When people talk about the greatest athlete of the 20th century, they often name a horse. Secretariat. "Big Red." He was a freak of nature with a heart literally twice the size of an average Thoroughbred. But horses don't steer themselves. They don't manage their own pace through a grueling Triple Crown campaign. So, who was Secretariat's jockey? That honor belonged to a small, gutsy French-Canadian named Ron Turcotte.
Turcotte wasn't just some guy who happened to be sitting in the saddle. He was a tactician. He understood the rhythm of a race in a way few others did. Honestly, without Turcotte’s specific brand of patience and his willingness to let the horse "be a horse," we might not be talking about the 31-length victory in the Belmont Stakes today. It was a partnership of souls, really.
Ron Turcotte came from a massive family in New Brunswick—one of 12 children. He didn't grow up in the posh world of Kentucky bluegrass. He was a lumberjack first. That rugged upbringing gave him the physical strength to handle a horse as powerful as Secretariat, who was known to be a bit of a handful in his younger days.
The Rise of Ron Turcotte and the Meadow Stable Connection
Turcotte didn't start his career with Secretariat. By the time he teamed up with the Meadow Stable star, he was already a veteran who had tasted success. He had won the Preakness and the Kentucky Derby in 1972 on a horse named Riva Ridge. This is a detail most casual fans miss: Turcotte was the "it" guy for owner Penny Chenery and trainer Lucien Laurin well before the 1973 Triple Crown run.
He knew the stable. He knew the pressure.
When Secretariat arrived, he was a massive, stunning physical specimen, but he was also a bit lazy. He liked his food. He liked his naps. Turcotte had to figure out how to wake up that competitive fire without breaking the horse's spirit. It wasn't about the whip; it was about the hands. Turcotte had "soft hands," a term horsemen use to describe a rider who communicates through the reins with subtle nudges rather than yanked commands.
Why the 1973 Season Changed Everything
The 1973 Triple Crown wasn't a sure thing. People forget that Secretariat actually lost the Wood Memorial just weeks before the Derby. The "experts" were jumping ship. They thought he was a "sprinting type" who couldn't handle the distance. Turcotte knew better. He knew the horse had an abscess in his mouth that day. He didn't panic.
In the Kentucky Derby, Turcotte did something nearly impossible. He ran every quarter-mile segment faster than the one before it. Think about that. Most horses start fast and fade. Secretariat, under Turcotte's guidance, just kept accelerating. 25.2, 24.0, 23.8, 23.4, and 23.0 seconds.
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It was a masterpiece of pacing.
That Iconic Belmont Stakes: "I Never Once Whipped Him"
We’ve all seen the footage. The grainy, 1970s color film of a red blur pulling further and further away from the field. 10 lengths. 20 lengths. 28 lengths. 31 lengths.
The announcer, Chic Anderson, famously yelled, "Secretariat is widening now! He is moving like a tremendous machine!"
But look at Ron Turcotte in that footage. He’s basically a passenger. Usually, when a jockey is that far ahead, they start pulling back to save the horse’s energy for the next race. But Turcotte felt something different that day. He felt a horse that wanted to run. He later said he just sat chilly and let the big horse do his thing. He didn't want to break the rhythm.
Breaking Down the Strategy
- The Start: Turcotte knew Sham (the rival) would try to kill the pace. He stayed close, letting Secretariat engage early.
- The Turn: Instead of waiting, Turcotte let Red go. It was a gamble. You move too early in a 1.5-mile race, and your horse usually dies in the stretch.
- The Finish: Turcotte looked under his arm, saw nobody, and just leaned over the horse's neck. He wasn't even pushing.
It was the fastest 1.5 miles ever run on dirt. 2:24 flat. That record still stands today, and frankly, it might never be broken.
Life After the Triple Crown: Triumph and Tragedy
Being Secretariat's jockey made Ron Turcotte a household name, but the sport of horse racing is notoriously cruel. In 1978, just five years after the Triple Crown, Turcotte was involved in a horrific spill at Belmont Park. He was thrown from his horse, Flag of Leyte Gulf, at the start of a race.
The accident left him a paraplegic.
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He was 37 years old. In an instant, one of the greatest athletes in the world was told he would never walk again. Most people would have disappeared into bitterness. Turcotte didn't. He became a massive advocate for disabled jockeys, working tirelessly with the Permanently Disabled Jockeys Fund (PDJF).
He’s spent more than 40 years in a wheelchair now. When you talk to him—and he still makes appearances at the Derby and the Belmont—he doesn't talk about the accident. He talks about "Red." He talks about the feeling of that massive engine beneath him. There's a genuine love there that transcends the sport.
The Misconceptions About Jockeys
People think jockeys are just small people who sit there. It’s a wild misconception. A jockey like Turcotte has to have the core strength of a gymnast and the tactical mind of a chess player, all while balancing on two pieces of metal (the stirrups) at 40 miles per hour.
- Strength: They control 1,200 pounds of muscle with their pinkies and calves.
- Weight: Turcotte had to maintain a strict weight, often skipping meals and sitting in saunas for hours.
- Fearlessness: Every time the gate opens, there’s a non-zero chance of a life-altering injury.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Partnership
Some critics back in the day tried to claim that anyone could have ridden Secretariat. They called him a "motorcycle" that anyone could just steer to the finish line.
That’s nonsense.
A horse like Secretariat is high-strung. If you fight him, he fights back. If you use the whip too much, he gets discouraged. Turcotte’s genius was his invisibility. He stayed out of the horse's way. He gave Secretariat the confidence to dominate. If you put a "heavy-handed" jockey on Secretariat, you might get a great horse, but you don't get a 31-length victory.
You don't get immortality.
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Fact-Checking the History
- Did he ride other legends? Yes, as mentioned, Riva Ridge was a Hall of Fame horse in his own right.
- How many wins? Turcotte finished his career with 3,032 wins.
- Is he in the Hall of Fame? Absolutely. He was inducted into the National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame in 1979.
Actionable Insights for Racing Fans
If you're looking to understand the legacy of Secretariat's jockey more deeply, don't just watch the Triple Crown highlights. There is a depth to the sport that requires a bit of "homework" to truly appreciate.
Watch the "Secretariat's Jockey: Ron Turcotte" Documentary
There is an incredible documentary produced by the National Film Board of Canada. It follows Turcotte as he returns to the sites of his greatest victories. It’s raw, it’s emotional, and it shows the man behind the goggles.
Study the Wood Memorial Loss
To understand how good a jockey is, you have to look at their losses. Watch the 1973 Wood Memorial. See how Turcotte handles a horse that clearly isn't feeling 100%. He doesn't abuse the animal to get a win; he protects him for the bigger races ahead. That is the mark of a true horseman.
Support the Permanently Disabled Jockeys Fund
The best way to honor Turcotte’s legacy today is to recognize the risks these athletes take. The PDJF provides financial assistance to former jockeys who have suffered catastrophic on-track injuries.
Visit the Secretariat Landmarks
If you find yourself in Virginia, go to Meadow Event Park (the birthplace of Secretariat). Or go to Claiborne Farm in Kentucky where the horse is buried. Standing by the grave, you realize the scale of the animal, and it makes you appreciate the tiny man who was brave enough to sit on his back.
Ron Turcotte remains the only living person who knows what it felt like to be part of that specific "tremendous machine." He wasn't just a rider; he was the navigator for the greatest flight in horse racing history. He handled the fame of the 70s and the tragedy of the 78 accident with the same steady hands he used on the reins. That’s why he’s a legend.