This biography was born from a chance encounter with a race caller’s name in a book about a thoroughbred racehorse. The book was Laura Hillenbrand’s Seabiscuit: An American Legend, and the race caller’s name was Joe Hernandez. I had heard of Hillenbrand’s book, but at the time I was teaching a class at the University of Michigan and working as a carpenter so my time for reading was limited. One day, a friend asked if I had read the book. I answered no, and with that, he quickly shoved his copy into my hand. “Read it,” he said, “you’ll like it.” Later that evening I opened it up. I was immediately taken by Hillenbrand’s use of words and the pictures they so vividly painted. With each page, I was drawn deeper and deeper into the story until I had to make time to read it every day. I looked forward to my daily allotment of Hillenbrand’s masterpiece. Each day I was introduced to yet another challenge faced by Seabiscuit and his owner, trainer, and jockey as they raced toward their final destiny: the 1940 Santa Anita Handicap. I first came across Joe’s name in the part of the book about renowned jockey George Woolf and his daring ways. In describing Woolf, Hillenbrand had written, “He was shrewd and he was fearless, demonstrating such cold unflappability in the saddle that race caller Joe Hernandez gave him the nickname ‘Iceman.’ It stuck.” I had not expected to see a Latino’s name. I had never heard of Joe Hernandez. I underlined the passage and kept reading. I thought someday I would learn more about him. A short time later, I came across Joe’s name again. This time Hillenbrand quoted Joe from an article he had written for the Daily Racing Tab. The piece pertained to Rosemont’s victory over Seabiscuit in the 1937 Santa Anita Handicap. Of the 'Biscuit’s heart-wrenching loss, Joe had written, “Dame Fortune made a mistake and kissed the wrong horse—Rosemont—in the glorious end of the Santa Anita Handicap.” I was instantly taken by Joe’s ability to capture the disappointment and the drama of Seabiscuit’s loss. His capacity to suspend the moment of Rosemont's victory, through the written word, struck me as something special. Again, I paused and wondered about Joe, wondered what had enabled him to become a race caller and a sportswriter during a time in America’s history when a great number of Latinos had been forcibly repatriated to Mexico or, like so many others, were struggling to survive the ravages of the Great Depression. I conducted an Internet search of Joe’s name. There was one hit, a grainy black and white film that recorded Joe calling Seabiscuit’s victory over Kayak II in the 1940 Santa Anita Handicap. Joe’s description of the race was like his writing: concise and passionate. I next searched The New York Times’ online database. I uncovered three articles related to Joe. One of them, Joe’s obituary, stood out. Published on February 4, 1972, the piece read,
under treatment for a heart ailment. He was 62 years old. Mr. Hernandez had called every race at Santa Anita since it opened on Christmas Day, 1934, a total of 15,587. In 1961, he was thrown from a saddle pony at Santa Anita and was taken to a hospital, where x-rays disclosed he had fractured his pelvis and his collar bone. He refused to stay at the hospital and returned to the track and called the races from a wheelchair. Mr. Hernandez had a rhythm to his voice and his calls were imitated by many fans. “There they go!” became famous for the start of a race. “Here Comes Malicious!” was another cry that echoed at West Coast tracks after Mr. Hernandez dramatized a come- from-behind performance by a plodder by that name. A widower, Mr. Hernandez two weeks ago married Doris Susoff, who survives. He and his first wife, Pearl, had a son, Frank, now a Roman Catholic priest and a member of the Jesuit order. I did some calculating. Chances were good that Father Frank Hernandez was still alive. I contacted Catholic Answers, a Catholic apostolate located in San Diego, the sunny seaside city where, ironically enough, Joe lived as a boy, and where he first became associated with thoroughbred horse racing. I gave the Catholic Answers' representative Father Hernandez’s name. Days later I received an e-mail address for a Father Frank Hernandez. He was, or had been, working as a high school teacher in Sacramento. I was told he probably wasn’t the one I was looking for. “He’s an older priest,” the message read in part, “and he’s into computers.” I took a chance and e-mailed him. I wrote that I had first come across Joe’s name in Seabiscuit and had subsequently discovered that Joe had a son who was a Jesuit priest. Was he Joe’s son? There was no response. I went back to reading Seabiscuit and researching Joe’s life. I became so involved, I forgot about my note to the priest in Sacramento. And then one day there was an e-mail waiting for me.
California and at other tracks on the West Coast . . . . I see that you are aware of the popular book, Seabiscuit, by Laura Hillenbrand which mentions dad a number of times. I understand that it is out in paperback and that a movie based on the book is in the works. Sometime in the next month or two I hope to visit a relative in Minnesota, north of Duluth. Perhaps I could go there via Ann Arbor instead of Chicago so that we could visit? Father Hernandez concluded the message by mentioning that he was a teacher of many years and that he was now “semi- retired doing lots of computer related stuff.” Little did I know that he was a highly respected pioneer educator of computer science who held advanced degrees in physics, mathematics, and electrical engineering. I e-mailed Father Frank (the name by which I naturally slipped into calling him) and made arrangements for his visit to Ann Arbor. In the meantime, we spoke over the telephone and exchanged e-mails about Joe. “I look like Dad,” Father Frank had written in one of his last e-mails, “only older and with white hair.” On the evening of his arrival, my oldest son and I met Father Frank at Detroit Metropolitan Airport. There was no mistaking Joe Hernandez’s son; he looked just like Joe.... [Continued] |
A Look at a Part of the Preface |
Preface |