Remembering Mr. D: Arlington patriarch could be tough, too

Las Vegas

The capital of gambling seemed an odd place to hear of the death of Richard Duchossois. Here on the Strip, table games and slot machines and sports gambling are closer than arm’s length. If I really wanted to, I could get them all on my phone and bet away.

Mr. D spent a big chunk of his 100 years trying to bring those same games to Arlington Park so he still could make a go of horse racing. He tried for the last half of his life to conquer the gaming business the way he was an instrumental part of a U.S. Army tank battalion that conquered the enemy in World War II.

Who knew domestic forces would be tougher to beat than the Axis?

RELATED: Arlington patriarch Duchossois dies at age 100.

Not long after he bought Arlington Park, it burned down. Duchossois then handed Chicago a brand new racetrack. The details of its six-story rise from the ashes of that overnight, multi-alarm, electrical fire in the summer of 1985 are legendary. The yarn has been told more often than the tales on the dog-eared pages of an old book.

That was the easy part of researching the Duchossois obituary Friday. The harder part was how he really did not want to make Arlington Park a gift. Keep it spotlessly clean and spit-shined to perfection? Sure. A day did not go by at Arlington without hearing someone tell of seeing Mr. D picking up worthless betting slips off the floor of the grandstand. His grandstand.

Duchossois did not let the Illinois state government forget it was his grandstand. His track. His gift. What he wanted in return was a little appreciation in the form of tax breaks. Or the OK to put in slot machines. Or the same easy path to profit that rival riverboats were spoon-fed.

Not often reported lately was the fact Duchossois got so fed up with cracking his head against the wall of Illinois politics that he shut down Arlington for 2 1/2 years at the end of the 20th century. By the dawn of the 21st century, he reopened the joint in time to sell it to Churchill Downs Inc.

Beloved as he was for building the most beautiful physical plant in all of horse racing, Duchossois could be cold-blooded when he had to be. It probably started early, when he had to be fearless as an Army officer who was wounded in battle as a young man in northern France.

In the ’50s, Duchossois had to roll up his sleeves to build companies that would make rail cars and military equipment. That was how he built his fortune. It was not handed to him.

That fierceness was apparent after he took over Arlington Park. After it burned down, Duchossois threatened to rebuild on the Wisconsin side of the state line. That was because the legislature in Springfield rejected his development proposal and the tax breaks that would have gone with it. He threatened to sell off the Arlington land to the Chicago Bears not once but twice before Churchill finally did it on the third entrée last fall.

Even in his 90s as an emeritus executive, Duchossois insisted on doing things his way. Like the chairmen at Augusta National presiding over Butler Cabin interviews with Masters champions, Mr. D insisted on raising a champagne toast to the big winners every August on Arlington Million day. It always was done in a marquee just off the paddock behind the grandstand.

But Mr. D was every bit Mister Duchossois on those occasions. We in the media who wanted to do interviews with the winners or even losing connections right after a big race were told in no uncertain terms that the boss would not allow it. Not before the champagne toast. How many times did I try to sneak in a question to a jockey or a trainer without being seen by Duchossois and his acolytes?

At a pre-Million Day party some years ago, Mr. D approached me to say hello and ask how things were and if there was anything he could do for me. I dared then to ask if he could be lenient with the terms of engagement for the champagne toast.

“No,” he said in a friendly but firm tone. “That’s not how I want it.”

And that was that.

Other chats with Mr. D were more convivial. There was the time in 2017 when he sped up in his white Corvette convertible to park at the quarantine barn near the track kitchen. He was there to schmooze. That I did.

“Mr. Duchossois,” I asked, “what is your read on who in government here is friendly to sports gambling?”

What followed was about a 30-minute master class in Chicago, Cook County and Illinois politics. It was all off the record, so I did not fire up a recorder or even take notes. I tried to follow along, but I was more impressed with how connected and plugged in this 95-year-old man was. There was still plenty on his fastball.

Another time years earlier, he was interested in hearing about my work for a radio station owned by the Australian racing industry. That was during one of his familiar visits to the press box to thank everyone for being there on Million Day.

Contrast that with the scene last August, when nine of us media types were on deadline to finish our work on what was still known as Million Day, even though there was no Arlington Million anymore. We were summarily thrown out for what we later were told was the misbehavior of one of us, something I did not witness the entire day.

Mr. D was not there at the time. At 99, his vulnerable health and the threat of COVID kept him away. I wonder what he would have thought.

I also wonder what he would have thought about Churchill Downs putting out tributes to him on Friday without so much as using the word “Arlington” in any of them.

Yes, Duchossois could be tough with his rules and set in his ways, and there were stories that he could be a taskmaster with his employees. But he clearly appreciated his customers and treated them well, what with his investments in the construction and upkeep of his racing palace and the time he took to offer his attentive hellos.

One of the sure signs of summer every year was the arrival of my media credentials for the Arlington Million. One of the sure signs fall was not far away was the note of gratitude Mr. D mailed to all of us who covered the big day. His big day. I still have the one he sent in 2014, when he was conspicuous by his absence from the media lair.

“I deeply regret that time just ran out on me,” it began, “and I didn’t get to the press box to thank you for being here.” It went on to say, “We felt so honored that you would come here to cover our races, and I would like to extend my thanks.”

I cannot remember any other track executive regularly mailing me hand-signed, thank-you notes. And yes, Mr. D signed them all.

He may have lived the richest of lives, and he may have made it to 100, but I deeply regret that time ran out on Dick Duchossois on Friday. Happily, he outlasted enemy soldiers and a big fire and most of the politicians with whom he clashed.

Sadly, his racetrack did not last as long as he did.