By Murray D. West
“What used to be here, grandpa?” the young man quietly asked the old fellow. “Why is this stone fence here? It seems to have no apparent purpose, just meandering from here to there, disappearing for a distance, only to reappear further on down the way. It’s a beautiful old fence but it seems out of place here. Mighty strange.”

The old man looked wistfully along the limestone barricade, his tired eyes coming to rest upon two stone pillars, once a welcoming portal of entry to a grand vista, now leading nowhere, serving only to remind of a another time. Now beyond this fence, as far as the eye could see, lay the monotony of rooftops row upon row, masses of houses without distinction, without character.

“Once, years ago…an age ago…this used to be a grand farm, son. All this land, so much land it would take two hours of hard drivin’ to drive from one side to the other…all farm land. And glorious farms they were, mind you, with manicured pastures stretchin’ to the horizon, with mile after mile of black rail fencin’ followin’ the rollin’ contour of pristine land, disappearin’ over the hill just like a railway track winds ‘round a bend, reappearin’ on the next rise. And horses, magnificent Thoroughbreds, sometimes twenty, thirty or more in a field, buckin’ and kickin’, frolickin’ and racin’ just for the sheer joy of being alive in such a place. Oh my, the majesty of those times. It was so very special, son…so very special.”

“If it was so special, gramps, why didn’t it survive? Why isn’t it still here today? Seems to me that something that wonderful shouldn’t disappear. Seems to me like it should stay forever. Least, that’s how I see it.”

Grandpa placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I surely can’t disagree with you about that, my young man. You’d think anythin’ so fine would be cherished and protected like a national treasure. Come to think of it, that’s pretty much what the Bluegrass country was at one time. Mile upon mile of beautiful, productive horse farms, tens of thousands of acres of nutrient-laden soil, enriched by water rising from the deep limestone springs that flourish beneath this land. Thoroughbred nursery’s in numbers too great to count, stretchin’ from Paris in Bourbon County to Versailles and Midway in Woodford County, from Georgetown in Scott County to the hills of Clark and Jessamine, all this Bluegrass land surroundin’ the pulsatin’ heart of it all in Fayette County. There was a time that men and women, horse people, came from ‘round the world just to be a small part of this wondrous place, many returnin’ year after year as if on an annual trek to some sacred shrine or holy land. I know that to be true. I know it ‘cause before I decided to make my home here I was one of those who made that very pilgrimage.”

They walked slowly along the ancient stone wall, sometimes up close and touching then at times admiring from a distance, even the years of neglect not enough to hide the skill of those masons who had created this masterpiece of craftsmanship. The old man stopped to rest and leaned a fatigued old body against the tired and even older bulwark. “Why in that time the horse sales at Keeneland and Fasig-Tipton would go on for days, even weeks, as the finest Thoroughbred horseflesh in the world went to auction. Upon this stage would proudly stand the most desirable bloodlines to be found on this earth, prancin’ and rearin’ and twirlin’ in anxious circles as the auctioneer would sing his spellbindin’ song, with million dollar horses at one time so commonplace as to be almost an afterthought. Everybody was here, from oil rich Middle East sheikhs arrivin’ in their jumbo jets, to small-time cowboys from out West travelin’ half-way ‘cross the country with their two-horse trailers. There was a niche in the market for everybody and they all came, everybody trying their darndest to catch the big horse, to find the next Derby or Oaks winner. Yes sir, this was where it all happened for many, many years…for a century and more. Those were wonderful times, excitin’ times just to be a tiny part of, but…but all gone now…all gone…”

The young man stood beside his grandfather as they looked across the stone wall, turned to him and laid his hand across his weathered back. “Are you okay, gramps? You seem pretty, well…upset. Is everything okay?”

The old gent looked down and moved away from his grandson, again starting to slowly walk along the wall. “I’m okay son. I just feel kind of poorly whenever I think about all this. I feel so sad about what we lost…so angry that the people couldn’t understand what they had…how very unique and grand it all was. And I feel so damned guilty that it was my generation that let it happen, that it happened in my time, and that I wasn’t able to do anythin’ to stop it.” He closed his eyes and his aged mind transported him back to that era. “We had a wonderland, this Bluegrass of Central Kentucky, a piece of heaven that was the envy of the horse world. You could ask anybody from anywhere…and I mean anywhere…about Kentucky, what it was most identified with, and one word came to mind, one word that exemplified what Kentucky stood for…horses! Beautiful Thoroughbred horses…the very best!

“Oh, the local citizens acted so proud of it all when their guests would come to visit. They would drive their visitors around the countryside, proudly showin’ them all the magnificent farms, takin’ them on tours to see and have their photos taken with the very finest stallions, magnificent beasts often housed in palatial barns that by comparison put most homes to shame, and all the while these folks would carry on, braggin’ about this being the horse capital of the world! Heck, most folks at that time acted like all these farms were their birthright, that they existed for their pleasure and convenience. At moments like that they all seemed to be so proud of it, seemed to understand what they had, how fortunate they were,” he said softly, then paused for a moment, “but they didn’t understand…not at all. They took it all for granted, is what they did. Figured it had always been here and always would. They wouldn’t listen when the economy got real tough and the horse industry was especially hard hit and the horse people started to have big problems. Wouldn’t listen as these horse folks cried out for assistance, as they tried to explain how it was becomin’ so bad that the very future of the horse industry in Kentucky was threatened. These same horsemen tried to tell of some concessions, some urgent legislation, required for Kentucky to remain on top, assistance required to keep them on a level playin’ field with other states.

“Here again, though, the average citizen had this misconception about horse people…figured they were all rich, didn’t believe their call for assistance, figured that they could fend for themselves. They reasoned these farms had always been here and couldn’t conceive that they might ever be gone.” He turned to look at his grandson. “Now those same folks forgot that about 150,000 people made their livelihood from these farms and from the horses that were bred and raised on this land. They forgot that runnin’ these farms, lookin’ after these horses while keepin’ it all looking like a national park, costs a heap of money…a whole heap of money. How can you forgive folks takin’ such a gift for granted, takin’ it so much for granted that it becomes neglected, that it’s allowed to slip away…forever? Beyond me, son…beyond me.”

“Gramps, I’m still very confused. If it was all so beautiful as you say…and if all the people cared for it so much…what happened? Why was it allowed to disappear? That doesn’t make sense to me at all. If I had something so special, something so wonderful as you say, I’d sure be doing everything I could to look after it, to preserve it and protect it.”

“The horse people tried, son. They tried, but they couldn’t make the average citizen realize how dire things were…until it was just too late. You see, there was a time, many, many years ago…really just before and around the time I was born…when horse racing was king! Used to be tens of thousands of folks attended the races every day. Hell fire, on weekends it was nothing to have fifty thousand show up for a major race at any one of numerous tracks around the country. Things began to change, though, when television came along and with time racing became less popular with the general population. There became more and more competition for horse racing, more opportunities for people to spend their entertainment dollar and, if you believe the historians, racing failed to recognize the threat and did a poor job of promotin’ itself to the public. As a result there became fewer arenas of racing that were strong until finally, in the midst of a declinin’ number of strugglin’ race tracks all around the country, there were only a few pockets where racin’ really thrived. For a while none could compare with our racing in Kentucky…not New York, not California…nowhere. Churchill had the Oaks and the Derby, and Keeneland was…well, Keeneland was simply heaven on earth for those who cherished the horse.

“Around the turn of this century things got really bad. The economy in general took a real nasty turn, a terrible recession, and this coincided with a time when the horse industry was facin’ even more problems, especially with the emergence of major competition from casino gamblin’…from slot machines! The situation was especially bad in Kentucky. Casinos opened up in neighborin’ states, often at racetracks, and soon the people of Kentucky were goin’ to other states to gamble on the slots ‘cause the powers that be in our state couldn’t recognize the wisdom of havin’ slots right here, blind to the needs of the horse industry…blind to the importance of horse racin’ and breedin’ to our state…and ignorant to the revenue such slots would return to the state in the form of taxes. Now that attitude, that oversight, was terrible for the Kentucky horsemen because folks only have so much money to gamble and, if they do it somewhere else, well, they can’t do it here. When the gamblin’ goes down at a racetrack the purses are quick to follow, then goes the quality of racin’ and it sure isn’t too long before the breedin’ follows suit. To add further to this misery, a large part of the money gambled in those other states was gambled in slot machines which were set up on the racetrack facilities. For every dollar wagered on the slots the state government got a big hunk in taxes but the tracks also got a share, a smaller portion for supervisin’ the slots and puttin’ on the show. Well, the government of those states took that money, Kentucky money…money they earned from Kentuckians who were forced to another state to exercise their prerogative to gamble…and used it to improve their schools, improve their roads, improve their social systems, and in general used the money wagered by Kentuckians to assist the people of their state.”

The young man stopped walking and looked to his grandfather. “Seems to me like the citizens of Kentucky could have used that money just as well. Why not have slots at the tracks in our state?”

“A lot of people agreed with your line of thinkin’, my young man. But unfortunately there were very outspoken opponents of slots in this state, opponents with political clout. Beats me why some folks think they can dictate to others what they may or may not do, but there you have it. So, to carry on, what do you think the racetracks in those other states did with all the money they made from those slot machines? Never mind, I’ll tell you. They poured it back into their horse industry and the most important thing they did in that regard was to make that money available for purses, bigger purses for the horse people of their state to race for. Now, let me ask you. Let’s imagine you had a racehorse and you wanted to run him. Let’s suppose the amount of money you could win for your race in Kentucky was $12,000 but just across the border in Indiana you could win $15,000, or a little further away in Pennsylvania you could win $20,000. Now, if you owned such a horse, just where would you race him?”

“No brainer, gramps. I’d run in Pennsylvania if I could. I’d be crazy not to do that!”

“Exactly. And that’s just what happened to the horse industry in Kentucky. All the neighborin’ states with horse racin’ were getting’ these slot machines and the tracks were makin’ a great amount of money from them…now remember of course, not near so much as the taxes earned by the government of each state, but still a bundle of money…and the tracks were steadily increasin’ their purse money for the horses. It wasn’t too long before many of the horsemen from Kentucky started racin’ in these other states…and who could blame them? With the reduction in purse money at Kentucky tracks came smaller fields and poorer horses, the result bein’ that wagerin’ further decreased, and the cycle continued. The tracks made less and less money, the purses got smaller and smaller, until pretty soon nobody wanted to race here in Kentucky. With incentives for breedin’ developin’ in other states soon one, then another, big stallion started movin’ away from the Kentucky stud farms until finally there was an exodus of stallions out of our state to other states rich with lucrative breedin’ programs. With the studs go the mares and it wasn’t long before farms were going out of business, ultimately sold to folks who had no interest at all in racin’…didn’t give a damn about history and horses. Just interested in makin’ the most money they could from this now plentiful, and available, farm land. The beautiful barns were torn down, fencin’ was ripped away, and most of the stone walls destroyed, with just the odd one left for show…like this fine fence before us. Truth be known, for old timers like myself such structures mostly serve now as a painful reminder of a better time. Well, you can see for yourself the end result right here where we stand. The famous bluegrass pastures became overrun, not with beautiful mares and foals as before, but with intolerable housin’ subdivisions. It all happened so quickly, almost silently, that it was over before you knew it. And now it’s just a memory…gone forever.”

“Damn gramps, I just don’t understand! It seems so simple. Why didn’t Kentucky bring slot machines to their racetracks so the citizens of this state could benefit and the horse industry could compete with the surrounding states which had racetrack casinos? Just how blind were they? If they’d done that simple thing it seems to me to we’d have had the best of both worlds. The state would benefit greatly with increased taxes, the citizens would benefit from all the improved programs that tax money would bring, and the horse industry would have continued to thrive, and today we’d still have those grand farms, we’d still be the center of the horse industry…still the horse capital of the world!”

“We tried son. We tried. Somehow, though, the folks in Frankfort always found somethin’ more important to argue about than the problems of the horse people. Somehow the needs of the horse industry were always placed on the back burner, on the list to be discussed at the next session…or the next…well, you get the idea. Finally it was too late. We were too far behind, the industry had moved away, the farm land was sold off…and it was forever over as we once knew it. What a bloody tragedy. Nothing short of a terrible, bloody, avoidable tragedy!”

“Gramps. I never realized this before but I was cheated, robbed of a vital part of my heritage, by the ignorance of the people of this state! How could the people have allowed that to happen? I don’t understand how they could be so damned blind!”

“Neither do I son…neither do I!”

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The Kentucky Equine Education Project has called for Kentucky’s horse industry to rally in support of legislation in the Capitol Rotunda in Frankfort, Ky., on Wednesday, June 17, at 10 a.m. Individuals in the horse industry are urged to attend, but to call in advance and schedule meetings with their state Senators and Representatives. Click here to determine who represents your interests in Frankfort.