08/03/2026
August 26, 1985. John Henry—most ornery, successful racehorse of the 1980s—retires with $6.6 million earned.
His groom José Mercado, who'd handled him for six years, removes the shank at Kentucky Horse Park. John Henry screams so loud people remember it decades later.
August 26, 1985. Del Mar, California. 6:00 AM.
A 10-year-old racehorse named John Henry stands in his stall at trainer Ron McAnally's barn at Del Mar Racetrack. Outside in the pre-dawn quiet, a large horse transport van idles, engine running, waiting.
His regular exercise rider, Lewis Cenicola, approaches the stall. He's ridden John Henry through thousands of morning gallops and training workouts over the years. He knows this difficult horse's temperament and quirks better than almost anyone alive.
"Well, Pappy," Cenicola says softly, using the nickname for the aging champion, "I guess this might be your final trip."
He leads John Henry out of the stall and toward the waiting van that will carry him across the country.
The most difficult, ornery, and simultaneously successful Thoroughbred racehorse of the entire 1980s is retiring today. He'll be driven nearly 2,000 miles across America to the Kentucky Horse Park in Lexington, where he'll spend the remainder of his life on public display.
He's the world's richest Thoroughbred—$6,591,860 in career earnings, an all-time record. Two-time Horse of the Year. Winner of the inaugural Arlington Million, racing's first million-dollar race. Named Racehorse of the Decade.
And absolutely nobody who worked closely with him daily will miss his temperament or personality.
John Henry was born March 9, 1975, at Golden Chance Farm in Kentucky. From the very beginning, he was extraordinarily difficult to handle.
As a young c**t, he tore steel water and feed buckets completely off his stall walls and stomped them flat—demonstrating remarkable strength and a vicious temper. His owners thought of the American folk hero John Henry, the legendary "steel-drivin' man," and the name stuck perfectly.
He was small for a Thoroughbred. Plain brown coloring without distinctive markings. Poor conformation that didn't suggest athletic ability. Undistinguished pedigree—his sire Ole Bob Bowers was notorious in breeding circles for being vicious and attacking people unprovoked.
They gelded young John Henry hoping castration would improve his aggressive temperament. It didn't help much.
At the Keeneland yearling sale in January 1976, John Henry sold for just $1,100—essentially nothing in Thoroughbred racing economics, indicating nobody saw potential.
He changed hands repeatedly through early cheap claiming races. Won occasionally. Lost ten consecutive races at one depressing point.
In 1978, New York businessman Sam Rubin bought John Henry sight unseen for $25,000 based solely on past performance data. Rubin freely admitted he knew almost nothing about horses—"just which end bit and which end kicked."
He sent John Henry to California trainer Ron McAnally, hoping a change of environment and handling might unlock something.
And remarkably, something clicked. Not John Henry's personality—that remained consistently terrible. But his racing ability became extraordinary.
In 1979, José Mercado became John Henry's groom—the person responsible for daily feeding, grooming, bandaging, medicating, and general care of one of racing's most temperamental champions.
For six years, Mercado handled this work despite John Henry's consistently difficult nature.
John Henry genuinely disliked people. He especially disliked being handled, touched, or controlled in any way.
Dr. Bill Moyer, the racing team's veterinarian, put it bluntly: "He wasn't a pleasant horse to be around at all. You had to be extremely careful around him. It was honestly better to just let Jose handle everything if possible."
Mercado described the horse simply and without sentimentality: "He was very tough to work with. He had a high temper constantly. He was always trying to do more than he was supposed to do—he was too good and knew it."
In the paddock before races, John Henry had to face the wall. If he could see the crowd, Mercado literally couldn't control him physically.
Yet paradoxically, racing fans absolutely adored John Henry. When crowds shouted his name, he would turn his head and look directly at them. He knew they were calling for him. He understood recognition.
Once, Dr. Moyer posed for a photographs holding John Henry's lead shank. The instant the camera clicked, John Henry grabbed Moyer's arm in his teeth up to the elbow—not playing, attacking.
When rumors once spread absurdly that the real John Henry had secretly been replaced with a better-behaved lookalike, a handler joked: "If we were going to replace him, don't you think we'd have picked something nicer to work with?"
And yet—José Mercado showed up every single day anyway. Fed him carefully. Groomed him despite the danger. Traveled with him to 19 different racetracks across the country.
McAnally and Cenicola learned to work with John Henry's nature rather than fighting it constantly. If he refused to move, they waited patiently until he decided to cooperate.
"It's just psychology with him," McAnally explained. "You take your time. You don't force anything."
Previous handlers had tried aggression, dominance, force. All of that failed completely and made John Henry worse.
Patience—frustrating, time-consuming patience—actually worked.
John Henry never became pleasant or affectionate. But he became legendary.
Between 1980 and 1984, John Henry absolutely dominated American turf racing. He won the inaugural Arlington Million in 1981 by a nose—racing's first million-dollar purse. Won the prestigious Santa Anita Handicap twice. Earned Horse of the Year honors in 1981 at age six.
Won Horse of the Year again in 1984 at age nine—the oldest horse ever to receive that honor.
Race caller Dave Johnson's famous call in John Henry's final race echoed: "The old man, John Henry, takes command!" He captured his 39th career victory.
Final career record: 83 starts, 39 wins, 15 seconds, 9 thirds. Seven Eclipse Awards. $6,591,860 in earnings—an all-time record that stood for years.
A strained ligament ended his 1984 season. A second injury in 1985 ended his career permanently. The racing was over.
August 26, 1985, that morning at Del Mar, Cenicola leads John Henry into the transport van. José Mercado stands nearby watching. The horse once sold for $1,100 as an undesirable yearling is leaving California as the richest Thoroughbred in world history.
They drive across the country to Kentucky. At the Hall of Champions at Kentucky Horse Park, Governor Martha Layne Collins formally greets him. Cameras flash. Applause from gathered crowd.
José Mercado removes the shank from John Henry's halter—the final time he'll handle the horse he's cared for daily for six years.
And John Henry screams. A roar so loud, so piercing, so anguished that people present remember it vividly decades later.
It sounds like: "Why are you leaving me here?"
Ron McAnally understands immediately what's happening. John Henry hated being alone more than anything. He thrived on routine, travel, familiar company, activity.
They quickly place another horse in the neighboring paddock to provide companionship. John Henry settles down gradually.
José Mercado walks away from the paddock. Six years of daily work together. Over. Finished.
John Henry lived at Kentucky Horse Park from 1985 until October 8, 2007—twenty-two years. Thousands of visitors came annually to see the legendary champion. Mercado visited occasionally. McAnally visited. Other from the racing team came. John Henry remembered them all.
At age 32, persistent severe kidney problems ended his life. He was humanely euthanized. Memorial services were held in Kentucky and at Santa Anita. John Henry was buried outside his paddock at Kentucky Horse Park. Visitors still come to the grave.
This wasn't a gentle horse and tender caretaker fairy tale. John Henry bit people regularly. He was genuinely dangerous. Difficult every single day of his life.
But José Mercado showed up anyway. Six years. Through injuries, tantrums, endless travel. Not because John Henry was lovable or easy. Because it was his professional job and he did it excellently.
When John Henry screamed in that Kentucky paddock, it wasn't theatrical drama. It was genuine recognition that something fundamental was ending.
When Mercado removed the shank, it wasn't abandonment. It was the final professional act of a working partnerships.
No whispered sentimental goodbyes. No cinematic tears. Just a groom finishing his work for a horse who made his life difficult—and unforgettable.
Statues of John Henry stand today at Arlington Park, Santa Anita, and Kentucky Horse Park. He ranks #23 on Blood-Horse magazine's list of top 100 U.S. racehorses of the 20th century. He's remembered as "The People's Champion."
Not perfect. Not pretty. Not easy. A legend anyway.
John Henry and José Mercado weren't sentimental partners. They were professional doing demanding work togethers.
When Mercado walked away in 1985, he didn't say anything poetic for the cameras. He just did what he'd always done—his job, carefully and well.
And John Henry screamed like he always had when thing changed unexpectedly.
That was their relationship: functional, frequently frustrating, ultimately remarkable. Not because it was easy. Because it was genuinely hard—and they both did it anyway, every single day, for 6 years.
Until a difficult 10-year-old gelding retired as the richest Thoroughbred in the world. And a groom walked away from the most challenging, successful horse he'd ever known.
No tears. No speeches. Just work completed.
