Saratoga Springs bottled water.
Saratoga Springs, NY hosted the Belmont Stakes this year. It’s the third race of the triple crown of horse racing after The Kentucky Derby and The Preakness. It was traditionally held at Belmont racetrack on Long Island. This is a welcome change and brings back memories.
Back in the 1920s and 30s, New York’s well-to-do summered in Saratoga Springs. It was named for the hot mineral-laden springs that abound there. Water from Saratoga Springs was bottled and sold around the world as a cocktail mixer, or just for drinking as San Pellegrino and Perrier are today.
Many health spas were located in the area offering Swedish massages, hot mud or steam baths and other popular therapeutic treatments of the day.
It was also the place where the wealthier businessmen from the New York City area went to discuss deals away from prying eyes. Saratoga’s busiest time was the month of August, when horse racing would be at its height.
My mother was a teenager at this time, and she told me how my grandfather (Papa) would rent a house for the whole month of August. The family would then take the Sandy Hook ferry, a paddle wheel steamboat, from the Jersey shore up to Manhattan, then transfer to the Hudson River Day Line, a much larger steamer, for the cruise up the river to Saratoga. Meanwhile the chauffeur would drive up in the car with the luggage and household staff, and have the house set up by the time everyone arrived.
This was during prohibition, but the laws were not strictly enforced, and casinos, speak-easies, roadhouses and “gin mills” abounded. All the big-name stage and Vaudeville entertainers performed there and of course the racetrack was the place to be during the day.
The track was the only thing of interest for a teenager, and my mother and her sister, Catsey, were there every day. Catsey was a bit older than Mom, and she was really into the ponies. First thing in the morning, she would get the Racing Form and Daily Telegraph, which were the two newspapers that had all the statistics for the horses. The two of them would sit at the kitchen table with their red pencils and “handicap” the horses, comparing past results with that day’s conditions. Things like whether a horse ran best on a wet (muddy) track or when it was dry (fast), or if it was hot or cold, sunny or rainy, and which horses they had beaten in the past and their finish times. Armed with all this information, they would match the results with the days’ conditions and choose their favorites. Then they would head for the track in the afternoon.
Papa, meanwhile, was there to talk business with his cohorts, and considered the horses a sideline. He always rented a “box” (a private lounge high atop the viewing stands) and would send the porter down to place the bets. During the race, he would turn around surveying crowd in the grandstand, and say, “Look at all those crazy fools, getting so excited about a horse race.” Meanwhile, Mom and Aunt Catsey would be down in the bleachers right at the rail. Papa would have been horrified to see his young ladies standing on their seats screaming at their horse, cheering him across the finish line! It cracks me up, thinking of my prim and proper mother, “Miss Goody Two Shoes,” enrolled in an all-girls Catholic boarding school, quietly sneaking away with Aunt Catsey to do such an unladylike thing!
It might sound like I came from a lot of money. The exact opposite is true. My father always used to tell me, “Vin, if you ever marry a girl for her money, make sure it’s her money, not her father’s money.” He worked his tail off all his life, as did my brothers and I. Papa died in his office, giving dictation to his secretary at age 101. He left a few grand to each of his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.
He also left $21 million to the Armenian Church!
When my mother and her brothers and sisters wanted to contest the will, I asked Mom how much money she had, then I pointed out that the Armenian Church now had $21 million to hire the best Jewish lawyers in New York to defend the will!
What Papa gave us is in our genes, not in a bank account! All I’ve got to say is “Thanks, Papa.”
Photo: by Vinnie Mendes
