May

28

Perhaps it was a good 25, 30 years ago, Gramps and made the track to L'ville, this particular time, arriving early, for the Friday races, the Oaks — roses for the Fillies.

We had gotten there early, the first race hadn't gone off, and there was a platoon of school kids visiting Churchill (before the garish remodeling). Their teacher was a woman, and this kids couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 years old. They young buys, couldn't reach the urinals, they simply weren't tall enough.

In the days before blue M&Ms, when you would offer to do such things without fear of being accused of something, we offered to hold the youngsters up, in front of the urinal, one by one, asking each a question, "Where do you go to school?" or "What's your name," to ease the tension and so they could do what they had to do.

There must have been a dozen or so of them we each held up, and finally Gramps lifted one, who, I couldn't help but noticing, was particularly blessed.

"What grade are you in young man?" Gramps asked the little fellow he was holding suspended above the urinal.

"I'm riding Silver Spurs in the seventh, I've been outta school as long as you old man," the little man shot back, "But thanks for the lift."


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