Editor: Anna Lisi
Hazelโs Fury was the kind of horse that you got stuck with. Mean and contrary, seemingly slow but very intelligent. She would strike with her front feet, kick with her hind feet in any direction, and her teeth were always ready to bite the hand that feeds her, or anyone elseโs. Week in and week out, she was the last horse in the last race at Rosecroft Raceway. A $2,500 claimer. We used to console ourselves with the fact that at least we were close to the restrooms. More often than not, she finished last.
Arthur Lisi loved Hazel. We had raised her from a $400 weaning. A daughter of Hazel Tuscarora, of very, very questionable bloodlines. Her mother was mean-spirited, and would not try very hard either. The sire was an unknown stallion.
She had two things in her favor. First, she was very beautiful with a shapely build, a glowing healthy coat, and a beautiful head, with a kindly eye that belied her true wicked nature. Second, she was perfectly gaited and hardly needed to wear the long hobbles, nearly a free-legged pacer. So true was her gait that once even when she was hit by another horse, she would not make a break, after staggering sideways she stayed truly on the pace.
Growing up, she loved the snow, and as a young filly would play and jump for hours, rolling and gleefully running about at the Warthen farm in Elkridge Maryland.
The only reason we could afford keeping her was that she was popular with the drivers of the bi-monthly amateur races, which earned her feed money with the automatic $150 participation payment.
All this background on a nondescript harness racehorse. How does the gypsy blessing fit in?
At this point, we were strapped. Van McCoy had died, leaving Arthur and his touring band with very few options. Because of touring, he had given up his piano lesson business and it was hard to get them started again. Thank goodness our friend Sam Lipton would pay Art to arrange and record the fun jazzy ditties that he wrote. Plus Sam would stop by the barn at Rosecroft with feed for the stable. Art had a disco band that played gigs around town. We would clean stalls, take paddocks, anything to keep things rolling.
Then one day he got a call asking for an Orchestral arrangement for a “Romanian Church Christmas Cantata.โ Two hundred dollars! It was a big job. Arthur set right to work. Arranging the music for violin, viola, cello, horns…the whole works.
Arthur Lisi knew his craft well and had helped arrange and copy many orchestral scores for Van McCoy and others. All parts were neatly copied for the musicians and ready to go.
The day before the recording session, he got a call from the client saying they could only pay him one hundred dollars. Arthur agreed. I said, โThey sound like Gypsies.โ He retorted, โDonโt be ridiculous! There’s no such thing as Gypsies anymore.โ
Off he went the next evening to a basement studio in Washington, DC. He came home at two in the morning, exhausted. He ruefully described the evening, adding, โYou were right, one of the string players asked me about a quarter rest and said, ‘In Gypsyโฆahhhโฆ I mean Romanian, we write it this way.'”
Art continued, โThe engineer behind the glass started to argue with the guy, gesturing wildly. I saw him pull the wrinkled up hundred dollar bill out and give it to him, I KNEW it was my hundredโฆ. When we were done, I stood at the door leaving, and he grabbed my face and kissed each cheek, saying, ‘God bless you and your family.’โ
Ugh. He got nothing for his hard work. Par for the course. Obviously, he wouldnโt take any jobs from them anymore.
A rather lean Christmas passed, and Hazel was in to race two nights later. As I led her up to the paddock, suddenly a huge snow squall began. Heavy flakes flying in the cold wind. Hazel, normally calmly walking beside me, this time becoming extremely animated, snorting, leaping, and running around, trying to lie down and bucking joyfully. Could she be remembering her childhood playing in the snow? I could hardly hold her.
Eddie Davis had come to town. He only occasionally drove at Rosecroft and is considered one of the great reinsman in the sport. We had seen Eddie listed under “Harness Racing” along with the legendary Herve Filion in our old encyclopedia!
After I checked her up for Eddie, the race began with the snow flying. โAnd there they goooo, theyโre driving out for that lead!โ Billy Perkins, in his sing-song voice, unmistakable as an announcer. He couldnโt see the numbers on the horses backs until they got to the front side and then quickly called out the lineup, Hazel had gotten away last as usual. Then there was silence, as they rounded the turn to the half.
By this time, Rosecroft had converted from a half mile to a five-eighths mile track, so they only went around one and a half times. Only ghostly shadows were visible on the backside as they sped past the three-quarter pole. Seated bored on the fence, I about choked as the 2,500 claimers literally exploded out of the fog. โAAAAAND THREEEE WIDE ITSโฆ HAZELS FUUUURYYYY -COMING HOME TO WIN THIS RACE!โ
The squall eerily quit as suddenly as it had begun. Art wasnโt there but Sam Lipton joined me. We stood there stunned and delighted in the winners circle. Of course, Sam, an avid gambler, drilling me โYou could have said something!โ but all smiles nonetheless.
Eddie, always a jovial character, eased her into the paddock, speaking loudly to me in front of the other drivers about what a nice horse she was and how โeveryone should have a horse this nice to drive.” Everyone, including me, laughing, as I led her to the test barn as all winners and second place finishers had to go there.
This definitely boosted our late Christmas. We splurged and bought our oldest son a Tony Hawk board (little did we know Art Lisi Jr would end up ripping those skateboards right through his 40s).
Even though this is a Christmas story, we must fast-forward to Easter, when Arthur got another call, asking for an Easter Cantata. โAre you going to do it?โ โHell yes!โ
Same scenario, this time without the quarrel in the studio engineer booth. When they were done, he got his kiss on both sides of his cheek, โGod bless you and your family.โ Leaving with empty pockets.
Easter was nearly here, and Hazelโs Christmas purse money was long spent. Seated once again as usual, half asleep on a bucket, next to the restroom, with an outside post in the last race. As we lined up for the race, and a youthful driver Mark Gray this time taking the lines, a heavy, dense fog fell over the entire place.
Once again, we could hear Billy Perkins call, singing โand there they gooooo -driving out for that lead!!” Once again, he had to wait for the lineup in front of the grandstand and of course, Hazel last. They disappeared into the fog and burst out, this time with Hazel on top by three lengths! โAnd itโsโฆHazel Fury??โ Perkins cried incredulously.
A bountiful Easter was had by all, with a feast at Artโs brother Dale and his wife Caroleโs house.
Because Hazel was so easy on herself, she raced until the mandatory cut-off date of 15 years of age. She got an award for the most starts in an amateur race, raced 62 times one year, and retired 100% sound. We foolishly bred her. Unfortunately she was very mean to her big sweet baby – Hazel’s Nipper. The filly was so cowed that she would not race at all, rather gently watching the others as they passed her. We sold her for a show horse because she was so beautiful and Nipper became a successful dressage horse.
With Hazel’s Fury being very vicious she could not be rehomed as a pet. An Amishman with no children who had a store bought her. We made sure she was jogged up to 8 miles a day before I handed her over to him. He said he would “put her downโ when her days were done. We often wonder what kind of work she was doing and hoped she didnโt bite anyone.
We never heard from the Gypsies again but the blessing got us through some hard times.
Merry Christmas and have a great New Year.
And God Bless You and Your Family.
Musicalhossgal 