But You Gotta Wear A Tie

            Rules, of course, have their proper place in our society, and there’s no argument against tracks that require a slightly more sophisticated dress code for the more selective areas of their plants.  It is, after all, their prerogative.  But it seems to me that ‘appropriate dress’ should be a judgment decision, based on personal observation of the individual, not a hard and fast dictate that often conflicts with the majority rule, particularly in a sport so concerned with ‘attracting new fans’.

            The epitome of this rigidity occurred in 1977 at Hollywood Park, which happens to be my favorite track.  It seems that a fellow named Jean Cruget, accompanied by his wife, had the audacity to attempt entering the Private Turf Club without a necktie.  Fortunately, an alert usher recognized the seriousness of the situation and with unswerving devotion to his solemn duty of protecting the regular patrons from the gentleman’s unseemly appearance, barred their entrance just in the nick of time.

            As it happened, one of Mr. Cruget’s objectives at the track that particular day was to meet with some acquaintances who happened to own the first undefeated Triple Crown winner in the entire universe, a horse named Seattle Slew, which Mr. Cruget planned to climb aboard later in the afternoon for some minor jaunt known as the $300,000 Swaps Stakes.

            It should be obvious to even the most casual racing fan that if there’s anything that will send a Turf Club’s reputation to hell in a handbasket, it’s some slovenly character who flies around the planet riding horses managing to infiltrate such a bastion of democracy without a tie on.  I mean, is nothing sacred?

            One can only be thankful for the alertness and dedication of usher Patsy Di Tommaso in denying admittance to this intruder.

            Certainly it was no small effort on Mr. Di Tommaso’s part.  According to him Cruget tried to push his way past him and, when Mr. Di Tommaso resisted, Mrs. Cruget, being a devoted wife, allegedly hit him in the head with her purse.

            Just before the Crugets (who had flown into Los Angeles at 4:00 that morning, were almost unable to get any coffee at the hotel, and sacrificed several more hours of sleep to talk with several hundred racing fans at a morning breakfast) were about to be hauled off to Stony Lonesome, someone recognized Mr. Cruget as the jockey who was supposed to guide a Thoroughbred worth approximately $10 million around the track in front of 68,000 people and managed to prevent them from having to spend the next ten years at hard labor.  I don’t know, maybe they had a spare tie.

            For his part, usher Di Tommaso treated the entire incident in the tradition that has made this nation what it is today.

            He sued the Crugets for $2 million.

            However, he was certainly fair about it, only asking a million for facial cuts and an injured nose after being allegedly clobbered by a woman’s purse, certainly one of the more lethal weapons in modern society, and another million for ‘general damages’, whatever that means.

            I was at Hollywood Park on the day of the Cruget incident (although, mercifully, not trying to get into the Private Turf Club), and upon reading the newspaper accounts my companion pointed out that they probably wouldn’t have let Seattle Slew in that day.

            Which got me to thinking, suppose they had tried to bring the horse into the track via the Turf Club, past a dedicated guardian whose instructions simply read something like ‘you gotta wear a tie’.

            Scene:  Trainer Billy Turner is leading Seattle Slew into the Hollywood Park Turf Club, when a guard approaches him.

            “Excuse me, sir, but I’m afraid that horse can’t be admitted.”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “The horse, sir.  You’re not allowed to take him into the Turf Club.”

            “Well, I realize it’s a bit unusual, but this horse happens to be Seattle Slew.  Y’know, the Triple Crown winner that all these people came out here to see today.”

            “Yes sir, I understand why there’s a big crowd today.  However, that doesn’t preclude the fact that, even if that were Seattle Slew, which I doubt, there’s no way I can allow him in the Turf Club.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because he doesn’t have a tie on.”

            “A tie?”

            “Yes sir.  The rules are very specific,” the guard says, pulling out a booklet.  “According to paragraph 3 (d) 2, subsection (e), it very clearly states that ‘no male patron will be admitted to the Private Turf Club in improper attire, namely, said patron must be wearing a necktie’.”

            “Suppose I told you this was a female patron?”

            The guard looked up and down at Seattle Slew.

            “Sir, in view of the fact that you have brought this horse here totally nude, I can damn well see that this is not a female patron.”

            “Suppose I put some clothes on him?”

            “That has no bearing on the matter, sir, unless, of course, he wears a tie.”

            “How about if I dangle this halter under his chin?  Would that pass?”

            “Naw, too cowboyish, what do you think this is, Ardmore Downs?”

            “Look, I know you have your instructions, but this is the first undefeated Triple Crown winner in the entire history of Thoroughbred racing.  68,000 people are out here to watch him run.  Surely he can get into the Turf Club.”

            “Well,” the guard hesitated, “how can I be sure this is Seattle Slew?”

            “Show him your tattoo, Slew.”

            Seattle Slew grins at the guard.

            “Okay?” Turner asks.

            “Well, I’m still not sure.  Tell me, why don’t you take him on the track from the stable area entrance instead of trying to come in through the Turf Club?”

            “We tried that for awhile, but after the Belmont, well. You wouldn’t believe all the cars in the way…”

            “Yeah, I read about that.  Tell you what.  Seeing as how this really does appear to be Seattle Slew, why don’t you wrap your tie around his neck and I’ll let him in the Turf Club.”

            “Well,” said Turner, removing his tie, “that’s very decent of you.”

            “It’s the least I can do for a superstar,” the guard replied, as Turner wrapped his tie around Seattle Slew’s neck.

            “He can go in now?” Turner asked.

            “Of course,” the guard responded, stamping Slew’s left hoof with a purple stamp of approval.

            “Thanks,” Turner said, starting to lead his horse into the Turf Club.

            “Just a minute,” the guard said.  “Where do you think you’re going?”