'what A Fiesta We Will Have!'

When Baptista first turned over Canonero to Arias, the colt looked as if he would be lucky to develop into a decent claimer, hardly a Triple Crown candidate. He was small, he had a split right hoof and he had worms. After treatment the hoof took three months to heal, but the worms were a more difficult problem. "We had to clean out his stomach every 30 days," recalls Baptista, "and I had to get him special food, like seaweed from Australia."

Though Canonero developed into a strong colt, Baptista still did not think he was much of a runner. He was so unimpressed, in fact, that when the colt finally went to the races the jockey that Baptista hired was one J. E. Contreras, a hapless rider who had hardly won any races. "He was so bad," says a friend of Baptista, "that the other jockeys called him " Willie Shoemaker' to make fun of him." But Canonero, with Contreras up, breezed home by 6� lengths in his first race, a six-furlong handicap on August 8, 1970 at La Rinconada.

Nobody was more pleased than Arias. Born on a farm in Venezuela's central plains, Arias, now 32, grew up in poverty. His father disappeared when Juan was four and two years later he moved with his mother to Caracas. When his mother gave him money to go to the movies or an amusement park Arias would sneak off to the racetrack to visit the horses and sweep out the stalls for free. Later, when he was unable to become a pilot in Dictator Jim�nez' air force, he turned to horses and racing. From 1955 through 1959 he was a student in the government's school for horse trainers. "The idea was to produce some Venezuelan professionals," says Arias. "At the time the top trainers in the country were from England, Mexico, Peru and other countries." Arias received his training license on July 4, 1959 and embarked on a career that, for eight years, was distinguished by two characteristics: failure and defeat.

"The only horses that I had I got by force, and they were dogs," he says. "It was terrible. I slept in the barns and I didn't know where my next meal was coming from. Most of my classmates quit training pretty soon, and they advised me to quit, too. I guess the only reason I kept going was because I was young and single.

"I remember once a fellow around the track came up to me and said, 'You're not good for anything. Where did you get your diploma from? Out of a box of talcum powder?' I looked at him and I said, 'First of all, I don't depend on you for food. Second, it doesn't make any difference where I got my diploma. And third, someday I will prove that I am a better trainer than anybody.' "

Arias' fortunes began to change in 1967, when a mutual friend introduced him to Baptista. At the time Baptista's stable was in a slump. He put 16 horses in Arias" hands and promised him a three-month trial. The stable won 700,000 bolivars during that time, and soon Arias was training the entire Baptista string. His biggest achievement prior to the Derby came in the 1968 Polla de Potrancas (Prize of the Fillies) when his horses ran 1-2-3 and won a total of $115,000. "That was my greatest thrill in racing," says Baptista, "and you should have seen Arias. He was so loco that I had to get a doctor for him."

A short man with gray flecks in his black hair and smooth skin the color of cocoa, Arias is the liveliest, most visible member of Canonero's party. When he is not working with horses, he likes to drink Scotch, dance the Joropo, swim in the ocean and socialize. He is something of a philosopher about the last.

"It is a natural tendency for me to throw flowers to the women," he says. "It is the oldest race in the world—women after men, and men after women. I am jealous about my women and I am jealous about my horses—nothing else. I find that you must treat horses like women, speaking softly to them and knowing when to give them love pats.

"When I find that I am flirting with a married woman, I apologize to her husband and tell him something like, 'May God take care of her and conserve her for you.' And if I find myself with an older lady, I tell her she has the sparkle in her eye of a 15-year-old."

Arias is more secretive about his horse training methods, but often hints that his ways are different, and special, and that someday he will write a book about them. "I can learn from the American trainers," he says, "but I can also teach them some things."