“It was a beautiful land where flowers bloomed, the flamingos basked in the sun and airplanes flew overhead. A land where horses became immortal, and jockeys became famous.” I wrote those words in December of 2013 on the final weekend of Hollywood Park Racetrack where I was absorbing the sadness of the end of an era.

Did a racehorse have a better friend?

At 4 feet, 11 inches tall and 98 pounds, it didn’t look like Bill Shoemaker could muscle a few sacks of groceries, let alone control a head-strong Thoroughbred a dozen times his weight.

Still, Shoemaker personified that mysterious bond between horse and rider. He communicated with an innate light touch on the reins, coaxing the horse into the action, gentling it with his hands.