My son Jamey texted me Sunday to share with me the passing of prolific mystery writer and retired twice champion steeplechase jockey, Dick Francis, who died at age 89 earlier that morning at his home in Grand Cayman.
This rather abrupt news immediately brought home fond memories of the third annual Queen's Cup Steeplechase in 1998 when one of American steeplechasing's deceased benefactors and retired amateur steeplechase rider, George Sloan, made all of the arrangements to invite Dick Francis and HRH Princess Anne to our little old race meet in very southern Union County! What an honor to have not one, but two VIP's, and not just any VIP's but the daughter of the Queen of England and the most famous mystery writer of our time and retired British steeplechase jockey, Dick Francis.
I'll save the story of entertaining HRH Anne for another time but I will tell you, Mr. Francis was an amazingly vivacious, very British gentleman who began his morning that day at 5:00 am in Lexington, KY to catch a private jet with HRH Anne, all courtesy of Skee and Gil Johnston of Coca Cola Enterprises.
At the age of 77, crippled from arthritis from the numerous falls and broken bones he sustained during his many years as a jump jockey, he made me feel quite comfortable the moment I met him. When we first met at the bottom of the plane at Lancaster's airport, as we climbed into the stretch limo, just me and HRH and Mr. Francis, to ease my uncomfortableness with the situation, I shared stories of how I first was introduced to his books while spending a summer in England as a young teenager. I also shared with the both of them how I aspired to be a jump jockey but never had the opportunity or talent to pursue those dreams. Starting the Queen's Cup was the next best thing. Having both of them at arm's length away, all alone in the limo was both exhilarating and down right scary. Oh my head was apounding.
We arranged through a local book store to have Mr. Francis book sign his latest entry 10 LB. PENALTY to any patron who cared to meet him. Expecting a light turn out, I took him down in a golf cart, showed him his seat and table underneath a 20'x 20' tent and some three hours later, he still had a line of Queen's Cup patrons waiting to meet him - his day just got longer and the poor man was totally whipped. Later that day, when I had the chance to sit down with Mr. Francis and HRH, he proclaimed that he had "writer's cramp" from all of the book signings but was quite and pleasantly pleased with the patron turn out, book signing and the racing that day.
He was right; racing was pretty good that afternoon and there was plenty of drama on the course as jockey Michael Traurig came a cropper in the third and was subsequently carted off in Carolina Medical Hospital's Medivac, but not before the helicopter took a wrong turn down NC Highway 601 and got lost in the process of trying to find our racecourse, holding up racing for over an hour. By the time of its untimely arrival, Michael was his old self (sharp, loud and combative), Her Royal Highness was getting rather impatient while Mr. Francis was just tired from having written personal notes in over 150 books! Michael was eventually airlifted back to Charlotte, against his will and was later released that evening, none the worse for wear.
At about half past four, the VIP entourage announced that it was time for their return back to their private jet, who would be making it's final leg to Atlanta that afternoon with flights back to England that evening. We rushed to the limo with the North and South Carolina Highway Patrol leading the charge back to Lancaster's airport. By then, my headache had turned into what felt like a migraine and I was almost pleased to see the two of them leave, as will be explained in the rest of the story on a future story about HRH. But what a day!
Several years later, I put in a call to Mr. Francis at his home in Grand Cayman, inviting him back to participate in the Tenth Anniversary Queen's Cup in 2005 in hopes of reliving the past. I left him a message on his answering machine on a Sunday and a couple of hours later, he called me back, remembered me as though I had seen him yesterday and kindly and graciously declined on account of his ailing health. He was none the less "honored" to be considered as honorary VIP of the Queen's Cup. I was even more honored that he returned my call, speaking with me for over fifteen minutes.
Well, that's just the kind of man he was; gracious, kind and a true gentleman. He was also one heck of a mystery writer and the world is better for having Mr. Francis provide hours of unadulterated fun and good reading to millions of readers throughout the world. I am better for having met the Gentleman of Steeplechase Racing.
