Book Review: The Ballad of One Arthur B. Hancock III

[Wandering Eyes]

When it comes to Thoroughbreds, Arthur B. Hancock III has courted the bastard. Never much for floating the mainstream, he has celebrated in many a winner's circle, while knowing firsthand how wild oats can almost drown a man in a barrel of despair. If Mr. Hancock had not been an accomplished horseman or musician, he would have made one hell of a history professor.

In the aptly-titled, just-published Dark Horses: A Memoir of Redemption, the author has penned something truly special–a reflection which looks back on a life well-lived.

The master of Stone Farm has laid honesty to bare for all to see and there is more than enough hope for us to draw from this well. Talk about leaving something behind in the best spirit of Newton's Third Law.

I found intertwined in this memoir some Wendell Berry prose coupled with Dr. Thomas D. Clark style–both legendary Kentuckian gems. There is a touch of gonzo journalism ala Hunter S. Thompson here, plus a work squarely notched between the storytelling of Jeannette Walls and Tara Westover. Perhaps one of the greatest gifts in this memoir are the reprinted ballads that Hancock wrote himself. Somebody call Robert Zemeckis because Dark Horses would make an intriguing screenplay. I laughed and cried in the same chapter.

The memoir takes us on a sojourn through how a son of Claiborne Farm starts in one place, steers in an entirely different direction, but still contributes mightily to Thoroughbred racing history. Within these pages you will feel the pressure Hancock was under as he grappled with growing up and you will see how a superstitious nature operates–the massive bullfrog in the pool comes to mind.

At 6′ 6″, Hancock's grandfather cut an imposing figure and was a tough disciplinarian. Senior imparted to junior, who as you know was nicknamed “Bull,” the same kind of approach to living life. In turn, Arthur Hancock III was schooled in the family tradition with some of the most cutting-edge breeding and horsemanship to be had.

From the get-go, the memoir details the lessons that his father drilled into him. Claiborne was like a bloodline laboratory as European stallions like Nasrullah were imported to infuse a new version of speed into pedigrees. The tapestry lines of warp and weft here is impressive, and Hancock lets us sit behind the loom as he masters everything from learning to shoe from farriers to being an assistant trainer in New York where he handled the great Buckpasser.

Where it gets complex is his own struggle with identity. He attended Vanderbilt and was a championship swimmer before he dropped out. He returned to finish with a degree in history, but the real gravity that also pulled at him was music. Picking a guitar was where pure passion resided and his penchant for crafting a song really comes through in the book. Signed by Nashville legend Fred Foster, Hancock would write and interact with many of the greats including Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson.

A highwayman himself, Hancock always seemed to grapple early on with two masters–the Thoroughbred and the guitar–which rankled his father, who derided the son when he sang as nothing more than, “a canary.” By 1972, their relationship was on the improve though. Just then, the patriarch died of pancreatic cancer at the age of 62. That was a hinge moment for the son of Claiborne who as we learn was forced out as the heir when the powerful Ogden Phipps, who served as an advisor to the farm, engineered his departure.

Founding Stone Farm took moxie and Hancock tells story after story of how he struggled. A central theme throughout the memoir though is his battle with alcoholism, which on too many occasions could have ended his life prematurely. Surrounded by some excellent advisors who loved him deeply, including his mother Waddell and wife Staci, Hancock beat the disease.

Of course, one of the more poignant sections covers the story behind Sunday Silence. Even though Hancock had tasted victory with Gato Del Sol in the 1982 Kent

ucky Derby–an accomplishment his father always dreamed of but never realized–Stone Farm's expansion during the rest of the decade was costly. In other words, Hancock was doing the backstroke in debt to the tune of $15 million. Needing a miracle, Sunday Silence and his famous battles with Phipps homebred Easy Goer bore fruit and saved the day. Picking out the colt that no one wanted and his eventual sale to the Yoshida family, which led to the horse becoming the most important foundational sire in the history of Japan, were like bookends to a wonderful dream.

Living up to its billing, Dark Horses is a story of redemption that comes directly from the heart. Like the main character in Pilgrim's Progress, the trip to the Celestial City never follows a straight line. Whether it was around the racetrack or in the recording studio, the ballad of one Arthur B. Hancock III is meant for us all.

Dark Horses: A Memoir of Redemption by Stone Publishing, LLC, 319 pages, photos, lyrics and poems index, 2024. Available at www.arthurhancock.com, at Amazon.com or at Barnes & Noble.

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