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A trainer’s dream dissolves into the ultimate darkness
- Updated: July 20, 2016
3:16 PM ET
On the afternoon of May 5, 1955, R.H. “Red” McDaniel saddled a horse named Aptos in the sixth race at Golden Gate Fields, climbed into his cream-colored Cadillac, and beat a hasty retreat to the nearby San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge. When he reached the high point of the span, he pulled his car to a stop, walked without hesitation to the vertiginous rail, and promptly vaulted to his death.
McDaniel was 44 at the time and well on his way to a sixth straight national championship. He left no suicide note behind, only riddles that ranged from gangsters to gastrointestinal ulcers.
“Many of McDaniel’s colleagues believed that an excess of extremely hard work may have exacted a terrible toll,” wrote John McEvoy in “Great Horse Racing Mysteries: True Tales From the Track.” Others suspected cancer, depression, or the final, successful gesture in a series of attempts to do himself fatal harm.
McDaniel’s body was recovered from San Francisco Bay not long after he jumped with a stopwatch and parimutuel tickets in his pockets. Aptos had won his race. The trainer was relatively young, and the game was his oyster, bending to his genius with the condition book and his regular use of the preternaturally talented Willie Lee Shoemaker. McDaniel had everything to live for, as the wisdom goes, but it wasn’t enough.
There are few things more private than suicide. Maybe nothing. Albert Camus wrote, “There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.”
The lobby for the right to end one’s own life in certain circumstances is strong, with compelling philosophical support. On the other hand, I’ve always leaned toward the reaction of the Tom Hanks title character in “Joe vs. the Volcano,” when the mysterious girl asks “Why not?” to the idea of suicide.
“Because some things take care of themselves,” Joe says. “They’re not your job; maybe they’re not even your business.”
Then again, I’ve never had my heart torn apart …
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