Kentucky Derby Day

Saturday is the running of the Kentucky Derby, almost a religious holiday for my family. My grandfather, or better stated my great uncle who married my grandmother after my actual grandfather died, loved horses. He married my grandmother in the spring of 1961 in the Presbyterian church close to my house in Levittown, New York. I remember being torn by the fact that it fell on the same day as Little League tryouts and I wanted to be there too.

I don’t remember much about the actual wedding; however, and this was one heck of a however, I do remember my grandfather “to be” getting upset in the foyer of the church because he couldn’t get a bet down on a horse that he owned that was running that day. The horses name was Party Favor and it never did much other than cost him money.

I always called him Uncle Waddy, short for Wadsworth, most everyone else called him Unc or Waddy. Not too many kids can say they saw their grandparents get married, at least not and pass a lie detector test. Anyone who knew him knew he loved horses. He had pictures of them all over his house, even had a toilet seat with a horse on it.

Waddy had enough money to be able to play the horses without affecting his bank account, owning horses is an expensive hobby. He had made his money in the sugar business and through investments. When he went to see the horses run he would spend half the day around the paddocks taking in the view of those magnificent animals. He loved to watch their muscles work as they went through the process of getting ready for the race.

On Derby day he had analyzed all the various entries, checked their breeding and their past results against all the other horses. It was important to him. Then an hour before the race he would turn on the television and watch the pre-race interviews, the camera shots of all the horses and the favorite picks. He watched the jockeys as they sported their colors and got weighed in. It was as close to church as Waddy got, excepting when he got married.

One year as the race drew near, the horses had been led to the gate for the start with the last horses settling in prior to the bell; the telephone rang. I can’t recall having seen that man ever blow a fuse, at least not until that moment. I think he may have let a string of expletives go, maybe not. He couldn’t believe that anyone, and I mean anyone, would have the nerve to call at the beginning of the Derby race. He let the phone ring as the race began and it may have been the worst experience on Derby day he had ever had. Each year after he would take the receiver off the phone base to make sure it never happened again.

Saturday afternoon my folks will be glued to the television as the Derby is almost as important to them as it was to Uncle Waddy. Each year I make it a point to call them about a minute or so before the bell starts the race. I let it ring only once and then hang up, knowing that they will remember this story and laugh; but only after they grumble for half a second, “Who the hell is calling on Derby Day?”

Bonnie reminded me that she had written about this same thing back in January so I have gone back and linked to her blog.
http://bonnietravels.blogspot.com/2005/01/not-quite-ascot-govotte.html