Family, PETA at odds after horseman's death

VERSAILLES, Ky. – Hub Johnson died as he lived, attentive to the last detail.

Two days past his 27th birthday, on March 28, 2014, the former foreman of Steve Asmussen's racing stable created a folder on his Hewlett-Packard laptop for nine letters to be found by his survivors.

Addressing family and friends, the racing industry at large and a pair of professional associates he feared embarrassing, Johnson wrote a series of suicide notes alternately sweeping and specific. He typed out a list of his bank accounts, their pin numbers and passwords, a summary of his debts, and instructions for his funeral service and the spreading of his ashes.

Then he squeezed into the driver's seat of his Hyundai Elantra, drove the length of a narrow road to a secluded spot beside the gate of Ebenezer Cemetery, and sent a final text message to his mother's fiancé, John Dowdell.

"You'll find me at the end of Ebenezer (Church) Road by the entrance to the old church. It's the road to the right from the neighborhood. Tell mom I love her! There's a letter for you on top of my laptop up stairs. It explains some and mom's letter on my laptop explains more. I know you've seen some disturbing things during your years on the job, so I'm letting you be the one to call the authorities because I know you can handle this sort of thing. I'm sorry for that burden. Thanks for being there for her!"

The text was transmitted at 3:45 p.m. and reached Dowdell as he was out riding on his motorcycle. When Dowdell stopped to check his messages, and grasped Johnson's meaning, the former military medic sped to the scene, but arrived too late. Hub Johnson had moved to a grassy patch beside the road, opened his mouth, inserted the barrel of his Beretta 12-gauge shotgun, and pulled the trigger.

Eighteen months later, Hub Johnson's family and friends are still struggling to make sense of his suicide. But they are confident of its connection to the undercover investigation of Asmussen's barn by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA).

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Johnson shot himself 10 days after PETA submitted allegations against Asmussen's operation to state and federal regulators, and just one day after he was referenced (though not named) in the seventh paragraph of a New York Times story posted online about jockeys' use of electro-shock devices with thoroughbreds — a piece prompted by a hidden-camera clip taken by PETA's investigator, Kerin "Beth" Rosen. Of the nine letters Johnson composed on the last day of his life, six mention videos he suspected and worried were in PETA's possession.

"I don't agree for one minute with what he did," said Johnson's mother, Kirsten. "And it breaks my heart every day. But I don't think — I know — he wouldn't have committed suicide if this PETA story hadn't come out."

Her point is unprovable, of course, but the timeline is revealing. Eight days before he shot himself, Johnson tendered his resignation from Asmussen's stable at Oaklawn Park Race Track in Arkansas after taking a call from a professional mentor concerned by the fallout from PETA's investigation. Kirsten Johnson, who owns the Kentucky Equine Sports And Rehabilitation Center, contemplated a wrongful death lawsuit, but decided against it on the advice of Asmussen's attorney, Clark Brewster. Part of her motivation in sharing her story is the hope that it might lead to revised privacy laws — Kentucky is one of 38 states where it is legal to record a conversation with only one party's consent — and that it might cause at-risk individuals to reconsider suicide.

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Another goal is to gain a greater understanding of the unknowable, to arrange the pieces of a mismatched puzzle into some kind of coherent narrative. For though Steve Asmussen has paid a high price for PETA's investigation, losing his place on racing's Hall of Fame ballot and having dozens of horses removed from his care by aggravated owners, Hub Johnson paid a permanent price and may have tragically miscalculated the collateral damage to his career.

"We are saddened by Mr. Johnson's suicide," PETA Vice President Kathy Guillermo wrote in response to e-mailed questions. "Yet I am 100 percent certain that neither Beth nor PETA is responsible. I don't know what pressures Mr. Johnson felt in his personal life or if someone in racing was frightening him in some way, but PETA was not."

Friends and family members say Johnson believed he was ruined in racing; that he thought he had said too much in Rosen's presence. But Guillermo says the only evidence its investigation produced that would have embarrassed or incriminated Johnson was a July 3, 2013, video clip that captured the young horseman telling a colorful, profane story about jockey Calvin Borel using a buzzer to condition horses to run close to the rail — a claim made so commonly around America's racetracks as to qualify as folklore.

Borel, a three-time Kentucky Derby winner, has denied any wrongdoing and Kentucky stewards reported no irregularities after reviewing video of his races. Though Guillermo declined repeated requests to make Rosen available for an interview, she expressed confidence that the investigator had shared all of her findings with PETA executives and that the investigation uncovered "nothing (else) that was damaging in any other way" about Hub Johnson.

"There was no other relevant information from Mr. Johnson, either in our records or in Beth's recollection," Guillermo wrote. "If there had been allegations of rules violations or animal abuse we certainly would have included that information in our requests for investigations."

Absent hard evidence to the contrary, Johnson's survivors are left with their memories and their suspicions.

"There's got to be more," Dowdell said. "There's got to be more to the story than, 'I'm a troubled kid and, oh, I was on video saying something about Calvin Borel,' a known story in the industry. There's got to be more."

Equine agent Kim Valerio, who shared a house with Johnson during the 2013 summer meet at Saratoga, says he was panicked by the possibility of having contributed to potentially scandalous stories about prominent horsemen.

"He called me and said, 'I know what I told (Rosen). She asked me a lot of questions, Kim, and I told her a lot of information.'" Valerio recalled. "He said, 'She led me to believe that she was going to be a vet, just like her sister. She asked me a lot of questions about pushing the envelope and cheating and I answered them because I was trying to educate her.'"

His biggest fear

By backstretch standards, Hub Johnson was unusually well-qualified to teach. He graduated from the University of Kentucky in 2012 with a bachelor's of science degree and a minor in equine science and management. He later attended the University of Pennsylvania's veterinary school and served as an assistant to racing veterinarian Dr. Steve Allday before settling on a career as a trainer. Contrary to PETA's portrayal, Kirsten Johnson says her son concluded Steve Asmussen's barn was among the cleanest in racing after having observed some of the shortcuts taken in other stables.

"His biggest fear when that (PETA) story broke was what he said on those tapes," Valerio said. "Whether (Rosen) had edited it out or didn't record it, he knew he said it. ... He was alarmed because he told her what one of the biggest vets and what one of the biggest trainers in horse racing were doing. ... And he felt terrible. I said to him, point-blank: 'Why don't we get on an airplane and fly to New York and deal with this particular person?' And he said, 'I can't even face it.' "

PETA's Guillermo challenged Valerio's credibility, noting the agent's close ties to Johnson's family and asserting that her behavior following Hub Johnson's death "went beyond normal grief."

"She harassed Beth with numerous phone calls after Mr. Johnson's death," Guillermo wrote, "leaving screaming messages and accusing her (of) killing Mr. Johnson."

"Did I call her more than once? Maybe twice," Valerio said. "I did leave a screaming message on her phone."

Kirsten Johnson and Valerio both believe the impact of PETA's investigation was exacerbated by a 14-minute phone call Hub Johnson received on the morning of March 20, 2014, from Dr. Scott Palmer, the New York State Equine Medical Director. According to Kirsten Johnson, who spoke with Palmer later that day, the doctor urged an immediate departure from Asmussen's barn.

At the time, PETA's allegations had barely been digested. The Kentucky Horse Racing Commission would spend 10 months investigating the charges only to identify no violations. New York authorities have yet to release the results of their parallel investigation. Still, some of racing's most influential figures, including then-Jockey Club Chairman Ogden Phipps, read PETA's damning requests for investigations as an urgent call to action about animal cruelty and medication violations.

"Any person abusing a horse or caught with an electronic stimulation device like the one described in the video should be banned from the sport for life," Phipps said in a statement released on the morning of Johnson's death.

Johnson cited Phipps' statement in his last-day letter "To The Industry," asking, "What's that line about throwing bricks and glass houses?" But he, too, may have rushed to some judgments, having resigned from Asmussen's stable within three hours of Palmer's call.

Palmer declined to be interviewed — "He does not wish to discuss the matter at all," New York State Gaming Commission spokesman Lee Park wrote in response to an e-mail request — but Park later produced a prepared statement:

"After the PETA allegations were published, N.Y.S. Equine Medical Director Scott E. Palmer, V.M.D. spoke with Asmussen stable employee Hub Johnson because Palmer had maintained a long-time, personal relationship with the Johnson family and often acted as Hub's career mentor. At the time they spoke, Palmer was not privy to any non-public information relating to the PETA allegations. In their conversation, Palmer again offered Hub career advice and direction."

Valerio says Johnson was "alarmed" by Palmer's call and "humiliated that he got duped" (by Rosen).

"He was so ashamed of himself," Valerio said. "That's what he told me: He said, 'I'm so ashamed that I would say something to somebody I did not know.' He said that to me at least 15 times from the time (news of the PETA investigation broke) to the time of his birthday."

Kirsten Johnson remembers her son lamenting, "My career is over before I even started."

The 'only irrational thing' he ever did

Though many of those who were close to Hub Johnson say they could see no sign that he might have been suicidal, Pat Cunningham noticed an unsettling difference in his grandson late in 2013. He said Johnson seemed tense and more argumentative than in previous visits. Estranged from his father, anxious about his future, Johnson's outward calm may have masked a steepening downward spiral.

"Did he get a little bluesy in the winter? Yeah," Kirsten Johnson said. "He had to have something going on — he shot himself. (But) He was not on any kind of psychotropic medication. He wasn't. I don't think he ever took anything for depression. ... No one saw the severity of it coming, for whatever reason. Did we have our heads in the sand? I don't know."

Jill Ulrich, Kentucky's state suicide prevention coordinator, says warning signs are often subtle and easily missed and that, "it's important to know in almost every situation the triggering event is just the tip of the iceberg."

"You almost always can find some level of depression or other disorders," Ulrich said. "The top risk factor would be mental health disorders, anxiety or personality disorders. The feeling of hopelessness can play a big factor in somebody feeling that the situation can't be changed, even if it's not true."

Holli Johnson said she could tell her brother was upset about the PETA investigation while they shared beers and watched basketball at Lexington's Blue Stallion Brewing Company five days before his death, but says she was unable to draw him out on the subject. She calls his suicide the "only irrational thing" he ever did.

"Suicide was like disgusting to him because (he thought) how can somebody be so alone, so weak, and not being able to have the drive to live?" said Ben Slome, a friend who shared Johnson's affinity for competitive clay target shooting.

Slome described Hub Johnson as one part nurturing "old soul" and another part gregarious goofball. Upon leaving a multi-course birthday dinner at New York's pricey Per Se restaurant, Slome was struck with guilt at the sight of a homeless man. Johnson told him that he should never be ashamed of his wealth, but that it carried an obligation to help those less fortunate.

In another mood, Slome said, Johnson was prone to show up at shooting competitions and blast rap tunes for the sake of their shock value. Short on vanity, Johnson would sometimes pair cowboy boots with Nike shorts. Wide of waist, his most memorable imitation was of a Chris Farley character, the feckless, flailing motivational speaker, Matt Foley.

"Everything was comedy with us," Holli Johnson said. "Nothing was serious. I felt like he had a very unique relationship with everyone he knew. ... And you'll never hear — and I know this for a fact – there is not a single person on this planet who could have anything negative to say about my brother. Not one."

Elexene Mattingly, an equine science classmate of Johnson's at UK, says "his character was calming,'' an impression echoed by Asmussen.

"He had a nice, easy — how about docile? — way about him," Asmussen said. "He just made people feel very comfortable. He really liked his horses. Affection, affinity — those are the things you remember about him."

Dowdell, a relative newcomer to thoroughbreds, described Hub Johnson's regard for the horse as "reverence."

"There was one story where a horse was injured coming off the track and Hub was nursing him back to the barn and he had to go down a hill," Dowdell said. "And the trainer was yelling at him — 'Get this horse down here,' yada, yada, yada — and he was yelling back to him. He says, 'No, I can't take this horse down the hill. You're going to injure him even more.' So he took the ass-chewing versus just dragging the horse down the hill."

Survivors paint him as a study in conviction in a world of moral compromises and cut corners.

"He was like the sun," said Ryan Butler, who met Johnson during his brief time at Xavier University. "People gravitated toward Hub."

Butler, a nurse trained in suicide prevention, remembers falling to the floor during a shopping trip to Kohl's upon learning of his death, repeating, "No he didn't, no he didn't, no he didn't" into her cell phone.

"This wasn't a kid that was struggling," she said. "It's not like he was battling depression for years. That's not it. It literally came out of nowhere. There was no one who could have seen this coming, no indication, nothing."

In compiling his report following Johnson's suicide, Jessamine County Deputy Sheriff Patrick Ebbitt noted "subject was in fear of a PETA expose on treatment of horses," but also that "subject had a family history of mental illness and was hearing voice according to his mother." Yet Kirsten Johnson disputes Ebbitt's account and says she was referring to another relative's schizophrenia and not her son's state of mind.

Jessamine County Coroner Michael Hughes, who was present while Ebbitt obtained Kirsten Johnson's statement, said there was "no conversation about (hearing voices) whatsoever."

"It could have been a misunderstanding," Ebbitt concedes now.

Johnson's toxicology report, prepared by AIT Laboratories of Indianapolis, came back clean. Even now, definitive answers are few.

"I feel like if we could have talked to him or had an opportunity to really understand what was troubling him, I've always felt I could have made some kind of difference," Clark Brewster said. "And I've told Kirsten (Johnson) the same. But we never had the chance."

A short-lived relationship

Beth Rosen's impression, as related by Guillermo, was that Hub Johnson was someone who seemed "overly hearty, as though he tried very hard to be cheerful but it seemed to her that he really wasn't cheerful or happy at all."

Theirs was a short-lived relationship, conducted in close proximity but generally at arm's length. Rosen was licensed to work for Asmussen's stable on April 11, 2013, during the spring meet at Churchill Downs. Johnson joined the operation on or about June 26, at Saratoga. When PETA submitted its initial request for investigation to Louisville Metro Animal Services on March 18, 2014, Johnson was identified only as "a foreman/hot walker called Hub." At the time, Guillermo says, Rosen did not know his last name.

"I didn't think Beth and Hub got along very well," said Scott Blasi, an Asmussen assistant who became intimate with Rosen. "I just think their personalities, they bothered each other."

But Valerio, who managed several horses in Asmussen's barn, developed a different impression of the Rosen-Johnson relationship as a daily visitor during the Saratoga meet.

"I think she liked him, (but) like not in a sexual manner," Valerio said. "I think that he was truly an enjoyable kid. He was really nice to work with. He worked hard. They were at the barn the most together. The first two there were those two, the last two to leave were those two."

Valerio remembers Johnson returning for lunch one day during the meet suddenly suspicious of Rosen.

"He came home and said something's not right," Valerio said. "I said, 'Why?' He said, 'I think that girl has been lying to me.' And I said, 'What girl?' and he said, "Beth.'"

Valerio said Johnson explained that he had asked Rosen about her professed interest in veterinary school, but that she didn't seem to have a strong grasp of the application process.

"I said, 'That's strange. What do you think?'" Valerio said. "He said, 'I don't know. I think she's lying.' That's all he said. She was gone the next morning."

PETA's Guillermo says Rosen was then and remains interested in studying veterinary medicine, and that she left Asmussen's employ "when and as we had planned."

Rosen would later exchange perfunctory text messages with Johnson, but not until May 27, 2014 — two months after his death — was Harry Hubbard "Hub" Johnson IV more fully identified in PETA documents, although that correspondence refers to him as "Jr."

Johnson attempted to contact Beth Rosen one last time by telephone at 3:59 p.m. on March 27, 2014 — the day before he died. Phone records show that the call spanned only 41 seconds, and Guillermo said Rosen neither spoke with Johnson nor received a voice mail message from him. Nearly a year later, Kirsten Johnson used her son's cell phone, still active, to send Rosen a blame-filled text message Guillermo says was not received.

"I would like the opportunity to speak to Ms. Johnson," Guillermo wrote. "I would tell her that I have a daughter who is about the same age as her son and I know, as a mother, that her loss must be shattering; that her son had nothing to worry about from us; that while I have been told that her son listed several reasons for taking his life in his suicide, I don't know what those reasons are, and I hope that she won't continue to accuse another young person who simply listened and gathered information of alleged abuse."

That hope, it would appear, is a faint one. Kirsten Johnson distrusts PETA, deplores its methods and remains doubtful that the comment about Calvin Borel was the extent to which her son spoke out of school in Beth Rosen's presence. She believes her son would be alive if not for PETA's tactics.

"There's not a lot of judgment here," she said, "other than (for) an organization that decided they needed to do this investigation, who had no idea that my son was going to kill himself. They didn't know that. PETA didn't know that they were going to film some kid that was going to take this to the level Hub took it. They had no idea. I don't believe they meant that to happen. But it did."

Help is available

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is open 24 hours: 1-800-273-8255. Seven Counties Services Hope Now Crisis Line: 1-800-221-0446 or 502-589-4313.

Story includes reporting by Jennie Rees from Saratoga.

Tim Sullivan can be reached at (502) 582-4650, tsullivan@courier-journal.com or @TimSullivan714 on Twitter.