Horseflesh and High Society

They started descending from the clubhouse 20 minutes or so before post time, owners and breeders and racing officials and whoever else secured a much-coveted pass. They parted gamblers and picnickers and strode purposefully into one of the most venerable enclosures in American sports, the paddock at the Spa.

They have ostensibly come to watch the horses saddled for the ninth race here Wednesday, but the $3,000 suits on the men and the hats and high heels of the women tip off that there is a whole lot more going on. The bronze statue of Sea Hero, the 1993 Kentucky Derby and Travers Stakes winner, in its grassy center is a nod not only to the history of this racetrack, but to its aristocracy as well.

Sea Hero was owned by Paul Mellon, a man of letters, a philanthropist, an art connoisseur and a sportsman of the kind that are rare these days. In 1971, his colt Mill Reef had captured the Epsom Derby and the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe, and Sea Hero made him the first owner to conquer horse racing’s three most prestigious races.

“I have been an amateur in every phase of my life; an amateur poet, an amateur scholar, an amateur horseman, an amateur farmer, an amateur soldier, an amateur connoisseur of art, an amateur publisher, and an amateur museum executive,” he wrote in his wryly titled autobiography “Reflections in a Silver Spoon.” “The root of the word ‘amateur’ is the Latin word for love, and I can honestly say that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed all the roles I’ve played.”

There were plenty of folks enjoying themselves before the ninth race and one of them, Cot Campbell, the managing partner of Dogwood Stable, was a gentleman who, indeed, had relished the many parts he has played over 84 years. He wore seersucker and a smile as bright as his pastel tie.

He has been a water ski show master of ceremonies, a sportswriter, an apprentice mortician, an advertising copywriter and an author, as well as one of the pioneers of syndicated ownership, selling pieces of horses to various owners. His autobiography is wryly and reflectively titled as well: “Memoirs of a Longshot.”

Now, Campbell greeted his partners and competitors as his colt, Mine Train, circled the tree with a slightly askew white and red board hammered in its bark and No. 1 painted in red.

With 17 minutes to post, a bell echoed from the winner’s circle, a nod to the time before public address systems existed and reminding horsemen and horseplayers a race was nearing.

Three minutes later, 10 small men in a rainbow of Day-Glo silks and goggles hanging from their necks paraded in and fanned out to the various numbered trees to meet their trainers and owners. Campbell threw an arm around his jockey Ramon Dominguez, who was wearing the green and gold colors of Dogwood.

“Riders up,” the paddock judge Neal Cutrone called in the voice of a high school principal.

Dominguez and his brethren were launched into their saddles. Ten horses with 10 smiling jockeys on their backs circled the paddock once and headed to the track.

“You on the winner today, Ramon?” a horseplayer shouted from the other side of the rail.

Dominguez, rocking atop his colt, smiled.

Campbell and the other owners and their camps followed them. They could not see the bugler Sam Grossman, but they heard him blow the call to post.

There were smiles and shivers and a transcendent moment enjoyed. Hope, as they say, sprang eternal with seven minutes left to post time. No one had yet lost.