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1 0 8 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 4.14 stamp himself as a power player. Tere was the purchase of a private jet and massive, unnecessary upgrades to the farm. As the Toroughbred market began to decline in the mid-'80s, Calumet's once impeccable fnancial standing was as distant as Citation's and Whirlaway's dominance. When Lundy began to take out loans, local bankers were easily duped into believing Calumet had assets to spare. In reality, Calumet was barely managing to stay afoat on the strength of a single asset: Alydar. Te chestnut colt, whose lineage included major sires Native Dancer, Nasrullah and the aforementioned Bull Lea, had become one of the premier stallions of his generation, and Lundy attempted to leverage him in any way possible. When repaying loans became a matter of robbing Peter to pay Paul to pay Mary, local banks got wise and shut the spigot. So Lundy hooked up with renegade banker Frank Cihak of First City National Bank in Houston, setting the stage for an epic collapse. Cihak, a horse enthusiast looking for kickbacks from doing business with Lundy, provided separate loans of $50 million and $15 million to Calumet — still not enough to keep Calumet current on other payments. Te farm held two life-insurance policies on Alydar — one from Golden Eagle Insurance in California, the other from Lloyd's of London. When the former notifed Lundy that its policy would not be renewed as of December 1990 for habitual late payment, the unthinkable happened. Alydar died after breaking a leg November 15, 1990, under dubious circumstances. Despite collecting more than $30 million in insurance cash, Calumet fled for bankruptcy in 1991 and Lundy resigned. Te next year, the farm's famous devil's-red-and-blue racing silks were sold for $12,000 to a Brazilian buyer. In less than a decade on the job, Blood-Horse magazine reported, Lundy had taken Calumet from $93 million in assets to $165 million in debt. K ane drives me around the farm in a red pickup bearing the Calumet logo on the door. Te place is sprawling and Kane knows what's going on in every barn. On our way to a place Kane calls the "upper training barn," his cell phone rings. It's Calumet boss Brad Kelley, a billionaire businessman and former major shareholder in Churchill Downs, who is originally from Bowling Green. (Oxbow raced under the black-with-gold-chevrons silks of Kelley's Bluegrass Hall Farm, now folded into Calumet.) By some accounts, Kelley is the fourth largest landowner in the United States. By all accounts, he avoids interviews and doesn't use email, although Kane later tells me Kelley will send texts. Calumet Investment Group, the consortium that leased the farm to Kelley, is Calumet's third owner (after the Calumet dispersal of the Lundy era, a trust established by Canadian Henryk de Kwiatkowski purchased the farm, saving it from liquidation). Kane and Kelley have an intense-sounding conversation that deals in part with Optimizer, a son of 2007 Breeders' Cup Turf winner English Channel and A.P. Indy daughter Indy Pick and one of the farm's better horses. Te fve-year- old, who ran in all three Triple Crown races in 2012 (fnishing eighth in the Derby), is returning to the track after a break from racing, and they discuss his readiness for an upcoming stakes race at Santa Anita. Kane genuinely enjoys working for Kelley, calling him "driven" and a "great guy." To many others in central Kentucky, Kelley is a respected but enigmatic fgure. He's willing to spend money, but his purchases are practical and prudent. Once inside the upper training barn, I feel overwhelmed by déjà vu. "Scenes from Seabiscuit were shot in here," Kane explains. Te long shedrows and the abundance of natural light give the barn a grand feel beftting of, well, a Hollywood flm. Te real Seabiscuit once resided just outside Paris, Ky., at Claiborne Farm. Claiborne is about 25 miles from Calumet and is decidedly more conservative — both in appearance and history, but equally rich in tradition. In 1910, Arthur Boyd Hancock Sr. of Charlottesville, Va., founded Claiborne on inherited land and the farm has stayed in the family ever since, with A.B. "Bull" Hancock Jr. taking over in 1957 and his son Seth (famously depicted in the flm Secretariat) taking charge in 1972. Te main ofce looks more like a simple brick cottage. Inside, the carpeting is hunter green and probably a bit outdated. Te wood-paneled walls are decorated with halters bearing the names of the farm's champions: Danzig and Damascus shine from the brass nameplates — reminding me of a ftting adage: Success breeds success. Walker Hancock is a baby-faced 24-year- old and still looks a few years away from his frst shave. As Seth's son, Walker represents the fourth generation and is heir apparent to Claiborne. We meet in the ofce of veteran bloodstock manager Bernie Sams. Sams strikes me as the kind of guy who could sell anything, the equine industry's Billy Mays. He's outspoken and friendly, but he defers most of my questions to Walker, the pedigreed understudy, who answers in brief but thoughtful bits. He comes of as humble, even a bit shy. When we delve into the topic of Claiborne's success, he candidly answers, "I had nothing to do with it; it's all about my father and his father." Any notion that Walker needs more seasoning can be ofset with the reminder that his father was a year younger in 1973 when he successfully engineered the syndication of Secretariat, who stood at stud at Claiborne, for a then- record $6.8 million. Just outside Sams' ofce window, Secretariat is buried whole — a high honor bestowed upon great racehorses. Te headstone marking his grave is small 98-111.indd 108 3/19/14 5:36 PM