Dear John
“That’s a good guy.”
And that was good enough for us.
Rick Violette said that about John Hendrickson somewhere along the 24-year odyssey of The Saratoga Special and somewhere along Hendrickson’s 30-year odyssey in Saratoga Springs.
It might have been in the middle of distribution-gate, when misinformed management tried to kick us out and we needed to rally leaders and readers. Hendrickson started filling sandbags just like Violette knew he would. The owner, philanthropist and NYRA board member called my brother, told him what he thought of the situation and what he would do about it. We were back in business a day or so later. We thanked him, he brushed it off, said he didn’t do much. And maybe he didn’t, but he did something. And that’s the important part. He did something. Some people will tell you they’ll do everything. Others will try to do something. We learned the difference through Hendrickson, Violette and other allies during our most perilous professional moment.
Or perhaps it was at a rec-hall picnic, ladle in hand, when backstretch workers began to feel like family. Or maybe it was at the unveiling of the Native Dancer statue at the top of Congress Park. Or possibly when the idea of a backstretch medical clinic was discussed. Or when some other cause needed some other cape.
If you ever fell on wrong side of Violette, you knew expletives came a lot of quicker than superlatives. The veteran trainer and horseman’s leader didn’t waffle or waver when it came to issues. Bad cause. Good cause. Bad idea. Good idea. Bad guy. Good guy.
“That’s a good guy.”
And Hendrickson proved it over and over.
Hendrickson died Monday.
I had just come back from a rare run along the Spring Run Trail. Sopping wet, I wrung out my shirt, poured a glass of water and checked my phone. I read a text and then went straight to Twitter. I instinctively thought it said something different. Hendrickson had donated…Hendrickson had chaired…Hendrickson had awarded…Hendrickson had died? What? I read the headline again, took a moment, and read it again. It just didn’t compute, didn’t register.
I thought back to the most recent National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame board meeting. When was that? It quickly felt like a long time ago. It was 11 days ago. Eleven days earlier, Hendrickson collected his diverse board, delivered his succinct report and then got out of the way for his team to deliver theirs.
Professional and precise, Cate Masterson, Brien Bouyea, Maureen Pasco, Jessica Cloer, Annie Davis, Matt Reichel, Tricia Warrens and Maia Generoso presented what had happened and what would happen. What a team. Hendrickson’s team.
Hendrickson took over as chairman of the Hall of Fame in 2017 and promised meetings would last one hour or less. And he stuck to it, like Big Ben over Westminster.
Early in my term on the advisory board and unaware of Hendrickson’s ticking clock, I offered a suggestion during new business. Let’s just say it didn’t elicit much dialogue. We discussed it later and I think it even happened somewhere along the line. It was clear from that day forward that Hendrickson was in charge.
Hendrickson set out to revamp, revitalize and revolutionize the National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame. Without braggadocios or bombast, he said he wanted to make it the best Museum and Hall of Fame in the world. It was a get-on-board or get-out-of-the-way prognostication.
He helped raise the money and he helped put together a young and vibrant team who ran with the ball. He allowed them to run with the ball. He ran curt and concise meetings and as I learned there wasn’t too much for us to do because Hendrickson and his team had it under control. Motions were carried and most importantly carried out.
That’s what I was thinking when I left the most recent board meeting, when I walked across the back parking lot to our office on East Avenue. Hendrickson and his team turned the Hall of Fame from an exclusive building – trophies and paintings – to an inclusive experience.
Years ago, when visitors would come to Saratoga and suggest a trip to the Hall of Fame, I would brush it off. Now, it’s part of the Saratoga scene. Interactive displays. Saturday morning socials. Racing partnership meet and greets. Exhibit tours. Wine and cheese get togethers. Handicapping seminars. Happy hours. Cocktail parties. Coffee and doughnuts. And exhibits that rival any other Museum and Hall of Fame in the world.
And now our leader is gone.
One of those sucker punches, an out-of-the-blue blow, a left-field landmine. I wasn’t that close to Hendrickson, never shared a meal (well, I guess a Museum Ball or two), never laughed at an inside joke and never traveled in his circles. But he had become part of this place, this place that we cherish, that we honor, that we respect. Look around, his legacy, along with his late wife and her family, is everywhere. They say make the world a better place. Hendrickson certainly made Saratoga a better place.
One of the more eclectic patches on this unpredictable quilt, Hendrickson somehow made it his own and made it work.
“That’s a good guy.”
