Deer Run Trail, By David R LewisNodaway Trail, by David R LewisOn the Calico Trail, by David R LewisOn the Payback Trail, by David R LewisOn the Ogallala Trail, by David R LewisOn the Killdeer Trail, by David R LewisOn the Cutthroat Trail, by David R LewisGlory Trail, by David R LewisEndless Journey Toward an Unknown Destination, by David R LewisIncidents Among the Savages, by David R LewisFear of the Father:  Call Me Crockett, by David R Lewis

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Old Joe

Hoofbeats in the Fog

It was damp, it was foggy, it was chilly, it was perfect.  My wife and I crunched our way across the gravel parking lot of the Jock’s kitchen heading for the racetrack.  It was barely dawn, and we’d just had breakfast with LaVette Drummond, a 40-year old Louisianan, who looked 60 and trained racehorses.  We were at a track just outside St. Louis.  Sitting in the dining area of the Jock’s kitchen had been a trip back to the 1940s.  The room was festooned with chrome plated, steel topped tables, metal chairs with cracked plastic seats, linoleum peeling from the floor, a black cat clock rolling his eyes and swinging his tail by the second, and amazingly low prices for bacon and eggs swimming in grease.

The area was peopled by trainers in snap-brimmed fedoras, yawning exercise kids in helmets, and jockeys in everything from riding clothes to multi-thousand dollar suits.  The tiny men collected their food from immense, sweaty, lumbering kitchen women more than twice their size, and bantered with one another ceaselessly back and forth across the room.

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