Saltwater in the Bluegrass (13 page)

At least those were her plans until Elizabeth died at age 48 in the summer of 1974 while sailing with her husband Baxter off the coast of Portsmouth, near Nantucket Sound, where their summer home was located.

On what had seemed like a perfectly normal, beautiful, sunny day of sailing, Lizzy had fallen overboard, and Baxter had not been able to save her or find her body.

Search and rescue from Martha’s Vineyard went out for days but never found a trace of her. Elizabeth’s father, Frank Browning, never forgave Baxter and swore he would destroy Baxter before he died.

As for the early years,
Baxter and Elizabeth would start a family, much to the delight of Lizzy’s parents, who said it was time to see some children playing around the home when they came to visit. Their visits came more often than Baxter liked. His in-laws were tolerable over the phone, but Baxter had never liked having to entertain them in Louisville. It was too close for comfort. In the fall of that year, Beth Ann was born, named after Elizabeth, and the next year the surprise was doubled: they had identical twins. Emily and Katherine were each seven pounds, three ounces. They were twins who would become inseparable. Graceful and charming were their qualities. Ageless companions who would spend their days and nights running and playing together from one end of the property to the other. Both girls were filled with joy. They were spirited, yet charming. Both girls knew the other’s thoughts. They knew when one was happy and why, but they also had the ability to feel the other’s sorrows and know what was bothering her. They were cornerstones to one another.

The closeness of the two girls was uncanny.

Their features, size, shape, coloring, ideas, and thoughts were so close that no one could tell them apart. The only way they could be identified was that Katherine had lost the top one-third of her little finger on her right hand when she was six years old. She had caught her finger in the car door and it had been cut clean off. Back in those days, there were no surgeons with the expertise to reattach the finger. All three girls were the envy of their parents, but to Baxter, the little twins were special. Both Baxter and Elizabeth were so happy. Three years later Lamar would be born. It would be quite a few years before Charlie would follow, making his presence known. Life was good around the Ingram Mansion.

The kids found that life was theirs for the taking. Up and down through the woods and fields, adventure after adventure. It was a treasured time.

Katherine always made it a point
to keep her eyes and ears open to what was going on around her. The I & L Horse Racing Syndicate was no different. Loopholes and tax shelters were just a small part of her reason for staying involved.

The biggest reason for Katherine’s involvement was the games she loved to play, this being the same game she had played as a little girl with her brothers and sisters around the Ingram Mansion. Unfortunately, she continued playing them throughout her adult life:

“see if you can catch me” and “hide and go seek.”

The money this investment was bringing in on a quarterly basis was a nice incentive. Then again, Katherine already had all the money she could ever spend. The thrill was seeing the money coming in that no one in the family knew she had, not even her husband. Looking back, the reason that so many people bought into the idea of owning horses before the late seventies was for the love of money. Owning horses was at one time a very easy way to hide money come tax time. Everything dealing with owning a horse was shown as a loss each year.

Back in the eighties when Lamar and Milford had started this little venture, the IRS was catching on. It was getting harder to show a loss, and people were finding other ways to structure their portfolios. Tax accountants were popping up in every other county.

The little hobby Lamar and Milford had started was based on the love of horses, and the thought of that made Katherine sick. How could these two grown men find time for hobbies when they needed to be in their offices making things happen? For that reason alone, Katherine wanted to blow up the venture right in their faces. She wanted to be there when it happened. She wanted to make it happen.

Lamar and Milford each owned thirty percent of the Syndicate as earlier agreed upon, and Katherine had her ten percent. Of the thirty percent left to distribute, it was decided that Steve Terry and Dennis Raggert, the owners of The Cardinal Company who had completed the expansion of the top four floors to the Kentuckianna Tribune building, would get first opportunity to purchase ten percent of the shares for two and a half million dollars. This left twenty percent to be sold in individual shares to friends and business acquaintances. Neither Lamar nor Milford could believe it when they were able to find so many people interested in the Syndicate and then being able to sell them on the idea of putting in two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on a possible long shot. Now they had enough capital to buy more horses and train the ones they had already purchased. The reason all the shares had sold so quickly would not come out for many years to come. The I & L Horse Racing Syndicate had sold the shares with blinders on; Katherine had once again muddied the water. It was so very simple in Katherine’s eyes. She had bought all twenty shares through associates fronting the purchases for her. Katherine had an entourage of people, a consortium of talent, from high-stakes business associates to friends and partners in the gambling and racketeering world. Katherine was so deeply involved in the Louisville area that she not only had a large portion of the political party candidates and the acting police commissioner bought off, but she also had ties leading all the way to Washington on both party platforms.

Katherine had these people purchase the shares using bogus company names that she had helped set up. These people would purchase the shares from Lamar and Milford. Then, when it came time to fill in the information, these associates of Katherine would put one of twenty company names or private institutions as deed holders when, in all actuality, all of the companies were owned by Katherine in a holding company she had set up earlier. She had spent five million dollars just to spite her brother and husband. Milford was on top of his game, he did a masterful job with the Syndicate. By the late nineties the I & L Horse Racing Syndicate and River City Farms, which Milford owned and operated in

Simpsonville, Kentucky, had produced seventy-two winners, none of which had won any of the three grand races of the Triple Crown. Still in all, people continued to sit up and take notice when his horses competed. Stake races and features were very profitable in the spring, summer, and fall meets throughout the country.
Dan Darby and his brother Sam
had always liked
Lamar. They hated the fact that Lamar had taken it so hard when Pocket Change died. Lamar could never get close to the action after that, or so he thought.

Throughout Lamar’s years as lieutenant governor, he had continued to stop by the Hallowed Grounds Farm when passing through from Frankfort on his way to Lexington.

The Bluegrass Scenic Highway was still one of the most beautiful drives in the state. Lamar always made it a point to stop and see how Dan and his brother Sam were doing when he was in the area. Sam was fifteen years older than Dan and was getting up in years. These days, Sam spent most of his time on the porch rocking away. Dan was still working the farm and still looking forward to another fine year and a bumper crop of possible racing champions. In the spring of 2005, as the leaves and foliage began to return to the trees and the days began to last longer, the sun began to warm the hearts of friends. Dan and Sam gave Lamar a call one day and told him that they needed to see him, that they had a gift for him, and to stop over sometime in the next few days.

Lamar said he would.

When Lamar turned in the driveway he could see many of the new yearling and foals as they were dancing around their mothers, playing and enjoying the warmth of the day. As Lamar pulled up to the house, he saw Sam sitting on the porch doing what he was always doing, looking out over his fields, glad that he had been able to live one more day on such a beautiful piece of God’s green earth. Lamar blew the horn.

Sam waved his usual hello wave and Dan shouted, “Hey, stranger,”

as he appeared outside from the door of the tack room behind the house.

“Sure is a pretty day, isn’t it?”

“Sure is, Lamar.”

“How’s life treating you today, Dan?”

“It couldn’t be better if I was a pig in mud.”

“Know exactly how you feel.”

“Looks like another bunch of winners you got this year.”

“Yeah, it sure does. These are ‘hallowed grounds’ for sure, Lamar. Well, are you interested in seeing what we brought you out here for?”

“Sure, I always was one for opening gifts on Christmas Eve.”

“Lamar, remember back when Dancers Reflection won the Triple Crown?”

“How can I forget? It put this place on the map.”

“Well, I have this little beauty of a yearling over here.” Dan started to walk over towards the corral.

“Merry Christmas, Lamar,” Dan said.

“What?” Lamar asked.

“Yeah, he’s yours. Sam and I want you to have him. He’s sired in the blood lines of old Dancer, and with that and this place running through his veins, you may just be standing in that Triple Crown Winner’s Circle yet.”

Lamar was speechless.

“Boy I thought I had seen everything, but here we have a former politician at loss for words. You deserve it, Lamar. Take this gift with our blessing, and then do me one favor.”

“What is that, Dan?”

“This time finish the race.”

On the way home,
Lamar was still in shock, not for the fact that Sam and Dan were such good friends and had given him such a fine young thoroughbred, but for the fact that he was back in the racing business.

Before Lamar had driven out of Lexington, he already had a name picked out. With the time he had spent, before and after the loss of Pocket Change, he knew if he ever started a new campaign, there was only going to be one name for this thoroughbred. On the registration form in the Racing Commission Office in Frankfort, Kentucky, Lamar would write the words, Cost Me Plenty.

Lamar drove to Simpsonville just so he could break the news to Milford. Milford was at his property working. As Lamar arrived, he saw Milford pulling up to one of the boarding barns in the hay bailer. Lamar was blowing his horn and acting like a teenager. By the time the dust settled, Lamar was already out of his truck telling Milford what had taken place.

Milford was so pleased for Lamar.

When Katherine heard the news, she made it a point to throw Lamar a social gathering up at the stables. She was the hostess of hostesses at the party and made Lamar feel welcome to be back in the racing world.

“Now, Lamar, you have to let me put your name back on the Syndicate’s Membership involvement role along beside mine. It would feel terrible having you standing on the outside looking in, and, well, you are my brother. You deserve to be part owner again. I will draw up the paperwork tomorrow and have you sign it, and before you know it, you will be part of the I & L again. I will not take no for an answer.”

Tuesday morning
I left for the office early, something that I am proud to say does not happen all the time. I arrived long before traffic on the Ten had a chance to jam up heading across the causeway. With all that had happened with Uncle Buddy and my cousin Kristina yesterday, I had not taken the time to return calls from the office on Monday and knew if I did not call soon, the thought of Mom might start haunting me again with another one of her “make me proud”

lessons, AKA Guilt 101.

In all the excitement with Buddy and Kristina, I had forgotten to call back Hadric Vaughn, the gentlemen who had called twice on Sunday.

I have always tried to keep the business side of my life organized and structured, but working only a hundred steps from the ocean during business hours is not always something easy to control. This is where Texi comes in, but she wasn’t here.

Today was no exception to the rule. It was early. It was eighty degrees outside. I still had lots of options on what I could do with my day. The thought of work wasn’t working.

The wind was blowing at about five knots. Off in the distance, Stone Island Kay was a postcard in the making. Paradise in the sand, only fourteen steps from my door, down two flights of stairs, to the right, across a patch of landscaped grass, and past all those blasted seashells and t-shirts. Yes, I have clocked it out about a hundred times, mostly when Texi is gone to lunch or when she is out running errands.

What I have learned is that on a good day I can make it from the carpet to the sand in about eight seconds. And on a bad day, well, on a bad day I would still be at home sitting on my boat listening to some music, drinking a cold beverage, working on my tan, and contemplating life and all it has had to offer since college. I am not the guilty feeling type. I do not need a lot of substance. I know how to make money. Stringer’s have been getting up and going to work for hundreds of years. It’s what we do. We ask for nothing, and we don’t take handouts.

It was around nine fifteen when I finally made the call to Hadric Vaughn. I was able to get through after several tries. Before I knew it the secretary on the other end picked up and said please hold and music came on—music that I did not want to listen to—before I had a chance to say anything.

“Hold this, lady,” I thought. I was trying to help a man that I did not even know, and she wanted me to hold and listen to elevator music while she took care of something else. I was not interested. Before I had a chance to say anything, I hung up, the nerve of some people. I walked across the room, grabbed the coffee pot and a mug, poured myself a cup, and then continued working out the morning’s cobwebs.

Several minutes later the phone started ringing.

“What now?” I thought.

I picked up the phone and said in my ever-so-pleasant voice: “Yes, this is J. C. Stringer. Can I help you?”