Word: ascot
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...August that sleepy little spa in upstate New York wakes up to become to U. S. racehorse people what Ascot is to the English, Longchamp to the French, Melbourne to the Australians. Saratoga can be as hot as the Sahara in August. Its hotels are great grotesque relics of the Mauve Decade with creaking elevators and hard beds. Its natives are openly out to make hay while the sun shines...
...Breeder. As it does with no other U. S. racehorse man, raising comes before racing with William Woodward. He likes to win races. When his turf career was crowned last year by Flares' (son of Gallant Fox) victory in the Ascot Gold Cup, the longest (2½ mi.) important flat race in the world,* Owner Woodward made a proud round of Manhattan's swankest clubs. But William Woodward had been breeding horses for 13 years before he began racing them...
Millionaire Woodward, who owns one of the finest stables of race horses in the world, had won two Derbies before (with Gallant Fox in 1930 and Omaha in 1935) and had won Great Britain's coveted Ascot Gold Cup last year with Flares, a son of Gallant Fox. But Turfman Woodward, a serious student of blood lines, took special pride in his long-legged Johnstown, whom railbirds nicknamed "Big John." It was his idea to breed his fleet-footed Jamestown with La France, a beautiful little mare who, because of a broken hip, never could race. Johnstown was their...
...Flares, five-year-old son of famed Gallant Fox (1930 Kentucky Derby winner), owned by U. S. Banker William Woodward: the Ascot Gold Cup, No. i race of the world's richest and most fashionable meeting of thoroughbreds; coming from behind at the two-mile mark and defeating Lord Glanely's Buckleigh by a nose after a breathless zigzag spurt in the stretch; at Ascot Heath, an hour from London. A 100-to-7 shot, Flares avenged the defeat of his full brother Omaha, who lost by a nose two years ago. Only one other U. S.-bred...
...clothing, at any rate. They are impeccable--the soft white spat, glove, nosegay--the starchy white shirt, collar, handkerchief--the black topper and morning dress coat--the sparkling shoes, still black on the soles--the pin-stripe trousers breaking at the proper inch above the instep--the soft, luxuriant Ascot--and concealed somewhere in all this the wallet, the very full wallet, the wallet full of grandfather's money (rest him), or father's money (good old Dad). Or perhaps even other people's money (poor suckers). But the sheen is still present, although better disguised. Sometimes...