Kentucky Horse Park Campground, Lexington, Kentucky
Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed. ~ Proverbs 15:22
Oh boy. Today was a beautiful, but chilly day. It’s been like that for a while now. Waking to temperatures in the low thirties, light breeze making it even chillier. But we can no longer put off our bike ride, so we bundled up and took off – after an early lunch, when the temperature had risen to a balmy 50 degrees.
Before we left, we had the pleasure of neighbor-watching again. Different people coming and going across the street, leading us to some not-so-nice speculation as to what could be going on over there. Last night around 8:30pm. We thought we’d lost them. They cleaned up their stuff and pulled out their trailer. No one leaves at that time of night. No one. Ever. But they did. Unfortunately, they returned about an hour later, and today, their stuff is back out in their ‘yard’. They must have gone to empty their tanks since there’s no sewer hook-ups at this campground. Sigh . . . We wouldn’t mind them as neighbors, except that they have a very loud truck that starts up each and every morning between the hours of 4:30 and 5:30am (usually closer to 4:30am), idles for 5-10 minutes and then slowly takes off. We’re early risers, but not that early, and we don’t care much for the loud, irritating wake-up call.
But I digress.
We had a lovely bike ride today. There’s a bike/hike trail that runs for 14 miles one way into the city of Lexington. We ended up traveling a total of 16 miles because we kinda started in the middle here at the campground and didn’t go all the way to town as we’d planned because the last bit was on the road. We don’t bike roads. Especially not busy ones.
There were some interesting sites and information boards along the way, which were welcome stops for us.
Never heard of such a thing! Interesting!
Those are some kind of shelters, harboring small trees.
One of her horses bit off two of her fingers! They were able to sew them back on, but still.
Wonder if that made her leary of petting them?
Wonder if she kept the horse?
So in my attempt to always bring you accurate information,
I went in search of verifying the story. Below is what I discovered. : )
As happens with every human heart who is conquered early by horses, Arden could not stay away from her beloveds for long. The wealth she amassed with Elizabeth Arden (the company) gave her the cash to indulge herself in buying Thoroughbred race horses. And creating a farm, Maine Chance Farm in Lexington, Kentucky—which was named for her Maine Chance spa in New England.
For racing purposes, she became known as Elizabeth N. Graham, a derivative of her birth name. Her first stable was named Mr. Nightingale(s). (Most race fans had no idea when they saw those names in the program that the horses were owned by a dynamo of the cosmetics industry!)
By the 1940s, Arden was one of the most prominent names in horse racing: in 1945 alone, her Thoroughbreds had won more than $500,000. (> $6,770,000 in 2017.)
Her savvy as a race horse owner got her onto the cover of Time: as her visage graced the cover of the magazine in 1946, the title rang out, “A queen rules the Sport of Kings.”
Saratoga’s beloved Mrs. Marylou Whitney, a friend of Arden, noted once that Arden’s horses indeed were “like her children,” and that “…she even carried pictures of them in her billfold.”
She purchased her first Thoroughbred for $1,000 (>$17,800 now). Her conquests must have been heady, for a girl from Ontario who just loved horses. From there, she went on to breed and race big horses, including:
Jet Pilot, who won the 1947 Kentucky Derby
Ace Admiral, victor of the 1948 Travers
Fascinator, winner of the 1954 Kentucky Oaks
and Gun Bow, Future Hall of Famer.
These Champions—and all 250 of her equid treasures—were treated with kid gloves, and such were the instructions to trainers, exercise riders, jockeys and grooms: And the aforementioned professionals who worked with her horses were no slackers: Tom Smith, who’d taken Seabiscuit from being a beaten-up, throwaway horse to being, well, Seabiscuit—was among the trainers in her stable who knew that Arden meant it when she said that nothing was too good for her horses:
- Music was played in the barns, to soothe the horses’ spirits.
- The barns were screened, to ward off flies.
- She massaged their legs herself, if a horse had a limp.
- She fired a groom, whose “mean face” might upset her horses.
- Whips were forbidden, by jockeys during races and by exercise riders during workouts. NO whips allowed. Period.
- Horses coming off the track were wrapped in cashmere blankets.
- Clover from her Maine farm was shipped regularly to Kentucky, to supplement the horses’ diets and give them a tasty treat.
Surely, Mrs. Whitney’s observation was on-target; if only all horse owners shared Arden’s ardent affection for her beautiful equid babies.
We would be remiss if we failed to mention that, even the well-heeled and wealthy in horse racing aren’t exempt from tragedy and pain. In 1946, an unquenchable fire at Chicago racetrack took the lives of 22 of Arden’s beloved horses. (Jet Pilot and a few others had been shipped back to Kentucky just prior to the devastation.) This was not her first Grief Rodeo, for she’d lost three of her show horses in a fire at Belmont Park in 1937. The loss of another 22, nine years later, seems to be almost unimaginable, for a woman whose heart and soul were wrapped up in her equine children.
But she was a real horsewoman, from deep within: suffering the wrenching loss of so many of her equine treasures must have torn her heart to shreds. But she carried on, even using her Eight Hour Cream on her Belmont horses who were injured in the 1937 fire. (Apparently she sent over gallons of the cream.)
Like the nursing heroine for whom she was named prophetically, she stiffened her back and her resolve, and kept moving forward—healing and loving with all she had.
Fingers are Not Carrots
That inner strength came in handy when dealing with horses, for of course, every horse has his or her own quirks that must be accommodated, dodged or avoided from time-to-time. A seasoned horsewoman must be unflappable and unfazed by the actions of unpredictable horses. One day in 1959, Jewel’s Reward adamantly did not want to be petted at Santa Anita. He demonstrated this preference emphatically, when he took a bite out of Arden’s right index finger. But his owner seemingly didn’t blink for long: she took such things as a missing digit-tip with grace, getting the tip of her finger sewed back on at a local hospital, then returning home to New York.
(She had such confidence in her Eight Hour Cream, that it’s safe to wager that she used it liberally during the finger-healing process, with some custom vet wrap for stability.)
Arden: Business Genius, Horse Lover, Role Model
To make it in “a man’s world”—whether that world is the cosmetics industry in the 1930s or horse racing (in any era)—it takes more. A woman must bring more to the table than a good idea and a friendly smile. She must bring more than rouge to create a cosmetics company; more than love and desire to successfully breed and race horses in America. Both these industries require talent, brilliance, planning and the ability to stand up for yourself—all the while, keeping your priorities straight, and always looking out for the best for those whom you love.
The late, great Elizabeth Arden had all of those traits, in spades. On Broadway, she’s portrayed as being a big-shouldered Broad—a strong, tough, formidable force. And, that she was. But she was also the tender-hearted Mother to 150 horses whose welfare came first and foremost. Whose Eight Hour Cream soothed cuts and bucked shins, even as she no-doubt told each of them how much she loved them, and hugged their necks with both arms (and 9.75 fingers).
Horse racing needs more women like Elizabeth Arden. Business is business, but horse business…is love. ~ taken from equineinfoexchange.com
So on we go . . . . . . Wonder what we’ll learn about next??
it’s on the next picture. : )
You can see one of those gorgeous trees above Blaine’s head.
We came to a large information board with a Lexington time-line on it. Thankfully for you, I didn’t take pictures of the entire thing. lol!
I looked up information on Miss Belle because the board piqued my interest when it stated that her entertainment list frequently included prominent clientele, but mostly because she made it into Time Magazine.
Of course I checked it out!
Mary Belle Cox was born on June 16, 1860, in Lexington, Kentucky. She was the second illegitimate daughter of Sarah Ann Cox, dressmaker and occasional prostitute. A year later, Sarah Ann Cox married George Brezing, local saloon owner, and Mary Belle and her sister Hester’s last name were changed to Brezing. The Brezing marriage was frequently abusive, with drunken rages and infidelity eventually leading to their divorce in 1866. George Brezing left Lexington a year later. After a short affair with a man named William McMeekin, Sarah Ann changed her and the children’s names to McMeekin and began to refer to her self as a widow.
In 1872, a year after her sister Hester had married and moved out of the family home, Brezing was seduced by a 36-year-old man named Dionesio Mucci. Twelve-years-old was the age of consent at the time in Kentucky, and there were no legal ramifications for Mucci. The relationship lasted at least until 1874, when Brezing was given a scrapbook by Mucci for Valentine’s Day. By age 15, Brezing was pregnant, and having sexual relations with at least three men: Dionesio Mucci, James Kenney, and John Andrew Cook. Brezing married Kenney, September 14, 1875. So notorious was Brezing’s reputation at the time, the Lexington Daily Press ran a mocking wedding announcement. Just nine days later, Cook was found dead outside Brezing’s back gate, shot in the head with Sarah Ann’s derringer, and with love notes from Brezing and a photograph of her in his pockets. It was ruled a suicide, but papers at the time argued it was murder. Shortly after Cook’s death, a memorial poem written by Brezing appeared in the Lexington Daily Press.
James Kenney left town a few days later; there is no record of she and Kenney ever getting divorced, but there is no evidence they ever contacted each other again. Brezing’s only child, Daisy May Kenney was born March 14, 1876. Two months later, Brezing’s mother died, and she and Daisy May were evicted. Daisy May was placed with a neighbor, Mrs. Barnett. At some point during the next two years, Brezing became a prostitute.
On December 24, 1879, Brezing began to work for Jennie Hill, a madam who ran a brothel out of the Mary Todd Lincoln house at 578 West Main St. Brezing worked there for two years until she had saved enough money to start her own house and assume the position of madam. During this time, Daisy May continued to live with Mrs. Barnett, with Brezing supplying a stipend for her support.
Brezing opened her first brothel in a row house at what is now 314-318 North Upper St. Around this time, Brezing was indicted on the charge of “keeping a bawdy house.” Kentucky Governor Luke P. Blackburn (1879-1883) pardoned Brezing and the indictment was dismissed. This was the closest Brezing ever got to serving jail time. Brezing miscarried a child during her first year at the house. It was also discovered that Daisy May was developmentally challenged and would have to be institutionalized for the remainder of her life. Daisy May Kenney entered a Catholic run institution under the name Daisy Barnett.
Brezing opened her second brothel in 1883. She purchased a free-standing house at 194 North Upper St., not too far from the row house. In the late 1880s, mounting public pressure began closing the brothels along North Upper St. With a loan from William M. Singerly, Brezing bought what would become her most famous brothel.
Brezing opened her third brothel at 59 Megowan St. (currently the southern corner of Wilson St. and N. Eastern Ave.). It was lavishly appointed and decorated in almost a parody of the cluttered Victorian style. The area around the house was referred to as “the hill,” and Brezing wasn’t the only brothel in the area, but certainly the most expensive and popular. Brezing attracted clientele from all over the nation who visited Lexington for its horse breeding and racing industries. During this time, William “Billy” Mabon entered Brezing’s life. He became her male companion until his death in 1917. He worked for the Water Company in Lexington, and was the brother-in-law to Colonel Richard C. Morgan.
In 1895, 59 Megowan’s attic space caught fire, and Brezing took the opportunity to expand the house to three stories, redecorate, and add a side entrance. The house was painted white to cover the fact that different colors of brick were used in construction. It was also around this time that Brezing became addicted to morphine.
During the Spanish-American War in 1898, soldiers billeted in Lexington visited Brezing’s house and spread her reputation even further around the country. She eventually even appeared as the character Belle Watling in Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind. Margaret Mitchell’s husband, John, attended Transylvania University and worked as a writer for the Lexington Leader. Although it was always denied, once even in writing, research after Mitchell’s death proves that the stories Mitchell heard from John about Brezing were the models for Watling. Anne Edwards’ 1983 work, The Road to Tara, discusses the link between Watling and Brezing.
During World War I, U.S. Army again billeted and trained soldiers in the Lexington area. But this time, the temperance movement was in full swing and public opinion was focused on “vice.” Under orders from the Army, the brothels on “the hill” were closed in 1915. In 1918, they slowly began to reopen, but Brezing never did. Classified an “incurable” and receiving morphine under a doctor’s prescription, Brezing lived quietly in 59 Megowan St. She died August 11, 1940 of advanced uterine cancer, at the age of 80. Her fame was still wide-spread; her obituary appeared in Time magazine. Belle Brezing is buried in Lexington’s Calvary Cemetery, beside her mother.
After Brezing’s death, an estate auction was arranged for the benefit of Daisy May. Huge crowds attended the sale and it required three days to auction the contents of 59 Megowan St. (now 153 N. Eastern Ave.) The house was sold some months later. In 1973, a fire gutted the third floor of the building. It was decided to demolish the house rather than rebuild. Another auction was held, to sell architectural details. Even the bricks were sold as souvenirs.
Note: The correct spelling of Belle’s last name is “Brezing.” During her lifetime, “Breezing” became an accepted spelling, and Belle used it herself from time to time. “Breazing” also slipped into usage. Some bank accounts also had her legal name as “Mrs. James C. Kenney,” which was occasionally spelled “Kinney.” When Brezing traveled, she often registered at hotels under the Kenney name. Her name and date of birth are both incorrect on her gravestone.
Note: The information for this biographical sketch was derived from E. I. “Buddy” Thompson’s Madam Belle Brezing, the only full length work on Brezing. ~ taken from the University of Kentucky Library website
We’ll learn tomorrow that they were built between the late 1800s and early 1900s.
There’s no grout or anything holding them together. Incrediable!
Blaine had told me that the trail was mostly level. I think he does that to keep me from balking at the prospect of a 16-mile (or so) bike ride. I wouldn’t classify this trail as ‘mostly level’. Sure, it had some level spots (thank goodness!), but much of it was either gentle inclines/declines (depending on which way you’re going), or flat-out, undisputed hills. Let it be known that Kentucky Bluegrass Territory is not known for flat terrain.
Yes. Blaine is waiting for me . . . again . . .
Anyway, I managed to make it the entire way, and only pushed my bike uphill a couple of times – usually when I was unable (for whatever reason) to build up some steam beforehand. However, near the end, I discovered that my thighs had lost most of what little strength I started with, mostly because of lack of exertion during our month in Ohio. But I made it!! And I was very proud of myself!
However.
Once I crawled in the door, I peeled off most of my layers and just threw them on the couch and counters, grabbed my book and sprawled out on the bed, unable to move a muscle from the waist down. I’ve never felt like that before. It was kind of annoying. Made me feel old. You know the saying, ‘You’re as old as you feel’? Well, tack on about 40 years or so. That’s how old I felt.
Fortunately, it only lasted about an hour-and-a-half, and I was up and getting dinner together. At least I still recover like a youngster! 😊
Oh. By the way. Blaine seemed to do just fine. Maybe he would’ve had more trouble if he went by himself and didn’t have all the rest breaks he was forced to take waiting on me to get moving, or catch up. 😊