Kings of the Turf (1941) - full transcript

Presenting the aristocrats
of the world of harness horses.

Born and brought to perfection...

...here at one of California's
most famous breeding farms.

They are the standardbred horse.

The stock from which comes
our great trotters and pacers.

Our Gold Cup show horses.

But there's nothing
in the equine blue book...

...that says they must race all the time,
or even go on display.

They can let their mane down
once in a while...

...and contemplate the curious
facts of life.

And this morning happens to be
an especially fine time for just that.



An important event in the life
of every good mare is about to occur...

...and it's time to call the doctor.

Yes, here's one item
the columnist missed.

For one of the farm's most prominent
boarders is "infanticipating."

It's strictly a matter of routine now.

And while he waits for the arrival
of the veterinarian...

...this trainer and godfather of a hundred
famous pacers and trotters...

...drops out to see the anxious
and expectant mother.

Probably to advise her
the stork's on his way.

As if she didn't know.

Well, let's get started.

So here,
with this trip to the hospital...

...begins our life history
of a harness horse.

A horse with a blue-blooded heritage.



And if you want proof
of good breeding...

...just watch this example
of perfect behavior.

But then, mothers usually do know...

...how to conduct themselves
on occasions like this.

It's papa who goes to pieces.

Yes, he's been making a general
nuisance of himself since early morning.

Not much to be done now but wait.

And besides, from this point on,
the trainer is just about as useful...

...to the whole proceedings as
that hysterical husband out in the corral.

No, from now on it's up to mama
to say nothing of doc.

And as for him,
it's all in the day's work.

That almost goes for mama too.

This happens to be her fourth,
you know.

But just the same,
there's always a little concern.

Let's see here.

Well, that's a comfort.
The same doc she's always had.

So for a while, all's quiet.
But outside, papa's in a terrible state.

And that old gossip
from the next corral is all ears.

And she can start
passing the word around now...

...for here's the newborn babe.

The blessed event has come to pass.

And both mother
and the future record-breaker...

...are doing very well indeed,
thank you.

Not to mention papa, who, as usual,
is taking all the bows.

But you can't blame him.
After all, it's a boy.

A beautiful 90-pound baby boy
named Mortimer...

...after his grandfather
on his mama's side.

And is mama proud?

Here, take it easy.
You're not five minutes old yet.

Pretty early to start walking.

Watch it. Oh, tough luck, old man.
But keep plugging.

A little encouragement from mama,
a few more spills...

...and a strong willpower
ought to get some results.

You're doing all right, though.

Why, according to the doc,
some of them don't walk...

...for fully half an hour.

And here you are
at exactly 15 minutes.

Steady there, Morty.
Watch those legs.

Brace yourself. That's it.
Stay right in there. You're doing great.

And there he goes. He's up, he's...

...down.

But he's made the grade,
and mama's satisfied.

All right, Morty.
Let's take a look at the world.

Providing mama goes along,
of course, just in case.

Now, now, it's all right.
He's in very good hands.

In fact, in the hands
of his personal physician...

...who at this point
means practically nothing to mama.

Doc or no doc,
she's looking after sonny boy.

And as for sonny boy,
about all he's looking after...

...are those four wobbly,
gangling pins...

...that will one day take a prize
for grace and rhythm, or win a race.

Which it will be, a show horse
or a trotter, it's too early to tell.

But in either case, this pureblooded foal
is a cinch for blue ribbons.

He has a way with those legs.
You think he hasn't?

Believe it or not, Morty hasn't one drop
of grasshopper blood.

This 30-minute upstart
is 100 percent...

...unadulterated championship
standardbred stock.

Just finding out
what it's like to be alive...

...and making his debut
to the local social world.

And creating quite a stir.

The kids next door are going to show
the newcomer what legs are really for.

But Morty's a little busy right now.
He has a brand-new world to see.

Pretty fair-size place, huh?

Hey, kid, look over here.
Get a load of this.

Okay, how's that?

Well, at least it's a tip-off
to the trainer...

...for here's a born racer
if ever there was one.

And a year's growth and development
has done nothing to alter that hunch.

Morty, out of foalhood now...

...must take on the responsibilities
and trappings of a yearling.

This is his first meeting with harness.

And does he like it?
Well, what do you think?

But there's nothing unusual
about that.

If you'd been gallivanting
about the fields all your life...

...smelling wildflowers
and kicking up your heels...

...you wouldn't wanna
go to school either.

But good racing means early training.
And Morty's education begins.

Only this cart routine
doesn't help matters at all.

First they stick an iron bar
in your mouth...

...and then they lace you up
with a lot of silly straps...

...and then, just to make it
really tough...

...they tie you to a wagon.

And for what?

Well, never mind, Morty,
you'll find out.

Incidentally, this cart, the training rig,
is considerably heavier...

...than the regular sulky,
which is used in actual racing events.

That's based on the principle
of putting lead in your shoes.

It feels so good when you stop.

Hey, come on, let's call this thing off.

Whatever the idea is, it's not worth it.

Oh, isn't it?

It may not be as much fun
as the ordinary...

...unbridled brand
of open-field cavorting...

...but it's running.

And what running.

It's at this stage of the game
that Morty decides...

...which style of racing gait
best suits him: pacing or trotting.

That's what we'll concentrate on, then,
the perfect trotting gait.

So right now,
we'll do a little repair work on the stride.

And speaking of putting lead
in your shoes...

...that's exactly what the trainer's
going to do to our boy.

But not for the purpose
of developing pulling power.

As Morty races,
these weights inserted in his hooves...

...will toss his feet further forward,
and thus lengthen his stride. Like this.

And here's a fine study of your
highly talented standardbred trotter.

Notice the gait. The right-front leg
moves in tandem with the left-rear one...

...and the left-front leg--
Well, you get the idea.

Anyway, that's trotting.

Designed strictly for high-speed running
and long distance races.

Just as this is prancing,
designed strictly for show.

Unlike Morty, you see,
this boy went out for ballet.

He's what is known as a hackney.

And his ancestors
have endowed him...

...with all the requirements
of a great exhibitionist.

His place is the ring as a show horse,
and not the track as a racer.

He's out to win prizes
on technique alone.

Take a lesson in superb grace,
perfect rhythm and professional poise.

All of these add up to points
in the final score.

And one essential rule in competition...

...is that at least one foot
be on the ground at all time.

See? That applies only to show horses,
never to racers.

Here's your pacer.

A horse that doesn't care
how many feet are off the track...

...so long as his gait's all right.

And for pacers, here's perfection.

Here, the right-front and right-rear legs
operate together as a piston, just as--

Well, look.

We'll put him up beside Morty,
our budding young trotter...

...and show you the difference.

Whereas Morty,
who's closest to you...

...keeps his starboard-side legs
working independently...

...the pacer doesn't.

He works his in tandem, and thus
follows the rules laid down for all pacers.

They're strict rules too.

In a race, he must never break his gait
from a pace to a trot.

Unless his driver pulls him back
to his regular beat, he's disqualified.

And that goes for Morty too.

If he tries stealing the pacer's stuff,
he's sent home to mama.

But after all, why should he try it?

The pacer, normally the faster horse...

...doesn't seem to have a thing
that Morty needs.

Yes, our young hopeful
has plenty of promise.

Style, stamina and speed.

A year's solid training
and he'll be ready for graduation...

...and the start of his public career:
the country fair.

To the kiddies,
that means peanuts and popcorn...

...cotton candy and carousels.

To the fans of pacing and trotting...

...it's the supreme thrill of seeing
highly trained standardbred stock...

...match gait against gait.

And to the community...

...it represents one of the most
typically American traditions:

The interest in fine horse flesh,
like the saddle horses here on parade.

For them, this is showoff day.

But for these purebreds,
it's judgment day.

Passing in review
before the judges' stand...

...come first the mottle-coated
Shire draft horses.

Then the Belgian draft.

Finally, the famous Percheron breed.

For them,
this day is the event of the year.

But for Morty,
it's the moment of a lifetime.

And he's off.

And down the track
for a one-mile trip...

...pounds our pureblooded
standardbred colt.

Surely, Morty,
like all these other trotters...

...is the true artist of all other racers.

For his is a struggle
between style and speed.

The task of holding
to his one single gait...

...pitted against the impulse
to break forth and win.

There he is, the Number 3 horse.
The one moving up.

In this moment, he's capping
two long years of hard, steady training...

...bringing with him perfect condition
and a blue-ribbon background...

...to cross the line a winner.

Yes, you've just seen
the birth of a racer.