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Who's This Barney?
Once Barney learns his way around the backstretch, his legend starts to grow. Cocky Johnson, present stall manager at Pimlico, remembers that Barney "would even put cigarettes out. If he saw a cigarette lying on the ground, he'd stomp it with his paw." Johnson also recalls how Barney trains new watchmen.
Whenever Harry hires a new security guard to make the rounds of the stables at night, the guard is a sure bet to ask who's going to show him the route. "Barney will," says Harry.
"I haven't met Barney yet," says the new guy.
"He's laying right over there by the door," says Harry. At which point the guy generally looks at Harry as if his transmission's slipping, but sure enough, at a word from Harry, Barney sets off. The new guard, positive he's being set up, follows. He comes back a believer. Barney takes him to every barn without missing a clock.
A Regular Caruso
Barney's talents are not strictly managerial. In addition to training the new guards he also provides comic relief on the backstretch. "Whenever Harry had to go to Chic Lang's office," says Martha Jeffra, "he took Barney with him. Harry would pat Chic's desk, and Barney would jump up there. Then Harry would give Barney a signal, and Barney would throw his head back and howl."
Barney is a great one for jumping on desks and singing. Indeed, Harry claims Barney even knows the words to certain songs. Jim Croce's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" is one of them, especially the "meaner than a junkyard dog" part. Harry is never able to convince many people of this, but it's not for lack of trying.
So great is Barney's love for singing that every day when the Pimlico Fire Department siren goes off at 1 p.m. he makes it a point to jump up on Harry's desk and sing high harmony until the siren stops wailing. It doesn't matter where Barney might be at the time, he comes running to the little toll booth at the stable gate where Harry is stationed, jumps through the window, leaps onto the desk and lets it rip.
Yet Barney saves his finest performances for the holidays. "Every now and then, particularly around Christmas time, Harry would play some kind of music over the public address system," says Lang. "He'd set the radio in front of the PA mike and turn the mike on. Everybody on the backstretch would laugh and get a kick out of it. Sometimes in the middle of a song Harry would go, 'Buh, buh, buh, BUMP, bump, BUMP.' And Barney would go, "Aaarrooooooo, roooooo, roooooooo.' Somebody would always call me on the phone laughing like hell, saying, 'You'd better go look at Harry. He's been in the sauce again.'
"Of course, Harry had had a few. Around Christmas time somebody would drop off a little jug for him or something."
Gilding the Legend
There's another reason the best stories in sports are about boxing and racing: People around the gym or on the track are not opposed to helping a story along. In addition to claiming that Barney knows the words to "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown," Harry also tells people about the time there is a dog left behind by a trainer and Barney takes part of his dinner to the stall where the dog is left. Then Barney jumps into the stall to share his dinner with the dog. This is one of many stories Harry likes to tell about Barney.
"If you listened to some of those stories," says George Mohr, "you'd think Barney was the smartest dog that ever lived."
End of a Legend
The trouble with living legends is they don't live forever. Fourteen years after he meets Harry Jeffra, Barney is overtaken by old age, like a tired runner who gets caught in the stretch. "I don't remember that Barney was particularly sick with anything," says Lang. "He was just an old dog. A beautiful old dog."
After Barney is put to sleep by one of the track veterinarians, Chic and Harry and a few track officials gather to discuss where to bury him. Somebody suggests the track's infield, a place of honor usually reserved for the most valiant runners. But Harry is having none of it. "The backstretch was his home," says Harry. "That's where he lived, and that's where he'd like to be buried."
Nobody argues with Harry about it. "Harry and that dog were like 'Me and My Shadow,'" says Lang. "Harry never even liked it when anybody referred to Barney as a dog. 'He's really people,' Harry would say. 'We have a special relationship. That's my best friend. He never questions anything I do. And he's loyal.'"
Those Were the Days
Four years after Barney was buried in 1974, Harry Jeffra makes his last rounds at Pimlico. The walk must seem long without his dog, and what with Harry's heart problems and the quintuple by-pass he undergoes, his race track days are through. He dies in 1987 after losing his final bout, this time with Alzheimer's.
The racetrack has changed a lot since Harry and Barney held sway. Competition from other forms of wagering has put hobbles on the game. Some people even say the sport of kings is dying. And dogs are not allowed on the backstretch at Pimlico any more. They got to be too much of a nuisance.
Sure, there's no turning back time. That train only runs in one direction. And your ticket gets punched whether you like it or not. But after you've heard the stories about Barney, even from a distance of 23 years, you can't help but think this tired old racetrack we call life was a hell of a sight friendlier in those days. That was a mellower time--a time when the man they called Champ would holler to his little black dog over the PA system, and the little black dog would come flying to the stable gate like his life depended on it.
"Everyone always thought that was amazing," says Martha Jeffra. No doubt it was. I wish I had been there to see it.
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Published here by permission of the author.
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