It’s been 41 years since my first trip to Nashville, Tennessee. Dad loaded up the Augustin Stable six-horse Imperatore horse van with a bunch of runners for George Strawbridge, Jr. and the best runner in the barn for me. Red Raven, a 14.199-hand Thoroughbred twin who ran a hole in the wind, carrying four champion jockeys, a champion trainer, and a bunch of lucky kids (hey, Jeb!) to victory in his storied career.
On a day when Census won the Iroquois, Red Raven shot through the inside of a posse of Quarter Horses, riders in pie-plate belt buckles, rein-slapping each side of their Western saddles, in the Large Pony Race. The 14-year-old jockey (seven years younger than his steed) was along for the ride as Red shot through a slivering gap inside and scampered to another win.
They handed me a check for $500 in the winner’s circle. I tried to hand it to my dad, and he stopped me.
“That’s yours,” Dad said.
I put the money in the bank. Compounded interest ever since.
It was a trip of a lifetime. Dad and I listened to Boxcar Willie and Roy Achuff at the Grand Ole Opry. We had dinner at Darryl’s and breakfast at Cracker Barrel. I bought tee shirts for my friends. Monday morning, I walked into Mr. Cipollini’s eighth-grade homeroom at Unionville Middle School, my head a thousand miles away at Percy Warner Park. The die was cast. The hook was set.
And here we are, 41 years later. Dad will be watching from Rehoboth Beach and we’ll both be hoping Zabeel Champion and Penicillin Success can somehow emulate the fastest race pony in all the world.
People ask all the time. “Who was the best horse you ever rode?” I stutter and stammer and then settle. Red Raven. The first. Because if it wasn’t for him, there would be no others.
Watch Red Raven and listen to the cracking voice of an awed 14-year-old.
