Porcine Pacers

By Lee Griggs/Springfield

"It's post time at Heinold Downs!" announces Roy Holding, and a crowd of more than 1,000 at the Illinois State Fair in Springfield presses in eagerly against the restraining ropes around the track. In the paddock, the racers snort and squeal in anticipation. "Don't blink," warns Holding, "or you may miss the race."

He's not far wrong, for this is pig racing, run on an 85-ft. sawdust oval track, and the porkers do not dawdle: the swiftest swine cross the finish line in 5 or 6 sec. In his best Kentucky Derby style, Holding calls the race: "Pigmalion's first out of the box, with the lead on the rail. Hamtrak settles into second, with Flying Frank third." Suddenly his voice rises excitedly: "Here comes Boaris Karloff on the outside, closing fast around the final turn!" Holding is drowned out by the shouts of the crowd as the pack pounds down the stretch to the finish, where a chocolate-cream cookie awaits the winner.

"Hold your tickets," Holding says. "We've got a photo for the win." The crowd murmurs with excitement. In seconds he has pulled the Polaroid pack from a superannuated Speed Graphic at the finish line. To a mixture of cheers and groans, he proclaims Pigmalion the winner -- by a snout, of course. Pigmalion's supporters happily line up to get a key ring from Heinold Hog Market of Kouts, Ind., sponsor of the races. Admission and a betting ticket are free. Wagering for money is strictly prohibited.

This is the tenth year that the racing pigs have made the Midwest fair circuit, drawing more than 3 million fans so far in eight states ranging from Ohio to Iowa. Holding, formerly advertising director at Heinold, was half jesting in 1976 when he first mentioned to then President Harold Heinold the idea of staging pig races as a way to promote the company's name. "He looked at me and said, 'Work it out for next year.' Just like that." Holding read up on how Pavlov had trained his dogs and then set up a makeshift starting gate, put a food pan at the finish line, rang a bell and chased the pigs to the pan. "I did this 20 to 25 times, three times a day," he says. "After four days, the pigs had figured out the game, and I'd lost five pounds."

Today the pampered pigs travel first-class in their own custom trailer, equipped with fans over each pen and a system that changes the air inside every two minutes. Their 100-gal. on-board water supply is laced with sulfa powder and penicillin to ward off scours, the dread hog diarrhea. Each year the company holds a contest among employees to name the racers. Samples from this year's roster: Hamtastic, Leaping Loin, Chop Sooee, Boared Stiff, Charlie Choplin.

A typical day at Heinold Downs features 22 races, five pigs to a race. Each animal races four or five times a day. A tote board at trackside lists the number of victories and best time for the five entrants in each race, so pig players have some stats to ponder before betting. In the hurdle events, the pigs must jump 11-, 14- and 16-in. barriers. "Pigs are natural jumpers," says Holding. "Put a hurdle between them and food, and they learn fast how to clear it. These guys are no dummies." Actually, most of the guys are girls. For reasons nobody quite understands, gilts (females) seem to be better runners and jumpers than barrows (males).

This season's most promising performer is a spotted tan gilt named Huckleberry Hog, who has a good shot at breaking the record: 4.48 sec. on the flat, held by a gilt named American Made. But even if she sizzles to a new speed record and is enshrined in Heinold's hog hall of fame, poor Huck's fate is already sealed. After a brief breeding reprieve -- to produce not racers but simply high-quality piglets -- she gets a one-way ticket to the abattoir, along with all this year's other stars. Says Holding, who plans to retire from the racing game this year: "There's not a lot of sentiment in this business."