Search “your first day on the job” on the internet, and you’ll find website after website with tips for making it successful. For a jockey valet (rhymes with “ballot,” not “ballet”), the best suggestion Raul Vizcarrondo might have is: “Come prepared for anything.” It’s highly doubtful, though, that he was prepared on Derby Day 1998 for a swift kick from a testy Thoroughbred in the Churchill Downs paddock that drew blood.
The affable native of Puerto Rico and former jockey smiled as he remembered the incident. “I finished my day. I limped, but I made it,” he said.
To amend slightly the old Marines’ slogan, and with all due respect, Vizcarrondo is one of the few, the proud, the insane. Who else would work a job demanding courage (foolhardiness?) in spades, energy to work at a nonstop pace (even with a limp), extreme organizational skills, and ability to stay calm amid semi-chaos while racing against the clock?
Kentucky Derby Day is all these things on steroids for jockey valets. Twenty Derby riders crowd the jockeys’ quarters, most from out of town, plus 13 local riders in other races. It takes 13 Churchill Downs valets and seven more imports flown in to help with saddling.
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A jockey valet manages the silks and equipment of a jockey. That’s like saying a car mechanic repairs cars. There’s a little more to it.
For one, there’s a lot of travel by foot—from the jockeys’ quarters to the paddock to the racetrack and back to the jocks’ quarters each time the valet’s rider has a mount. On Derby Day 2023, Vizcarrondo’s jockeys, John Velazquez and Gerardo Corrales, both rode in seven races including the Derby (Vizcarrondo had help with saddling from an out-of-town valet), a light day compared to the valet for jockey Tyler Gaffalione, who rode in all 14 races on the day.
Each race is a merry-go-round of sorts for the valet, starting with a trip to the silks room next to the jockeys’ quarters for the shirt his jockey will wear and corresponding helmet cover. The valet then goes to a work area in front of his jockey’s stall to lay out the silks, cover the jock’s helmet, check out the saddle girth (think belt for a horse), set out a stack of cleaned or new goggles, set out the jockey’s whip and saddle, and consult his racing program for the number his jockey will wear on a numbered arm band. The last thing is to consult a white board where the clerk of scales has posted the jockey’s weight that day. The valet will look at the weight his jockey is required to carry for the upcoming race and select a weighted pad that, when added to the jockey’s weight and equipment, meets that weight.
The job then shifts outdoors. The valet carries the saddle to the paddock and, with the horse’s trainer, saddles the horse—ideally without getting kicked. Once finished, the valet goes out to the racetrack rail to wait for his rider after the race. He unsaddles the horse if his rider’s mount did not finish in the top four (jockeys on those horses must weight out on scales in the winner’s circle while holding their saddles), collects the jockey’s whip and helmet, and hustles back to the jocks’ quarters to do it all over again. With all this physical activity, it is somewhat rare for a valet to be overweight.
The bane of all valets are talkative jocks, especially ones who finished in the top four of a race. One maddeningly cordial jockey, who shall remain anonymous, will spend time talking to the trainer, groom, owner, security guard, mint julep vendor—anybody, while his valet pulls out his hair.
Once back in the jocks’ quarters, the valet has about 10 minutes to clean boots or saddles, lay out clean pants if needed on a muddy day (valets hate those days), and put out clean goggles for his riders. Valets can serve three and even four riders.
“You learn how to get faster,” Vizcarrondo said nonchalantly.
It is an exercise in dodging people as valets scramble in a space way too small for the number of jockeys on Derby Day. Amazingly, the experienced hands, including the imports from other racetracks, manage to keep the bumps and “excuse mes” to a minimum.
Stalls for jockeys line the walls in the central room of the quarters, and there’s enough of them for all 20 Derby jockeys plus non-Derby riders in other races that day. Valets assemble “tack” (saddle and other riding equipment) in front of the riders’ stalls.
(The term “tack” comes from fishing “tackle” and the Dutch word “takel” for gear associated originally with a ship’s rigging.)
The Derby race provides valets a breather, as there is an hour leading up to it instead of the half hour between other races.
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HALLANDALE BEACH, FL - JANUARY 21: Scenes from Gulfstream Park. (Photo by Arron Haggart/Eclipse Sportswire/Getty Images
So, what’s the appeal for this job? Practically all the Churchill Downs valets have a background in racing. Vizcarrondo is a former jockey who rode mostly at Thistledown Race Track in Cleveland for seven years and was a graduate of the famed Puerto Rican jockey school (Escuela Vocacional Hípica) at the Camarero Race Track outside San Juan. Like many athletes, jockeys say they most miss the camaraderie of their fellow athletes in the jocks’ quarters after retirement. That was the case with Vizcarrondo.
He moved to Louisville and Churchill Downs after retiring due to injuries and waving the white flag of surrender to the extra weight that retires many jockeys, who are required to maintain a strict riding weight. Vizcarrondo began exercise riding in the morning and rode for racing luminary D. Wayne Lukas, among others. Today, he gallops horses exclusively for trainer Helen Pitts, who is based at Churchill Downs.
Vizcarrondo’s first day as a valet came about in 1998 when Willie Martinez, a jockey and friend, got wind that Churchill Downs was short one valet. He called Vizcarrondo, who had mentioned an interest in the job to Martinez.
Valets at Churchill Downs are members of a union, so Vizcarrondo had to wait seven years for a permanent spot to open after that Derby Day.
“Willie told me, ‘Whenever they call you, you gotta work,’ ” Vizcarrondo said. He was third on the waiting list when two valets ahead of him dropped out.
“I was at home watching TV, and someone at Keeneland [in Lexington] called me at 11. Eleven-thirty I’m on the highway,” he said, probably low-flying on I-64 to get there. He made it and has been at it ever since.
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It might surprise people to know that many jockeys leave tack at racetracks around the country when they know they’ll be back. If nothing else, jockeys will leave helmets, as they are cumbersome to pack. In Velazquez’s case, he also leaves pants and undershirts. But jockeys ship their saddles from track to track.
Jockeys use multiple saddles of varied sizes and weights that can range in cost from $200-$400. According to Vizcarrondo, jockey Joel Rosario brought to last year’s Derby “five or six saddles.” It is the valet’s duty to unpack, prepare and have on hand everything an out-of-town rider ships in and have available everything the local guys need.
The only link to the original valets (back when they were val-lays) in the 1400s in France is that valets had the responsibility for the clothing of the people they served. Racing silks, pants, and boots come under that heading. Not sure, though, that French valets provided toiletry articles such as soap and shampoo, and it’s highly doubtful they had shower sandals back then. Vizcarrondo has those items ready, along with soft drinks or water preferred by the jockey, candy and other snacks. Vizcarrondo takes pride in knowing exactly what each jockey likes brand-wise, checking levels for things that need replenishment.
Valets pay for those items themselves, and the riders reimburse them. Churchill Downs pays a day rate to valets. Jockeys also pay their valets and traditionally will “stake” a valet 5 percent of a purse. A winning rider can mean a windfall for a valet.
The jocks’ quarters are a pressure cooker with fame and fortune on the line for the riders. Fights between riders are not unheard of after a race—including the Derby—and not surprising given the danger involved in piloting half-ton animals in close quarters with other riders. A jockey endangered by a mistake another rider makes in a race usually is not open to an explanation.
Unlike golf, where caddies are often bag-carriers and part-time psychologists, valets keep mum with a jockey having a tough day, even an experienced valet like Vizcarrondo.
Occasionally, a rider is grumpy with a valet when things aren’t going well. The response is universal from Vizcarrondo and the other valets: “I just leave them alone; I just do my job. Later, they’ll be OK. The next day, many of them will apologize.”
The valets understand the pressure. And when it comes to a high-strung Thoroughbred kicking in the paddock, it’s press on, even with a limp.