I was walking out of the track last week and the heat could cook an egg on the sidewalk. Miserable. But, after getting on the elevator an older gent I hadn’t seen in donkey years yelled; “Hold that please.” – He was ambling as my hand held the door. A little out of breath and a big smile greeted me as he walked inside. Boy, oh boy. I haven’t seen you in a long time.

I started the conversation about how hot and nasty it was that day; his response was simple. Give me a call in January. He was right. Point taken. – He said I can long ago when you were a parking lot kid. – He was right. Many moons ago I would collect the $1.50 per car and have a quick chat as he pulled up. From a white Lincoln, he would jog from to the ission windows to get his day underway. Man, it seemed like a lifetime ago. And looking back, it was. It was ours. A nice good-looking gent fit as a fiddle, and a younger man with a farmer’s tan who could stand all day on the blazing blacktop. – We are slower now, but still doing mostly the same. We stepped out on the ground floor, and he leaned against a table for a bit watching the screens showing races from around the world. “Hey, watch this race from New York. Good horses on the turf.” – I bellied up and we just talked about life. His was how much he had loved coming to the races and many of his friends from the past are gone now. “That’s the way of life and the races.”

Thinking while we watched the post-parade. He was right. Nothing lasts forever and enjoy the race while it is here. – He asked what I do during the winter and told him I go to Turfway Park as a placing judge. “Oh, one of the big guys, huh?” – No, just a parking lot kid doing what he has always loved. He smiled as we watched the race; a huge price horse circled the field and got up close to the wire. “Now that was a barn burner, huh?” – Yep, he will pay big balloons at the windows as my friend was still catching his breath.

I told him to stop upstairs and catch a race with me from the best seat in the house. – “I won’t be in the area much longer and looks like my racetrack days are over.” – My mind recalled the million times I watched him jog into the track as days turned into years into decades. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but something deep in my belly knew I wouldn’t see him again. “My kids want me to sell my house and I’ll be moving in with them in Maryland. Not sure if I’ll be back this way again, but I have surely loved the Cincinnati area. Baseball, and horses. A man’s paradise.” – I could still see his white Lincoln and the trim man making the jog to catch the double. He was just one of the million faces I would see over the years and for him to a face that Father Time had kissed was surprising. He shook my hand and wished me the best of luck. – His gait was slower as he walked a little and stopped a time or two on the way out to handicapped parking.

He still drove, but he would have been the first to tell you it takes him quite a while to get there. He climbed into a smaller car, as a Lincoln was just too big to handle. – He drove away as I walked to the car. A little slower myself these days, but grateful to stop along the way watching as the sprinklers douse the turf course and the track being harrowed for the next day’s races. – I’ve always said the best part of racing was the people you meet along the way. Today was just a little treat as two old fellas chatted and talked horses. I sure wish you the best my friend, and I hope your new place in Maryland is close to a track or an OTB.