For those of you who do not know, I was raised in Louisville, Kentucky. That is for the 2 or 3 of you who really don’t know me. There is a time of year that everyone in that city is a Kentuckian, but most especially, a Louisvillian. I won’t bore you with how you pronounce the name of that town. I will tell you though that if you don’t pronounce it correctly that’s a sure fire way of knowing you’re not from there.
I probably went to the racetrack for the first time when I was 2 or 3 years old. Maybe earlier. I do remember being there as a very little girl. And I loved every minute of it. I do remember celebrating Derby Day like most Louisvillians did then, and now, at home. We would have friends over and we would have a cook-out, and then we would watch the fastest two minutes in sports.
My mother loved the Derby. She loved horseracing but Derby Day brought out her sheer joy. I would watch her pull those horses in at the final stretch like she was at the track, cheering her horse on like she was right there and he could hear her. I remember when Secretariat won the Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont Stakes. I remember when Steve Cauthen won the Triple Crown. Mama loved Steve Cauthen. That could have had something to do with my brother. He was a tiny guy at the time and everyone told her that he should be a jockey. He tried it for a year or two but ended up just being a groom. But every year, on Derby Day, Mom would go around the neighborhood with a cup full of all the horses and she would have everyone draw a horse for $1. The winner would win the pot. I loved it when she would let me go right behind her and have a pot for a quarter. I would get the kids into my pot. If we hadn’t “sold” all the horses then Daddy would buy the rest of them.
I used to love to go to the track with Mama. She couldn’t handicap a horse to save her life but she would win more money than anyone else. She would bet numbers. Her lucky number was 17 so she would bet an exacta on every race, boxing 1 and 7. (Boxing meant that it didn’t matter how those two horses came in, she had a bet on every outcome). She would do the same for the Daily Double. That meant we had to get to the track before the first race so she could get that Daily Double down. Once she had that bet down then she started: always bet on a red horse (Mama had red hair); never bet against a gray horse; always bet on a horse whose name meant something to you. We used to tease her and my aunt that they just bet every horse in the race to make sure that they could cash a ticket. Cashing a ticket became my thing too. I used to say that I couldn’t drink a mint julep unless I cashed a ticket (I still do). You see, I had enough money to bet, I didn’t have any money for refreshment.
Mom would get so excited with each race. She studied the horses, she studied the program, she placed her bets. And then she would call those horses in from the minute they took off. Then she would go cash her winnings. I will never forget one time we were standing in line cashing her exacta ticket. It was for over $200. I used to go around and pick up any discarded pari-mutual tickets off of the ground. I would pile them up and Mama would go through them. It just so happened that I picked up a winning exacta ticket while she was waiting in line to cash hers. So, I got to cash in that $200 + ticket as well. We ate steaks that night.
When we were older, after Daddy died, Mom used to go to the track on Derby Day, She would get all dressed up and wear a hat and go out in style. I think she always sat in the grandstand but on Derby Day there isn’t a bad seat. She would go with her girlfriends and would have so much fun. I remember the first time I went. I was doing some work for one of the hotel owners and he had an extra ticket on the ground floor clubhouse, right in the first turn. I thought I was so rich. We took a limousine out to the track. It was wonderful.
When I moved to western Kentucky I still tried to make it home for Derby. I had good friends who always had a party. Sometimes I had an opportunity to go out to the track. But then the year came that I had my daughter Katie, on Derby Day, and my Derby priorities changed. Because for the next 15 or so years we had a birthday party on Derby Day. That was fine with me. Everyone knew that I would be fine until mid-day on Saturday when I would start drinking mint juleps and be feeling no pain at the time the race was run. On her 17th birthday, her birthday fell on Derby Day. I told her I would take her to the track on Derby Day on the day it feel on her birthday. And we went. And we had a ball. We ended up spending most of our time in the infield but that’s perfect for a teenager. She was sort of bummed that I wouldn’t let her drink (which meant that I didn’t drink much), and she was real bummed when I interrupted some guy who was trying to pick her up. But we had a very good time, and I don’t think we won any money.
This year will be different for me. You see, my last kid, John, graduates from high school in the next couple of weeks and his prom is on Derby Day. But the big deal is that we will be in Nashville most of the day where he will be interviewing for a college scholarship. I cannot even fathom being in Nashville on Derby Day. I mean, if I can’t be in Louisville I really should be at home. But I tell myself that this is the last year for this nonsense, and beginning next year I can do whatever I want on Derby Day. I think I’ll make my way out to the track, pour over the program and try to handicap the horses as Mom would. I’ll have a few too many mint juleps and I’ll be a little wilted as I take myself home. But I’m due to have a Derby that Mom would enjoy at least one more time. I’ll stand at the rail calling those horses in, in Mom’s memory.
Breaking for the lead . . .