Stall Nine at Bob Hench’s Barn
It was common practice to have at least one groom sleeping in the barn. The night before the race, it was Fritz’s turn to bed down with the horses at Bob Hench’s barn. Fritz was a young German boy hired by Wil and Capp to help with the Glidewell thoroughbreds. He enjoyed the solitude and was known to sing a German lullaby to relax the horses. Fritz made himself a pallet of clean straw near the entrance, covering it with a bedroll. He then secured the barn doors and retired to his sleeping nest. Soon he was dreaming of thoroughbreds running in the wind.
Around two in the morning, a beat-up car parked on the edge of Churchill Downs. The car had seen better days but drew no attention at this hour. A figure climbed out of the car and began the long hike to the backside. The night was moonless; the threat of heavy rain seemed unlikely anytime soon. The shadowy silhouette, illuminated with a flashlight, looked like a lonesome cowboy wearing a hat, heeled boots, and a trench coat. The individual walked through the field at the edge of the property toward the track, barns, and bunkhouses. Despite the flashlight this trespasser did not raise suspicion. This entrance, a trail really, was for day employees who worked, but did not live, at Churchill Downs. The mysterious figure walked with an unsteady swagger, stood tall, and seemed to know exactly where to go.
Unknown to most who worked temporarily at the backside, each horse barn had a fire-escape door, big enough for horse and man, in the rear tack room. Management didn’t seem too worried about making that little fact known to the men who spent a few months a year living at the facility. It was a door that was to remain unlocked at all times. And since few knew of it, who would think an intruder would find their way into a barn through an escape door? Night security for horse and groom was good, or so they thought.
The lone individual walked now around the edge of Bob Hench’s barn. Finding the little-known tack-room entrance, the figure opened the door and ducked under tack hanging inside from hooks above the door. The flashlight provided light and allowed the intruder to walk through the tack room and along the stalls that lined the barn. A shadow, reflected on the stall doors, stopped at stall nine a ways from where Fritz, the groom watchman, slept soundly.
The shadowy figure placed the flashlight on the floor, allowing it to shine into the stall. The horse neighed and shifted on his legs, his rear to the stall gate. The mysterious intruder opened the gate and walked in. The stallion, alerted and alarmed, neighed louder, snorted, pinned his ears back, and turned his head toward the stall door in fear. His tail began to twitch, his right leg cocked in a defensive position as the stallion balanced on three legs. The intruder dropped something and immediately crouched to pick it up. The horse let go with a violent kick, his hooves meeting the trespasser’s forehead. The stallion let out a terrified squeal and reared up, his forelegs flailing in the air. Turning, he snorted and reared again, his front hooves landing on the intruder’s arm and collar bone.
Fritz awoke and heard the cries of a horse in trouble. This was rare. Horses in this barn tended to be calm, the stallions seeming to get along. Fritz jumped up with flashlight in hand, and ran barefoot toward the sound. Other horses were awake and snorting. Fritz’s heart sank when he saw that the open stall door was stall nine, Glory Be’s.
He found a woman unconscious on the floor. One arm appeared to have been badly trampled, and the woman’s head was bleeding from a blow to her forehead, her nose crushed. Fritz grabbed Glory Be by his halter and pulled the stallion from the stall, being careful to guide him around the fallen woman. “That’s a good boy. Come on, good boy,” said Fritz while he stroked the horse’s neck and chest. He pulled a leather lead from a tack hook and attached it to the horse’s halter and tied him outside an empty stall. Having secured his charge, he returned to the woman and checked her pulse, first in her neck and then in the wrist on her good arm. She was alive. He ran to the barn phone and called an ambulance and then Wil.
Having made a habit of sleeping in his jeans at the backside the night before a race, Wil arrived quickly. “Ambulance not here?” asked Wil.
“No,” Fritz said, using a flashlight he found near the body to take a better look, “She don’t look good.”
“Who the hell gets in a horse stall in the middle of the night?” asked Wil, knowing Fritz would not know the answer. “How did she get in, Fritz?”
“I don’t know. I shut the barn door good, boss. Latch it every time.”
“I know you do, son. Who is she?” Wil removed his hat and got closer to the woman. She was tough to look at, the injuries severe. She was out cold. Her nose bleeding, her head bleeding, she looked beyond repair, like a broken, bloody doll.
“Glory Be must have gotten her twice,” Wil said, scratching the back of his head and rubbing his left temple. “Who the hell goes into a racehorse’s stall at two in the morning? She had no business being here! None!”
Wil walked around the body, bent down, and tried to arouse the woman. A horse whinnied from stall twelve. As he stood, hat still in hand, he heard Corky, Ernesto, and Capp come running, at breakneck speed. Ernesto was shoeless. Capp was still putting on his shirt. Corky was buttoning his fly. “What happened?” they said in unison.
“This woman decided she’d come pay Glory Be a visit,” explained Wil placing his hat back
