Writer Robert Smith fondly recalls his first published story, and the man and horse who inspired it over 25 years ago

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As a young boy just starting to watch harness racing with my father, I vividly recall a special attraction to a horse one day. It undoubtedly had a lot to do with her looks; after all, isn't that what attracts us to many things and people over a lifetime? The horse's name was Ginnie Lee, a dapple grey with all of the attributes of the proverbial "Old Grey Mare". Her owner and driver was a man from Rodney, Ont. named George "Buck" Sherman. By the way, there's no relation or connection whatsoever to the Ernie Sherman I wrote about some months ago other than sharing the same last name.

As I look back now it is ironic that some 30 years after seeing this unforgettable duo at the little race tracks of Ontario that I would choose to do a story about them as my first real published article . By this time Mr. Sherman was 87 years old. His wife and family said I "might" be able to get some information from him but they doubted he could remember much. As the visit wore on and he was allowed to answer the questions I asked, it was amazing how his recollections came back to life. As each old photo surfaced, another chapter was relived. Most of the questions I planned to ask were never required. I have to admit I enjoyed it right along with him. My nervousness at a new venture I hope was not evident.

While Mr. Sherman owned many horses, we talked a lot about "Ginnie"; she was his obvious pride and joy. Originally purchased for $125 along with her dam, she literally took him across the land. Once she showed enough early promise at home, they travelled to Yonkers Raceway in New York City, Hazel Park Michigan and eventually to far off California. It was a trip and a "dream" that few were ever to realize in the 1950's. On the westward trip Ginnie took the train, George went by car. One of his most vivid recollections of the 1953 season was of winning six heats at Caledonia in two days, three on Friday another three on Saturday. At one point that year she scored 21 consecutive victories. She was never owned by anyone else and died in the Sherman barn at age 22 as she tried to deliver twins.

As I departed the Sherman residence that day I realized that I had learned a lot, much more than just gathering enough information to write a story. I had brightened an elderly man's day; I had again been reminded that we must not only tell OUR story but also listen to the stories of others. In the short span of less than three hours someone was able to relive many happy days and times that were almost forgotten. I was happy I had made the visit even though I knew I had not discovered a new cure to reverse the aging process.

I am sure modern day readers are not always excited to hear a raft of old stories but I can assure you it is still a pretty good way of recording history. If you have a grandparent, a neighbour or even a "senior" friend who has a good story to tell, let them even if you've heard it before .......

My story appeared in the September 14, 1983 issue of The Standardbred. I am forever grateful to editor Barbara Lennox for giving me that opportunity.