Santa Anita Park is more than just a racetrack, it’s a state of mind. The essence of Santa Anita is in the vast, sweeping view of the San Gabriel Mountains and the full mile-long loop of ground; the long, yawning sea foam green grandstand accented in art deco flair; the signature voice of Trevor Denman echoing throughout the emerald grounds; a flavor of elegance drips from the topiaries to the curved steps of the apron. After making my first visit to the oldest track in Southern California, I finally “got” what so many West Coasters love about Santa Anita; it’s not something easily put into words, so the best term I can attribute is “romantic.”
As a Midwesterner, coming to this grand place on opening day was not only to be thrown into the embrace of an Olympus, but a respite from the bitter cold hand of Illinois, which was dragging me into a cesspool of gloom. I guess Californians must get used to it, but I know I never quite did during my visit. The weather was “unseasonably” chilly on opening weekend, December 26 and 27, and thus I was forced to wear a jacket in the cool shadow of the grandstand. And while the Californians reached for their parkas and shivered in the 58-ish degree temperatures, I accrued a new wind and was running about the place like a coyote in a poultry pen. Not only was the temperature a 60 degree facelift for my soul, this romantic essence tugged at me in every direction; I just couldn’t get over how beautiful and clean it all was (discounting the brown haze of smog obscuring the mountain view, naturally).
I have knocked Santa Anita countless times for one reason only, and it is the same thing that keeps me from calling it my favorite racecourse: the synthetic surface of the main track. If it were only dirt, I may just fall head-over-heels in love and move out to Arcadia right this minute—screw the Illinois tundra—and throw away my photography career to bus tables just to be near it all. I’ve been to a lot of racetracks (9 different ones this year), but few are this well-manicured, well-kept, and full of people.
Though I visited Santa Anita on four different days, opening day was my first introduction to this historic place, and what a welcome: besides the great race card that included starlet Evita Argentina in Grade I company, the living legend Zenyatta was paraded before the public one last time, and a brand-new statue of John Henry was to be unveiled in the paddock for the first time. I witnessed history in a place already teeming with history. Essentially, I was able to view this grand old track on one of its biggest days outside of the Santa Anita Derby or Big Cap day, and it succeeded in winning me over big time.
Comparing Santa Anita to any other track is a difficult task; in some ways, it reminds me a little of Belmont Park with the wide-open, long grandstands and the plentiful foliage greening up the paddock. In its class, it must be ranked up with Arlington Park, or Churchill Downs (I have never been to the most romantic track of them all, Saratoga, so I will not compare what I’ve not seen). Though the type of people isn’t necessarily the picnic crowd of Arlington, the infield is the single nicest I’ve visited, with permanent structures for picnics and playground equipment for kids, betting windows, food vendors, and views that allow you to watch the races from a decent vantage point all the way around. Calling a racetrack a “park” isn’t always very honest, but Santa Anita fits the bill.
December 25th, 2009 marked Santa Anita’s 75th anniversary, and she looks pretty darn good for her age. There’s not much sagging or look of decrepity to be found there, just a gorgeous babe soaking up the sun in the wake of a vast mountain scene. A racetrack may not be a place of paradise for some, but as far as horse racing goes, I can see why so many fans are in love with the place. She is both relaxing and exciting, breathtaking and charming; if the Breeders’ Cup had to have a permanent home, I would actually be all for Santa Anita—but only if the main track was converted back to a traditional dirt surface. With as perfect weather as you can find anywhere, and such nice accomodations, there’s not much to dislike about the place.
So if you’re feeling bone-weary of the Midwest, or any other icy place for that matter, you could do worse than to head West and find nirvana in a racetrack sitting in the cup of a mountain range and a plethora of palm trees. You might just find it agreeable enough to call it home.