SI Vault
 
HAMBLETONIAN DAY IN GOSHEN BROUGHT OUT A SWELTERING CROWD, A GREAT TROTTER AND A DOG WITH AN ODD APPETITE
Jeremiah Tax
August 15, 1955
Out in the pleasantly rolling Orange County countryside, the prize crops of lettuce and celery—on which the area's black-dirt farmers depend for their livelihood—were shriveling under a relentless, blazing sun. The infield grass of Goshen's Good Time Track was as brown in spots as the surrounding hillsides, despite the best efforts of groundskeeper Victor Golemboski to bring it to this day—of all days—in close-cropped, green perfection. Sole consolation for sad-eyed, 69-year-old Golemboski as he surveyed his domain were the close-packed beds of rainbow-colored giant zinnias and phlox, bordering the track for 300 yards and brightening it all along the home stretch. Through two near-killing frosts, a month-long dry spell and against swarms of Japanese beetles, the keeper had nursed these flowers. "After today," he said, "the sun and those Jap beetles can have 'em."
Decrease font Decrease font
Enlarge font Enlarge font
August 15, 1955

Hambletonian Day In Goshen Brought Out A Sweltering Crowd, A Great Trotter And A Dog With An Odd Appetite

View CoverRead All Articles View This Issue
1 2

O'Brien drove Scott Frost to the front of the judges' stand, where they draped the blanket of roses around the colt's neck, and a swarm of photographers and rail jumpers surrounded him for a half hour. Watching his chance, Milt Leid grabbed the roses, slipped through the crowd before souvenir-seekers tore them to shreds. Back at the stables, he hung the blanket carefully on a low rope near the winner's stall, and began receiving congratulations from a stream of other trainers, grooms, drivers and plain harness fans.

Little Dog had been waiting patiently for his friend to return to the stall. He sniffed at the roses, liked what he smelled and took a tentative bite of the nearest blossom. Perhaps in the day's excitement they'd forgotten to feed Little Dog; maybe he just liked roses. Anyway, while Leid was shaking hands and saying thank you, and before Scott Frost was brought to his stall in triumph, Little Dog had made his dinner on eight red Hambletonian roses.

1 2