My Hunt Cup Runneth Over

Off a road and off another road...shopping strips, gas stations and drug stores disappear.

I stare out and see a horizon of blue and green and empty of what depresses me.

Having said that, I try to avoid looking at Andy's hat.

It's tailgating but this isn't parking at the Firecracker 500 where all come to watch a left hand turn.

There is such beauty in seeing a man or woman on a horse.  Unlike most of traditions that are forgotten, the elegance of the pairing, I'm positive, will last forever.

I'll be dead forever but today I'm alive and I will suck all this in like a Partagas Lusitania.

It's a small crowd - Is that possible?  Off the radar where crowds come only to  promenade their Lilly P and get drunk while they selfie.

Pretentious free, it's all amazingly simple.  Granted, the ethnic diversity is limited but it's so soulful.

A windswept soul. I once asked a tax attorney, what business could  a man deduct everything and keep outta jail.  "Horses," he said.

He added it went back to the early 19th century when business had a lot to do with horses.

And the laws just never changed.  But people do.

Our horses are bits of plastic and steel but we can still fly a flag.

Still, can you ever look this good in a Toyota? Personally, I don't think so.

I love watching rich old white people.

Mostly because it beats watching poor white people.  They like watching a 500 mile left turn.

When I bring a camera, I try to shoot what no one else is shooting. In this case -- the race.

For me, I love the sound I first heard at Keeneland almost 20 years ago.  Hoof on turf and I know it sounds like it did 200 years ago -- 500 years ago -- 1,000 years ago.  A forever soundtrack.

Sometimes I just want to close my eyes and listen to the horses, the wind, the cheering...It is traveling back in time when there was so much elegance despite poor plumbing and dentistry.

Special thanks to the Main Line Sportsman for the invitation & inspiration of the Pennsylvania Hunt Cup

Major Andre: Soldier, Lover, Spy

John Andre or possibly his brother
Andre sketched this self portrait the morning of his execution


The execution in Tappan, NY

12 years ago today I had an agent at William Morris.

When people talk about letting go of the prior year - - It will come as no to surprise to anyone that I have a problem letting go of 1986 much less last year. I was flipping through some old diaries when I came across notes of a phone call with a production executive at United Artists in early December of 1997. I can see how excited I was by the writing on the page. Clear, easy to read and very detailed. Unlike any notes I had taken before or since.

There was interest in a screenplay I had written about Major John Andre. A man who came very close to winning the American Revolution for the British. And had it not been for some very bizarre twists of fate and two bumbling yokels right out of a Laurel & Hardy comedy - - he would have pulled it off. And we would be a very different country today. Probably one with a national health care system.

John Andre (1750-1780) was always the British spy in American history who was snotty, rude and probably a homosexual sleeping with his boss, General Henry Clinton. While preparing a National Park Service presentation on the American Revolution from the British point of view...I found someone else.

A man of social graces to be sure but also a man who was well liked by almost everybody who met him. No small task when he was making a meteoric rise up the British Army's chain of command. By the age of 30, he was a major and head of Intelligence for Clinton in New York. The position carried the rank of colonel but he was held back due to lack of funds to pay for the commission.

To make a long story and a 155 page screenplay short - - That's poor Major Andre you see up there hanging from the gibbet. He made the unfortunate error of traveling behind American lines dressed as a civilian and hiding plans to West Point in his sock. These two mistakes were at the insistence of Benedict Arnold who was selling his services to the British for roughly $3,000,000 in today's currency and a general's commission.

I even have some sympathy for Arnold. A pushy loyalist wife, Peggy Shippen and a congress who refused to reimburse him for out of pocket expenses. That alone would piss me off to no end not to mention he was, hands down, Washington's best general on the field.

I started the story in 1988. I followed Andre and Arnold everywhere. I have boxes of tapes, photographs, music of the period, books on the culture and graces...It was my passion for years. Sadly my development executive was fired. I was told I'd hear from Lindsay Doran who was running UA. Sadly, she was fired. Soon afterwards, very sadly, William Morris fired me. They never did like it was 155 pages.

I had passion for the writing, the period, the music, the art. Passion for the people who were long gone but were in my heart everyday. And I remember that passion when I see those notes that were written 12 years ago. I reckon five...maybe six people read, "Major Andre: Soldier Lover Spy" Last month 45,000 of you read The Trad. I just wanted to say thank you for keeping the passion going.