winner maintains a following that is characterized by righteousness, but this has in no way deterred him from seeking the ultimate, end of the year honor. Some believe him to be a false prophet, but the conqueror shall willingly pass judgment on those foolish enough to deny his message.  

Bayern bursts confidently away from a starting gate as if equipped with a mighty sword. Representative of the Red Horse, he is here to spill the blood of others as he throws down the gauntlet with his catch me if you can mentality. The Red Horse divides the population, leaving a fraction awestruck by his speed, while others frown upon the front-running style and label him as lacking versatility. Make no mistake about it: this is the bringer of war.

The Black Horse reminded the nation that fairy tales are best reserved for children’s books. Tonalist brought balance back to the game by insuring that the Triple Crown famine would continue for at least one more year. Impeccably bred, the Black Horse is symbolic of the wealthy and illustrates the class gap in contemporary society and in horse racing. There will be no injustice should blue-blooded law reign supreme come Breeders Cup Saturday.

The Pale Horse scatters darkness over all that dare face him. Adversaries have lined up alongside of Shared Belief seven times, and seven times the competition has languished hopelessly in defeat. He is the grim reaper, small in stature, but wielding an unthinkable amount of power. This is the little train, the Pale Horse, preparing to ravage once more.

Our apocalypse does not indicate the end of time, but the end of the year in racing as we know it. The coronation of a newfound champion will take place on the first Saturday in November. The racing world is sure to rejoice as the year’s grandest revelation becomes the sport’s most celebrated reality. Many are ready to march into the starting gate in hopes of capturing the Classic, but all eyes will zero in on four horses as they ride off after destiny.