Ron Turcotte

July 13, 1978: nine days to his 37th birthday, five days since his last big win, he’d entered the starting gates for the 20,280th time.

Seated atop Flag of Leyte Gulf, readying to do what he’d always done.

Ten seconds later, he was screaming at the jockey to his left, who was drifting into his lane. “Jeff! Hey! Hey! Jeff!” Turcotte pulled hard on the reins, trying to avoid a collision, but it was no use.

Another second passed and he felt the click of his horse’s heels against those of another and then he was crashing.

Flag of Leyte Gulf falling forward into the dirt.

Turcotte was sprung from his saddle like a stone fired from a sling. He somersaulted twice as he bounced off the ground, breaking his sternum, dislocating his spinal column and crushing two of his vertebrae.

For the next 19 years, Turcotte struggled to sleep for more than four minutes at a time.

Four minutes and he’d wake up screaming.

The pain was always the same, shooting down his spine into a labyrinth of damaged nerve endings, or tightening in his chest just above the point beyond which everything went numb.

It took six months until he was well enough to leave the hospital. “He was determined to get back as much of his life as he could,” remembers his eldest daughter, Lynn.

Come spring, he was back at the track, wheeling himself into the jockeys’ room. He talked about training some horses, but eventually realized he was wearing himself out.

By August 1979, the doctors recommended that he stay away from the sport for his own health.

Then he bought four horses, one for each of his daughters, and began teaching them how to ride. On rainy days, he’d bring out the projector and watch videos of his old races with his family.

He did sue the jockey who cut him off and the race stewards who let that sort of reckless riding happen race after race. The lawsuit was eventually dismissed, and Turcotte moved on with his life. There were dozens, and they were all in this together now. Turcotte became their biggest advocate.

One day the phone rang with a call from Hollywood. There was a producer on the line asking for three hours of his time and the rights to his life story.

He gave them the time but took back the rights when they showed him a script complete with a dramatic scene with him yelling “Why me?!” to a priest after the accident. He didn’t want anybody’s pity.

Sometimes, on special occasions, he’d gather with the other Triple Crown jockeys and talk about the old days.

He wasn’t the last man to win the Triple Crown—Jean Cruguet did it in 1977 on Seattle Slew, as did Steve Cauthen aboard Affirmed just one month before Turcotte’s accident in 1978—but by 2003 there were only three men left and he was the longest-standing member of the club.

He knows he’s fragile, but he keeps strong by wheeling himself around most places he goes.

He still lives with his wife in that ranch house near the bush where he grew up. He finished high school at 48, and now occupies his days overseeing his land and making occasional public appearances. 

Maybe you will be lucky to see his presence at the Malabeam Tourist Information Center during your visit!