‘They change each other’: For 20 years, SC inmates have helped train racehorses

An inmate pets a horse while switching out his water dish at Wateree Correctional Institution in Rembert on Wednesday, Nov. 6, 2024. (Skylar Laird/SC Daily Gazette)

REMBERT — Soon after Artie arrived at South Carolina's prison-run horse farm, he found his old defensive instincts kicking in from 16 years in other prisons.

Seeing how upset he was, another inmate told Artie, "Go be with the horses."

Prisons with Second Chance programs

Artie didn't want to at first. He didn't understand how that could help. But he made his way down to Seabiscuit Stable, where the prison's 33 horses live, and calmed down watching the animals interact with one another.

"With them, everything is peace," the 55-year-old said.

That's the goal of the state's Second Chance program at Wateree Correctional Institution.

For 20 years, Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation has sent retired racehorses in need of rehabilitation down to the stables in South Carolina, where inmates help train and care for them until they can find an adopter. The prison a dozen miles south of Camden is one of eight in the country that partners with the organization.

The partnership started in 2003, when former warden John Carmichael read an in The New York Times about a similar program the foundation was running in New York. He knew right away that he wanted to do the same at his prison, said Bryan Stirling, director of the Department of Corrections since 2013.

Carmichael also knew it was unlikely he'd get enough funding from the state to run the program, so he started reaching out to potential donors.

By 2004, Carmichael had raised enough money for the foundation's nonprofit to sign a lease on the stables and accept the prison's first herd.

Donations to the Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation's nonprofit still fund the operation, Stirling said.

Four inmates run the stable, tending to the needs of the 33 horses that live there. Both those numbers can vary, with as many as a dozen inmates tending to as many as 50 horses at a time, said warden Donald Beckwith.

Prisoners who express interest in farm work can earn a spot with good behavior, he said.

They are among roughly 650 inmates who live and work at minimum-security Wateree, where prisoners also grow crops and run the state's largest dairy farm . The prison farm supplies food to the rest of the state's facilities.

Not everyone makes the cut for the horse stables. After all, working on a farm is hard work.

With supervision and training from the national nonprofit and local trainers, inmates do all the hard labor it takes to care for horses. They wake up early to refill food and water, take the horses out to their 100 acres of pastures and train skittish horses recovering from their racing days.

Every horse that comes to the barn has run in at least one race, and most are retired because they were injured or elderly.

Only a couple of the horses currently housed in the stable are under the age of 20, and racehorses typically live to between 25 and 30. Their stories often mirror those of inmates, who came into prison beaten down from the circumstances that led them to commit crimes. Together, the horses and inmates recover.

"They change each other," Stirling said.

Caring for any animal can be therapeutic, but handling horses in particular requires a lot of patience, said Maggie Sweet, executive director of the Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation.

The animals are big, often stubborn and notoriously jumpy when frightened.

"The horse is sort of an absolute teacher," Sweet said. If something is bothering a horse, "you can't work your way around it. You have to find a way through whatever it is."

Artie, whose last name the Daily Gazette is not publishing under Department of Corrections policy, quickly learned that working with the racehorses could be frustrating. If a handler got anxious or angry, the horse would sense that and react, so he had to learn how to keep his emotions in check and remain calm, he said.

"You have to let that aggressive behavior go," Artie said. "Sometimes, they'll make you mad, but you can't get mad at them."

Along with the physical skills inmates learn, those emotional skills can be critical in helping them land jobs after they get out of prison, Stirling said.

Many inmates who work on the Wateree farm go on to work at other farms after their sentences end. Even those who don't can use the discipline and compassion they honed working with the animals, he said.

"As anybody knows who's worked with horses, it's hard work — long days, hot, and sometimes animals can be temperamental," Stirling said. "But I think it teaches some skills when dealing with folks out in society, because people can also be temperamental."

Once the inmates have trained a horse, it goes up for adoption. Adopters pay a small fee and go through an interview process to ensure the horse is going to a good home.

Some find a second career in dressage, a form of artful horse riding, or leisurely trail rides. Others spend the rest of their lives in pastures, often helping younger horses get acclimated to new farms.

If a horse can't be adopted out, it lives the rest of its life at Wateree under the care of the inmates. Three of the 33 horses housed at the barn are considered unadoptable, Beckwith said.

Inmates often form close bonds with the horses. Standing in the barn Tuesday, they told visitors about different horses' ages and temperaments. Artie pointed out that a few horses seemed nervous to have so many new people nearby.

He stepped into a stall with Crypto Disco, his favorite.

Crypto Disco was the first horse Artie worked with after transferring to Wateree. Artie ran a hand along the horse's neck. Crypto Disco laid his head on Artie's shoulder.

The two have learned how to communicate over the past two years. Crypto Disco once alerted Artie to a horse that had gotten out of its pasture by neighing and whinnying until Artie investigated. As much as the inmates take care of the horses, the horses take care of the inmates in turn.

"They'll watch over you as well as you watch over them," Artie said.