NYT 'First Person' -- Me, My Dad and American Pharoah

[Kasept]

Me, My Dad and American Pharoah
By Gary Ginsberg

JUNE 12, 2015 -- When American Pharoah crossed the finish line in the Belmont Stakes on June 6, becoming the first Triple Crown winner in 37 years, I cried.

After talking with friends who also watched the race, most of us men in our 50s and 60s, I discovered I was not alone. Many of us were overcome by emotion and, as it turns out, mostly for the same reason: We were thinking about our dads.

For a generation of American men born during the Great Depression, racing was much more than a five-week diversion from the first Saturday in May to the first Saturday in June. It was an obsession.

And the obsession was shared with us, their children, so that in many cases horse racing came to define the relationship we had with our fathers in the little free time they had to share with us.

For me and for so many of my friends Saturday, the one person with whom we all wanted to share this historic moment was no longer by our side. The joy and thrill of the race was tempered by a profound sadness.

My dad, Irwin Ginsberg, has had four great passions in life: the law, tennis, his family and thoroughbred racing, though not necessarily in that order.

He developed his fascination with horses as a kid in Buffalo during what was arguably the sport’s heyday, following the exploits of horses like War Admiral and Citation. Between the ages of 7 and 18, he had already witnessed an astonishing five Triple Crown winners, and he was hooked.

He wanted to make sure I got hooked, too. Sunday, the one day of the week he didn’t go into his law office, was race day. We’d pile into our Chrysler New Yorker and head from our home in Buffalo to the Fort Erie Race Track in Ontario.

Once there, Dad would walk me through the intricacies of the racing form (speed ratings, past performances, class levels) before placing a series of exotic bets on the fillies and mares traveling the hard-bitten southern Ontario race circuit. When he lost, which was more times than not, he’d angrily crumple the betting slips, ending up with a small mountain under his seat by the end of the day.

But we were in front of our Zenith TV for the best race of all, the 1973 Belmont. Secretariat had already run the fastest Kentucky Derby and Preakness in history, and came to the race of champions as the prohibitive favorite.

For my dad, it represented the best chance to end a 25-year Triple Crown drought. My 11-year-old self sensed the moment’s historic significance, so I brought my tape recorder.

Listening to that cassette today, I can hear the tension in my father’s voice as the horses make their way to the starting gate (he yells at me to move away from the screen though the race is still a minute from post).

Then the race starts, and it quickly becomes a two-horse contest with Secretariat pulling away after the half-mile pole. We’re quiet at first, but the silence breaks when I shout, “He’s going to win.” My father shushes me, and we both go quiet again until Secretariat rounds the final turn.

My father starts repeating: “Oh, my God. Oh my God,” while I’m unable to control my prepubescent excitement and begin screaming again at the screen.

In the years that followed, we watched Seattle Slew and Affirmed win their Triple Crowns and continued our Sunday tradition at the track — eventually with me adding to the mountain under our seats, thanks to my paper route earnings. Then I left Buffalo for college, law school and life in New York. And another Triple Crown drought set in.

A decade ago, my father found out he had Alzheimer’s. His mom, dad and brother had all had the disease. He had feared it his entire adult life, and now he was to suffer the same fate. He was forced into a retirement he never wanted. But his love of horses endured. Three summers running, I took him to the Saratoga Race Course until the betting became too complicated for him.

But the Belmont still held a special place. Even as his brilliant mind declined, twice he managed to travel by himself from Buffalo to New York with hopes of witnessing one more Triple Crown alongside his son. And twice we were denied.

Standing side by side, watching first Smarty Jones and then Big Brown lose in heartbreaking fashion, were among the happiest moments of my dad’s retirement and of my adult life.

Just after the Belmont this year, my face still flushed from crying, I called my mom in Buffalo to see if Dad had watched. No, they hadn’t watched the race. He wouldn’t know a horse from a rabbit, she said. Instead, they were sitting at the table having dinner, my father oblivious that his 37-year wait for another Triple Crown winner was over.

I started to cry all over again.

Gary Ginsberg is an executive vice president at Time Warner Inc.

[freddymo]

Yep Racing's dead.. What a glorious read

[bare it all]

Oh my gosh the feels.

[herkhorse]

Wow

[OldDog]

That is incredibly powerful.


In the past five years I have lost three very important people -- one was my Dad -- who had profound impacts on me. Talking to family shortly after this Belmont, more than once someone said something to the effect of, "Wouldn't _________ have loved to see this?" I assured them that it was alright -- he/she had indeed seen it. But Mr. Ginsberg, oh man how this must hurt.

[ghartman02]

Ok, how did he know my life? We had a zenith, I was 14, I recorded it on reel to reel, my Dad shushed me, I was jumping up and down when he was at the top of the lane. Only difference down the back stretch I was yelling that Ronnie was going too fast!

[jnunan4759]

That story shook me up because when I was up at Belmont seeing something special, I wished my Dad was there with me. He would have loved it. He passed 3 yrs. ago at 90 and the last Belmont I took him to was 2004 with Smarty Jones. Horse racing was our bond and I'd call him during the week during the 70's, 80's, 90's and 2000's and say "You want to go to Belmont on Saturday ?". We saw all the best. We'd go anywhere within 3 hours of Philly. Pimlico, Delaware, AC, Meadowlands, Garden State, Laurel, Belmont, Aqueduct, Fair Hill, Parx.

He saw Seabiscuit race.

I took him up to see Slew win the Triple Crown.

That was always our bond. He was in WWII and went through horrible things. He never talked about it, but he'd call me twice a week and we'd talk horses. I owned and bred horses and he loved when I'd take him to the farm or to see them race.

A few days before he died he was in a funk and wasn't doing too well, but I went into his room and he pointed to the window and said "They have turf racing here". I looked out and it was just a green field and said "Excellent !!!". I asked him if he remembered Manila. He said "Oh yes, he ran this morning, he won". They can't take our memories away.

[ghartman02]

Same here. My Dad is a WWII vet. 2 years ago he fractured his vertebrae and is unable to drive anymore. Once a week, I take him to the track to bet, and make bets a few more times a week. It's our bond. He's a bettor, I like the stories and the horses. He wasn't doing great in 2013, so I got tickets for the Derby. He was like a new man that day! So I think many of us have the father-son racing bond. Thanks for your memories!

[jnunan4759]

Excellent ghartman02. I couldn't get my Dad to go anywhere beyond a day-trip. My grandfather lived to be 95 and never spent a night away from home (fell between WWI and WWII) and only had been in 5 states in his life. All travel for racetracks, NJ, DE, PA, NY and MD.

[ghartman02]

Well luckily we live in Cincy, so I grew up at River Downs, Latonia (now Turfway), Keeneland and Churchill. Had a trip planned to Saratoga, which he backed out of. I'm regretting not forcing that one!

[jnunan4759]

I used to go up to SAR for the entire 4 weeks and tried to get my Dad to go, but I don't think he wanted to leave home. He used to tell me in WWII he was away from home enough.

However, when I was up there we'd talk on the phone every night and discuss the races and the horses.

[ninetoone]

Great piece!

[outofthebox]

A touching read...I too found myself choked up, and eyes swelling with tears. Alone in my office with my arms thrust in the air screaming to bring it home. It quickly brought me back to '78 pounding with both fists on the carpet routing for Affirmed to out game Alydar. Where did those 37 years go?