Luis replied, “They need to stay out of her way, but I will have her ready every morning.”
Winning Colors was thriving and getting taller and more muscular each month. The other grooms and trainers would come to see her and always left shaking their heads, amazed how big and tall she was. Around the backstretch, she was known as the Amazon.
From 5:00 a.m. each day, Santa Anita was alive and active as the sun rose over the backstretch, silhouetting the mountains. As the exercise riders took out their charges for jogs or serious workouts, the horses’ warm, moist breaths could be seen exploding into the cold winter air. Continuing to teach Winning Colors how to reserve and rate her energy remained Jeff Lukas’s primary training focus with her each morning. Dallas would position her to run slightly behind another horse and remain there for a half-mile, coaching her to relax before running at her full-speed gallop. Then, in the stretch, he would allow her to accelerate and exert her superiority over her workmate.
Occasionally, Gary Stevens showed up to ride her in the early workouts. The two had a bond. After a few weeks of working together, Winning Colors showed excitement when she saw Stevens, knowing she would soon escape her stall and gallop around the huge track. He told Jeff Lukas, “I’m beginning to understand her now. She seems to be going too fast early in her training and in races…but she just has an ability to go faster out of the gate than any other horse I have ever been on. We just need to keep her head on straight. If she gets distracted or angry she goes out of whack and then you can’t control her. It’s only her temperament I worry about…never her ability.”
After her daily morning exercise, Luis would take her for a long walk, and then give her a slow, warm bath, combing her out afterwards until she shone like a new metallic gray sports car. Horsemen know they shouldn’t get too attached to their horses, but Luis couldn’t help himself.
Jeff Lukas aspired to run his own stable someday, and he found a willing business mentor in Eugene Klein. The two often dined together at a famous Santa Anita steak house, founded in 1922, The Derby. The Saturday evening before Winning Colors’ next start, Klein took Jeff out for drinks and steaks. Jeff had learned that after a few cocktails, Klein would tell colorful stories of his rise to wealth.
Early in his career, Klein had been known as Cowboy Gene, but he wasn’t really a cowboy. At a towering six-feet-five-inches, he was a gangly kid from the Bronx born to Russian immigrants, who sold encyclopedias door to door as a kid. He was a cocky, brash, and gutsy salesman who parlayed a used car lot with three cheap cars into a Volvo automobile dealership, created a national movie chain with 250 theaters, built an NBA franchise, owned an insurance and banking company, and then leveraged himself into his long-held dream of owning a professional football team. Klein began his career in sales by running Sunday used car commercials on TV while donning a huge cowboy hat and cowboy boots. The persona of Cowboy Gene was a hit, and he never stopped making money from there.
“I may have been the first Jewish cowboy,” he used to say.
“What was it like owning your own NFL team?”
“Initially, I loved it. It had been my dream, even when I owned the Seattle SuperSonics, but I really wanted a football team. But it wasn’t what I expected. For instance…they couldn’t seem to grow grass in our San Diego stadium. How can they not grow decent grass in Southern California, but they can do it in friggin’ Green Bay? Then things went downhill fast for me….” He stopped telling his story to order another Macallan 21, then continued. “The players caused problems.”
“Off the field?”
“One day head coach Don Coryell came to me and said, ‘Mr. Klein we have a big problem with Jones.’”
Klein took a sip and went on, “I tell him, ‘We always have a problem with Jones. What the hell is it now?’ Coryell tells me Jones won’t play unless I give him a Cadillac. Says he is as important to the team as the owner and the owner drives a Cadillac and he needs one too. We had been dealing with Jones’ erratic behavior for two years, but this was a new twist. The thing is Jones was one of the best running backs in the league and without him, we had no chance to win the game. So I tell him, ‘Coach, what do you think we should do? Is he serious about this or just Jones being Jones again?’”
Lukas kept quiet. He knew Klein trusted him with these kinds of stories.
“Coach tells me, ‘Boss, I hate to say this, but I really don’t think he will play if he doesn’t get that car. And I know you don’t want to hear this again, but he really is underpaid.’”
Klein shifted in his seat and leaned forward. “Well, I had a well-earned reputation of never re-negotiating a contract. But, after years of failure on the field, I needed that weekend’s win. I was really getting pissed. I said, ‘Coach, I’m friggin’ paying him what he friggin’ signed up to play for…for God’s sakes. I have run businesses from car dealerships to theater chains. Never once did one of my goddamn employees come to me and demand to have a new expensive car delivered to him immediately or he wouldn’t come to work the next day! God damn him!’”
“So what happened?”
“I gave in…bought him a new baby blue, Landau top Cadillac, with silver chrome wheels. Jones ran for 110 yards that weekend, but we lost the damn game anyway.”
Klein finished his drink and ordered another.
“What made you finally sell the team?”
“So many damn things. The press was always against us. The agents knew how to
