Here Comes the Fog

And what of Lost in the Fog's? His story is being written right now -- most literally by people like Beyer and John Corey, a former producer for KPIX's Evening Magazine who's now shooting a documentary about the horse ("It's a wild story," Corey says. "There are so many interesting elements -- a bizarre kind of destiny"), but also by the people in Lost in the Fog's orbit, the 50-some folks joining Aleo in the winner's circle these days.

Perhaps there's an even greater author. "I really feel like God had a hand in this," says Karen Dodd, who bought the horse as a yearling and broke him at her farm in Ocala. In March 2004, she sold the horse to trainer Greg Gilchrist, buying on behalf of Aleo. "I don't mean to come off as a religious fanatic, 'cause I'm not, but I do believe God's hand has been in all this." She cites the name, ready-made for San Francisco iconography. "We could've called any trainer in the country, but I think it was meant to be that Harry has the horse."

The rough draft of Lost in the Fog's story, as it's being told today, goes something like this: A blue-collar sprinter from horse racing's backwaters -- trained by a guy out of the "leaky-roof circuit" (bib overalls, corncob pipes, the works) and owned by a charmingly crusty octogenarian who once took orders from Patton -- transcends his modest pedigree and fogs up the monocles of the eastern racing establishment. "This is a blue-collar horse," William Nack says, "and he will attract the masses. He's one of us -- we all have questionable pedigrees. We're not all Queen Elizabeth's kids. We're all mongrels, and this horse is a bit of a mongrel." It is a story any racing fan who's not smoking Montecristos in an owner's box can relate to, never mind that it's not entirely accurate.

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Aleo meets me on a recent Friday morning at Golden Gate Fields, where we are joined by one Lanford Adami, creator of a Lost in the Fog fan site. Adami, who will later pry apart his shirt, Superman-like, to reveal a Lost in the Fog T-shirt he had made, is here to take photos of the horse, and for the next hour Aleo introduces him as "Lansford" who has a "Web site or something." Aleo sort of squints and wrinkles his nose when he pronounces "Web site," as if it were some terribly exotic French word.

It is a dreary, wind-whipped morning along the bay. Aleo is wearing a flannel shirt, bluejeans, and a Stetson the color of cream gravy. He has a new titanium knee, the result of a recent operation -- people around the track keep asking how his knee is holding up -- and with his hat and his limp he looks, as his trainer, Gilchrist, loves to note, a good deal like Walter Brennan.

A typical exchange: "I'm buying you a new hat," Gilchrist says.

"I have a new hat," Aleo replies.

"Well, you look like Walter Brennan in that."

"I don't wanna change our luck."

At that, Gilchrist concedes. "OK. Keep it."

(At a press conference two days before the Bay Meadows race, someone asks Aleo if he and Gilchrist ever argue. "Do a husband and wife argue?" Aleo replies.)

In the world of horse racing, Aleo, who was raised in Noe Valley and now works there, is what passes for blue collar. It says something about the sport that a man whose real estate office is plastered in Ronald Reagan paraphernalia is talked about like something out of Horatio Alger. His office is familiar to any San Franciscan who has ever strolled down 24th Street. Just look for the window with the Uncle Sam statue, the American flags, and the sign that reads: "This is an island of traditional values in a sea of loony liberals."

He is certainly not a typical owner. Bashful in front of a camera, often gruff in his responses, Aleo doesn't have the studied ease of some of his fellow horsemen, many of whom have spent a lifetime in the public eye in some capacity. This actually makes him a great interview. In August, as Lost in the Fog approached the gate for the King's Bishop Stakes at Saratoga in New York, an ESPN reporter edged over to Aleo and asked one of the worst questions ever enunciated into a microphone. "You played minor-league baseball," he said. "You battled in World War II, the Battle of the Bulge. How does this compare to those lifetime moments?"