BOOK'S PROLOGUE

At the height of my drinking career in 1954, I left New Orleans and went to New York City to make my fortune in the advertising business. The plan was to stay in the dormitory at the YMCA Sloane House to save money, while I sought a position with one of the leading agencies. Instead I checked into the Algonquin Hotel, holed up in my room ordering Gin and Tonics sent up from the bar, and later bounced a $10 check. When I returned to the room one evening and found the door bolted from the outside, I sought other accommodations. After several days in a flophouse, I borrowed enough money to catch a Greyhound Bus back to my hometown, Rome, Georgia. An ignominious retreat.

In 2001, I came back to New York with my wife, family and friends, staying at The Pierre. We were there to attend a spiffy cocktail party hosted by 21 Club. Four of America's leading Thoroughbred racing stables were having their racing colors enshrined into the picturesque entrance gallery of "21" jockeys. This ceremony was a highly cherished, world famous salute to the elite of the sporting world. And the green and gold colors of my Dogwood Stable were among those honored at this glamorous affair. I had returned to New York many times under happy circumstances since that dark time a half-century earlier. But this occasion had a stunning significance for me--a significance none of the other honorees and guests could have possibly fathomed.

W. Cothran Campbell
Aiken, South Carolina
September, 2006