Amy Kear ns, ’98
Who Secures Thoroughbred Legends? Amy Kearns, ’98, journalist, scholar and racehorse roadie
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icture a security guard for America’s Thoroughbred Horse of the Year, working the “backside” of fabled tracks. Do you see a slightly built young woman with flowing blond hair, given to late night yoga in the stable, polishing her doctoral dissertation while perched on a hay bale? That would be Amy Kearns, ’98, whose résumé begins, “June 2007–PRESENT: Security foreman for two of the most notable racehorses of the modern era…Performed advances and led coordination of local security and law enforcement in eight states and the United Arab Emirates.” Next comes an impressive string of academic fellowships, articles in prestigious criminal justice journals, sports writing for the Richmond (Ky.)Register, an Eastern B.A. in journalism and M.S. from the College of Justice & Safety. What drives this career? “Serendipity,” insists Kearns. At Lexington, Ky.-based Stonestreet Farms, Kearns called herself the “chaperone,” first for the stallion Curlin, Horse of the Year for 2007 and 2008 (see “Curlin’s Numbers” on p. 7), and then for super-filly Rachel Alexandra, 2009 Horse of the Year. Stonestreet’s owner, Jess Jackson, couldn’t have envisioned that a Craigslist want ad for “horse farm security” would net him a professional of such absolute devotion, deftly balancing security for multi-million dollar assets with mounting media frenzy that both escalated and threatened those assets. Nor could Jackson have predicted that Amy Kearns would garner her own fan club and a glowing New York Times feature on his unique “racehorse roadie.” But “roadie” barely suggests the scope of her work. Kearns minutely documented her charges’ routines: what and when they ate and drank, details of exercise and grooming, medication and visitors, when they lay down and for how long. Only such precision can warn trainers if champions are off their game. No change in venue can alter a diet or risk infection; even team members washed their hands before giving mints. Curlin’s famously touchy tastes needed accommodation on dozens of tracks. He certainly didn’t get petted; he wasn’t a pet. “He was the boss,” says Kearns.
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