Derby memories: Secretariat's rider dazzled fans 35 years later

In the absence of a Kentucky Derby renewal this first Saturday in May, Horse Racing Nation writers are looking back at some of their favorite runnings throughout the week.

Along with my parents, I attended the 2008 Kentucky Derby and Oaks with two others: Jim and Mary Gaffney. Jim had worked for trainer Lucien Lauren in the 70s, most notably as Secretariat's exercise rider. 

At the time, he was touring with the Secretariat Team, signing autographs and telling stories to fans from all over the world. He'd been invited to the Derby with owner Penny Chenery, jockey Ron Turcotte, and journalist Bill Nack. 

We stayed at the same hotel in Louisville.

Oaks day dawned like so many have recently, gray and dreary. But I was not deterred. At 7 a.m., when the infield gate opened, Mom, Dad and I were shuffling through puddles with folded-up lawn chairs and clear plastic bags full of provisions for the day.

We staked our spot at the chain-link fence facing the backside. I had just settled into my chair with a program and a pen to sketch out my wagers for the day when the sky opened up once again and the wind snatched at the tarp stretched above us. My mom turned to me said said, "This is not going to work."

I'm not proud to say I argued with her -- said some mean things -- but then tarp tipped over, spilling the rain onto the bags of food and soaking my program. The decision was made.

We folded the chairs back up, draped the tarp over us as best we could and scurried back out the infield tunnel and to the parking lot.

Dad drove us back to the hotel. Our nextdoor neighbors, the Gaffneys, were up and about and trying to decide what they should do that afternoon.

I asked Jim if he wanted to see the florists make the garland of Derby roses. It was indoors.

His eyes lit up with a youthful smile toward his wife. She was in, too, and we were off.

The Kentucky Derby's rose garland is created by florists at the grocery chain Kroger. This surprised the Gaffneys along with the momentous nature of the occasion in Louisville. The Middletown, Ky., Kroger east of downtown hosts a team of ladies who sew the American Beauty roses on the felt-backed garland shape, each bud encased in its own tiny vial of water. The public is invited to watch, and Churchill Downs even loans the solid-gold Derby trophy complete with police escort.

The store was teeming with people -- shoppers rolling out carts full of groceries for their own Derby parties and youngsters carrying out armfuls of ponchos and flip-flops for their infield jaunt. In the back of the store, between the deli and the dairy cases, was the staging area, two long tables for the garland and another where the roses were prepped. Around one side of the table stood the florists, gazing intently at their work, and along the other side of the table, behind velvet ropes, was a line of people shuffling slowly past to catch their glimpse of this famous floral arrangement.

Jim's eyes glittered. He laughed and flirted with the florists as he walked by, and then he asked the question that would turn this brief visit into a memory for a lifetime.

"Did you make the roses for Secretariat?" Jim asked. 

"Yes, I have been making the garland since 1970," said the woman closest to him.

In a flash, Jim whipped out of his pocket a photo of himself astride Big Red, and from another pocket, he drew his signing pen. He scribbled his name right there and gave the woman the photo. "That's me. I was Secretariat's exercise rider," he explained. "Thank you for making the beautiful garland for the great horse to wear."

I don't know where Jim kept these photos, but he seemed to have enough for all six of the ladies standing around the garland, and he'd honed his autographing skill to the point he barely had to move his hands to sign them. But it was clear that there was a holdup at the garland line... and the other people behind us were getting a bit antsy.

The store manager, dressed in a suit with a rose pinned to his lapel, strode up to us and wanted to know why we were holding up the line. Jim turned to him, flashed his Gaffney grin, and asked him if he knew who Secretariat was.

"Of course," he said. "Secretariat was my father's favorite racehorse."

Jim whipped out yet another photo, this one in vivid color - and asked the manager what his dad's name was. 

"My father passed away not too long ago," he said, "but you can still sign it to him, his name was Dan."

Meanwhile, the line was backing up farther, but it didn't matter anymore. The man who rode Secretariat was there. And everyone wanted to hear what gallant stories he had to tell about that legendary horse. They also wanted an autograph of their own.

Jim handed out more autographs as fans gathered around to listen. Dad stood behind him as if he were a bodyguard, keeping the people back enough for Jim to breathe.

Mary, my mom and I all backed away from the growing crowd and let Jim do his magic. "He loves this," said Mary. "He can't get enough of it!"

Soon, the stock of photos ran out, but not before nearly every person in that store had a chance to meet Jim Gaffney, Secretariat's exercise rider.

Jim loved promoting horse racing and especially sharing memories of Secretariat. He encouraged me to get involved in the sport and was a friend and mentor to me until he died in 2010.

On what had been 35 years since Secretariat's Triple Crown sweep, my golden memory is not of the horse crossing the Belmont wire 31 lengths in front, but of a wiry old man telling stories, surrounded by people in the Kroger deli.