O’Sullivan Farms stands tall in W.Va.

Story by Lucy Acton
Photographs by Barrie Reightler

Ruth Funkhouser, 82, keeps getting offers she almost can’t refuse. “My son Robbie wants me to move in with his family—they live in Florida in the winter, Connecticut in the summer,” says the vigorous great-grandmother (of five). “I think about it. . . but how could I live without a race track?”

How, for that matter, would Charles Town Races get along without her?
O’Sullivan Farms, the Charles Town, W.Va.-based breeding and racing establishment launched in the 1940s by Ruth and her then-husband, the late Justin Funkhouser, has long since passed into the capable hands of their youngest child, 47-year-old Raymond J. (Randy) Funkhouser II. But the presence of this diminutive Hawaiian-born lady continues to resonate within the operation of the farm as well as the tightly knit West Virginia Thoroughbred community.

The Funkhouser family has been called the “royalty” of West Virginia breeding and racing. And all it takes is one visit to the familial mansion— Cedar Lawn, a high-ceilinged site of historic splendor first occupied by a grand-nephew of George Washington—to see how they landed that title.
Unlike many royals, however, Ruth Funkhouser is, by nature, a mover and a shaker. It was in part through her efforts that the West Virginia Thoroughbred Breeders Association was established in 1967, and Ruth and Randy Funkhouser both serve on its current board. The West Virginia Thoroughbred Development Fund, in operation since 1984, bears her imprint (along with Randy’s), as does the West Virginia Breeders Classics.

Currently, Randy Funkhouser— in concert with his mother—is engaged in a hard-fought campaign to change the formula by which revenue from Charles Town video lottery terminals (VLTs) is apportioned to purses and the breeders’ fund.

To understand how the Funk­housers and their O’Sullivan Farms came to be part of the lifeblood of West Virginia racing, you must begin with the story of Ruth’s childhood in Honolulu.

It is tale from another world, where as a young child Ruth took delight in accompanying the paniolos (cowboys) who roped free-ranging horses on the 22,000-acre cattle ranch that her father owned over on the big island (Hawaii). “My father used to import stallions to breed to the wild horses. They would rope the mares and bring them in to breed to these stallions, and the foals would become cow ponies,” she recalls.

Ruth’s mother was of native Hawaiian descent, while her father, John Clarke, was the grandson of an English-born sea captain credited with pioneering inter-island trade in Hawaii. Banking was Ruth’s father’s major business, affording the family considerable affluence.

Ruth, an athlete and a tomboy, did not exactly fit the mold of Honolulu’s social elite. When she was 15 years old, and renowned as the captain of the boys’ football team, her mother decided drastic action was called for—i.e., boarding school.

“It had to be an Episcopal all-girls school, south of the Mason-Dixon line; I don’t know where that idea came from,” says Mrs. Funkhouser, with a laugh. “There were only two schools that fit the description at that time (in 1930).”

A two-week journey, by ship and train, brought Ruth, accompanied by her father, to the Columbia Institute in Columbia, Tenn.—an austere-looking place where, as she recalls, she (literally) hit it off right away with her fellow students by walking into their softball game and delivering a home run.

When the school in Tennessee closed due to the Great Depression, Ruth continued her education at the only other suitable spot, Stuart Hall in Staunton, Va. As she became acclimated to the mainland U.S., the distance between Ruth and her family became more than a matter of geography. “Of course, I couldn’t go home for vacations the way other students did, so I stayed with my friends and their families; eventually, I visited every state except Florida. This country seemed absolutely huge to me at first, but later when I did visit back home, our island seemed very small.”

The family photograph album hints of a storybook union between the beautiful young Ruth and her equally handsome bridegroom Justin Funkhouser, the brother of her Stuart Hall roommate. And in the beginning, it apparently was a whirlwind existence. The young couple lived in 11 different homes in and around New York City, before settling (at least Ruth so believed) in Winchester, Va., in 1937.

A rural community in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, just a stone’s throw from Charles Town, Winchester was the site of the O’Sullivan Rubber Company, part of a large commercial empire belonging to Ruth’s father-in-law, Raymond J.—known to all as R.J.—Funk­houser.

The O’Sullivan Rubber Company, according to the story passed down to Randy Funkhouser from his father, was established by a one-time factory worker, John O’Sullivan, whose chronically aching feet led him to develop rubber heels for shoes. R.J. Funkhouser bought the business with the then-famous advertising slogan “America’s number one heel,” during the depths of the Depression, as part of a $3-million package that included two other companies—the forerunners of Pond’s cosmetics and Nestle chocolate products.

The latter two businesses were subsequently sold by Funkhouser for $3.5 million, leaving a half-million dollars in working capital which would be used to bolster the operation of the rubber manufacturing company, then the most prosperous of the three. Justin Funkhouser, whose previous work had been primarily in advertising, got his first real business experience when he was installed as president of the O’Sullivan Rubber Company; perhaps that is why his horse operation would be its namesake.

Having established himself in the world of business, R.J. Funkhouser, once the teen-aged proprietor of a country store, channeled his prodigious energies in other directions— with his personal newspaper, the Jefferson Republican (distributed in 46 states), several bids for political office (he lost close races for both the U.S. Senate and the West Virginia governorship), cattle (his herd of Herefords was among the finest in the land), and last and probably least, Thoroughbred race horses.

No sooner were his son and daughter-in-law and their growing family installed in Virginia, in an antique home restored by Ruth, than R.J. Funkhouser issued a proclamation: he was transplanting his extended family to nearby Ranson, W.Va., where his palatial home, Claymont Court, was to be a hub of activity during his “retirement” years.

“I said, ‘I’m not going,’” recalls Ruth. There was a strong bond of affection between R.J. and the strong-willed Ruth. “He told me I could have any house I wanted (in the Ranson/Charles Town area),” she says. After a few months, Ruth decided upon an arrangement she could live with: “I told him I wanted that house” meaning a badly deteriorated mansion known as Blakeley, “and $100,000 (to subsidize the renovation). He immediately agreed.”

So it was that the two generations of Funkhousers came to reside within hailing distance of each other, both in “Washington homes”—houses originally built for members of George Washington’s family. (The connection with the founding father traces to a 1748 surveying expedition George Washington made to this area; he went home and persuaded his older brother to purchase thousands of acres of virgin land in the Shenandoah Valley. Eventually the land was passed down to the younger Washington brothers, including Charles Town’s namesake Charles Washington.)

With all that was going on, when R.J. and Justin decided to buy a race horse—in 1939—Ruth barely took notice. Those were her own broodmare years: two sons and three daughters would grow to adulthood (none except Randy destined to make a career with horses). But like everything else that R.J. Funkhouser undertook, the stable quickly became first-class. O’Sullivan Farms, as the operation was called from the beginning, sent its broodmares to good Kentucky stallions and sold their offspring for high prices at the Saratoga Yearling sales in the 1940s. Justin Funkhouser and his trainer Frank Gall found themselves riding high with the *Bull Dog colt Noble Impulse, who finished third in the 1949 Preakness for breeder Crispin Oglebay and was purchased by Funk­houser prior to victory in the following year’s Salvator Mile.

Then, in the early 1950s, came the break-up of Justin and Ruth Funkhouser’s marriage. It wouldn’t be the end of O’Sullivan Farms, just the beginning of a scaled-down era.

Their good friend (auctioneer) Humphrey S. Finney conducted the dispersal, under a tent set up at Blakeley, and the Funkhouser family proceeded to watch what might have been the nucleus of O’Sullivan Farms’ future broodmare band fall under the hammer: Noble Impulse’s daughter Prompt Impulse, dam of stakes winner and sire Rash Prince; stakes producer Cubed Ice; and En Casserole (by War Relic), dam of stakes winners High Tribute and Royal Spirit as well as multiple stakes producer Silver Service.

No one found the divorce more dramatically life-altering, however, than Ruth Funkhouser herself. “Everything that’s happened to me (involving horses) happened after 1956,” she says. “It was good for us all. We all—even the children—went to work.”

Justin Funkhouser moved to Maryland’s Eastern Shore and eventually drifted away from the horse business, although he remained in contact with the family until his death earlier this year.

“The future of racing is tied to the future of breeding. . . And the West Virginia Thoroughbred Development Fund is still not receiving anything close to what is necessary. . .”

Meanwhile, Ruth found her metier among the challenges and rewards of the farm and race track. As a gift from her father came the Washington home known as Cedar Lawn, which sits at the center of present-day O’Sullivan Farms. But, for the single mother of five, maintaining their accustomed standard of living would not be a simple feat. For many years, Ruth Funkhouser worked three jobs: as a secretary to the mutuels manager at Charles Town, an H&R Block tax preparer and bookkeeper for a small local company. That was in addition to her volunteer efforts with the WVTBA, etc.

Few great achievements are the result of one person working alone, however, and Mrs. Funkhouser is quick to give credit to the late Frank Gall, her partner/advisor/farm manager until his death in 1981. Gall had served as manager of O’Sullivan Farms from nearly its inception, while alternately holding official posts at various race tracks, including a stint as West Virginia state steward. In fact, he could still be said to watch over O’Sullivan Farms: his gravestone, marking the spot where his ashes are buried, sits just to the right of the main house, overlooking the fields and barn.

O’Sullivan Farms’ modus operandi has changed little over the decades: it is a full-service commercial venture, standing stallions, boarding mares, offering training services at Charles Town to outside clients (Randy Funkhouser is a licensed trainer). O’Sullivan also maintains its own band of broodmares (currently about a dozen); homebreds are either sold directly off the farm or raced in the farm colors.

Along with the house came 85 acres; in time, Ruth and Randy bought two additional parcels, bringing the total acreage to 344. About 125 acres are in pasture. Facilities include a 33-stall block barn with oak partitions that houses both stallions and broodmares. The farm produces its own hay and straw, using the services of a tenant farmer, and keeps a herd of more than 40 Angus cattle.

Not bad for an operation that started over with “two old mares,” as Randy Funkhouser describes it. The first O’Sullivan Farms stallion to make people take notice was Bunny’s Babe (by Attention—Mad Bunny, by *Royal Minstrel), acquired by the Funkhousers in the 1960s in exchange for a board bill. Succeeding him was the top West Virginia sire Shy Native, and there have been others of note: Equilibrium, Smartinsky, Top Rank.

The numbers peaked during the high point of the Thoroughbred market in the 1980s, when the O’Sullivan Farms stallions serviced as many as 100 mares a year. But the subsequent downturn in West Virginia’s Thoroughbred industry has been felt here as much as anywhere else.

In 1998, the two studs Feel the Power and Tagish held court at the farm just outside of Charles Town. Feel the Power, second-ranked by progeny earnings among West Virginia sires in 1997, was bred to about 30 mares; Tagish got about ten. Both stallions boast superb pedigrees—each being the son of a leading sire and a mare who was a champion on the race track. Feel the Power, a foal of 1982, is by Raise a Native out of Davona Dale, by Best Turn. Tagish is a foal of 1986 by Mr. Prospector—Waya (Fr), by Faraway Son.

A near-encyclopedic mind is required to keep up with both the farm operation and bigger industry issues, and such is the role fulfilled by Randy Funkhouser. Randy has made it a full-time career since graduating from Stanford University, with a B.A. in English and creative writing, in 1974, and is deeply involved in virtually all aspects of West Virginia breeding and racing. President of the Charles Town Horsemen’s Benevolent and Protective Association from 1990 to ’97, he is currently president of the local division of the Race Track Chaplaincy of America.

About the future of West Virginia’s Thoroughbred industry, Funk­houser is guardedly optimistic: “It’s encouraging that the purses [at Charles Town] are going up. Revenue from the VLTs is having a positive effect on purses, but the future of racing here in West Virginia is tied to the future of horse breeding in West Virginia. A healthy breeding industry is necessary to support the required 210 days of live racing. And the West Virginia Thoroughbred Development Fund is still not receiving anything close to what is necessary to make it competitive with breeders’ funds in surrounding states.”

Meanwhile, he is weighing various stallion acquisitions for O’Sullivan Farms in 1999. “I expected to work in the horse business for a little while and then go to law school,” says Randy, who lives on the farm with his wife Clissy, a certified public accountant, and their three teen-aged children. “But one thing led to another, and I got involved.”

Just like his mother.

Courtesy The Mid-Atlantic Thoroughbred - August 1998