Covering the Preakness: Some Teenage Dreams Do Come True

(Left): The author as a teen in Adams County, PA, and (right) Angie Kozlowski and Diane Mezzanotte in the media room at the Preakness.

As a teenager in southcentral Pennsylvania, I was in love with horses. My paternal grandfather occasionally took me riding along country back-roads. He had a framed portrait, now passed down to my father, of three early 1900s trotters: George Gano, Minor Heir, and the famous Dan Patch, with the caption “Fastest Stallions in the World.” My family watched every race of the Triple Crown. I read all the Black Stallion books. I went to trotter races at county and state fairs with a friend. I always think of 1973, first and foremost, as the Year of Secretariat. And, when Appaloosa breeders moved in next door, I excitedly took on a summer job of brushing down two of their mares. Sadly, that job lasted just a week, after discovering I was highly allergic to straw and horse dander.

Other interests took over as I went to college, moved to the DC area, and got caught up in work and family life. Now and then I would catch one of the Triple Crown races, but I didn’t really follow horse racing—which is ironic, I know, since a world-famous track sits less than 2 miles from my home.

But that all changed when I started writing for Voices of Laurel. I found myself researching the origins of Laurel Park, the legendary DC International race, and related topics. When we (twice) hosted “A Day at the Races,” we sat trackside. Hearing and feeling the thunder of hooves awakened a strong memory that I didn’t know I had been missing. When it was announced that the 151st Preakness would take place at Laurel, I was excited. And when Voices of Laurel was granted media credentials, I was over the moon. “I’m going to the Preakness!” I texted my parents.

Spending four days at Laurel Park was a great experience. On Wednesday, we watched dozens of workers preparing the grandstand and VIP tents and met other members of the press in line for photo IDs. Thursday’s Alibi Breakfast brought a level of excitement I was unprepared for, as regular attendees greeted each other and racing VIPs got up to speak. Many stuck around for that day’s slate of races, against the backdrop of landscape contractors creating a special winner’s circle in the infield and erecting lines of (fake!) hedges to define walking paths among the tents.

Friday was when it really sank in. Laurel Park was a bustle of activity from early in the morning: the parking lots, restaurants, and trackside viewing areas were filled with fans of Black-Eyed Susan Day. Many were dressed in yellow-and-black floral designs and wearing fascinators, in a preview of the next day’s fashion parade. I caught Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott as he left the winner’s circle presentation for the featured race; he was high-fiving the crowd and posing for selfies.

And, of course, Saturday’s crowd was even bigger as over 4,000 people joined in an all-day celebration of Maryland thoroughbreds and racing tradition. Many were local residents, while others had traveled from all over the country; some were at their first Preakness, while others attend yearly. I watched as many races as possible, placed a few small (and losing) bets, but I never forgot that I was on assignment—which, in itself, was another lifelong goal come true, to be able to say “I’m on assignment.”

My colleagues and I were there to capture what could turn out to be Laurel Park’s last hurrah after over a century of thoroughbred racing history. We took notes and photos, made recordings, posted Facebook updates, and talked to as many people as possible. We talked to people behind the scenes who were cleaning bathrooms, guarding tents, parking cars, and selling concessions. We talked to trainers, owners, workers, fans, and other members of the press. We trudged through the old, condemned area of the grandstand, up what seemed like hundreds of steps and through musty, narrow hallways to get to the traditional media box on the roof. It was a nondescript room with a few metal tables and chairs, filing cabinets, and a single, beat-up manual typewriter that was older than me, but it exuded a charming, Lou Grant-like atmosphere. The room hummed with mumbled conversations and the sound of laptop keystrokes—until the “quiet on set!” call just before the horses leapt out of the starting gate for the next race; only the official race caller, watching through binoculars, could speak as a recorder took down his second-by-second updates on horse positions. After each race ended and the caller’s binoculars went down, pent-up cheers and curses alike erupted and the room was alive again.

I could go on and on about my experience, but I will share just one more memorable moment. Shortly before the actual Preakness Stakes race, my colleague Angie Kozlowski and I were sitting alone in an area of the grandstand off-limits to the general public. We were both exhausted and sad that our whirlwind experience was about to end. We also lamented the fact that Maryland Governor Wes Moore wasn’t in the Governor’s tent when we managed to get inside. Low and behold, a small party of people led by tall, stern-looking men in dark suits and wearing earpieces walked down the steps next to us and took seats a few rows in front of us. It was the governor, his wife, and just a few other people.

As journalists who had been seeking That Interview all day, we looked at each other with wide eyes and silently squealed at our good fortune. But without even discussing it, we both knew that we weren’t going to try to talk to the governor. After smiling and hobnobbing and doing media spots all day, he and his party had found an empty part of the grandstand to enjoy the main race in relative privacy. And so, we honored his desire to remain incognito, which in turn gave us the honor of sharing in his experience: watching from behind, rather than among, the crowds; laughing and cheering with friends and family, like everyone else; and focusing only on the power-and-grace motion of 14 beautiful thoroughbreds seeking their own moment in the spotlight.

It was a fitting end to our Preakness experience.

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Diane Mezzanotte is a staff writer and member of the Board of Directors for The Laurel History Boys. In addition to covering Laurel city municipal news, she also reports on all things from South Laurel.