The Road to Keeneland

The Road to Keeneland · Part Three: They Have Their Own Freaking Color

Originally published September 17, 2026.

I had been to a few racecourses by then. I had never seen anything quite like Keeneland.

When the Turfway Park meeting ended in 1994, we didn’t have much time to sit around and think about it. Keeneland was opening the next day.

That was how this business worked. One racing meet ended and another one started, and the technology had to move with it. We loaded the truck with our Turfway tote system and point-of-sale wagering terminals and brought everything to Lexington late that night.

My first trip to Keeneland was literally to unload a truck.

There’s something funny about that when I think about it now. Keeneland would eventually become one of my favorite racetracks in the country, but there was no dramatic first visit for me. No beautiful afternoon in the grandstand. No drink in my hand. No standing at the rail watching Thoroughbreds come down the stretch.

It was late. We had a truck full of equipment. The track was opening the next day. So we unloaded.

The next morning we were back early to help get everything set up for opening day. In daylight, I could finally take in where I was.

That’s when Kentucky got my attention.

The roads, the rolling pastures, the horses, the stone walls and those incredible farms were all around us. Calumet Farm — even from the road, you knew you were somewhere different.

I remember seeing Calumet Farm and recognizing the name. I was still relatively new to that world, so seeing places like that in person was very different from hearing people talk about them around a racetrack.

I had grown up in Iowa. I’d seen plenty of farmland. This wasn’t simply about seeing horses and fields.

There was something different about this place. And then there was the green.

Dark green fences.

Once I was on the Keeneland property, it seemed like that green was everywhere. The facility trucks were green. Workers were wearing green. Attendants and other personnel had green sport coats. It wasn’t bright green, and it wasn’t some generic shade you’d see painted on just anything. It was this deep, dark, unmistakable green.

Somewhere along the way I learned it had a name. Keeneland Green.

I remember looking around and thinking to myself:

They have their own freaking color. 😂 That probably tells you more about my first impression of Keeneland than anything I could write about its architecture.

I was blown away. I had worked at racetracks before, but this didn’t feel like an ordinary racetrack. Everything seemed intentional. The fencing, the buildings, the grounds, the vehicles, the way people were dressed. Even the color had an identity.

And then there was the stone.

That’s something I remember even more clearly now as I look back on it. The beautiful Kentucky limestone seemed to be everywhere. The walls, the arches, the buildings and entrances had this substantial, almost timeless appearance. Against that dark green, with the mature trees and beautifully maintained grounds around it, the whole place just worked.

Some racetracks felt like stadiums.

Keeneland didn’t.

It almost felt like an estate that happened to have a racetrack running through it. I remember coming through those gates and taking everything in. The stone buildings and the grounds looked like they had always belonged there. Nothing about the place felt temporary or thrown together. I didn’t know the history behind Keeneland yet. I didn’t know much about the people who had created it or their idea of building a model racecourse.

I just knew I had never seen anything quite like it.

Of course, we still had a job to do.

The track was opening, and the equipment we’d unloaded the night before had to be ready. There were wagering terminals to set up, systems to check and an entire racing operation preparing for people to start coming through those gates.

So eventually I stopped staring at everything and went to work. That’s another reason these memories have stayed with me. I wasn’t experiencing places like Keeneland from the outside. United Tote put us behind the scenes. We were there before the crowds. We saw racetracks waking up in the morning and shutting down after the final race. We worked alongside people whose lives revolved around racing.

And we spent a lot of time together.

The more I’ve thought about this story over the past few days, the more I’ve realized that when I remember United Tote, I don’t really remember the computers first.

I remember the people.

United Tote had an amazing ability to hire some of the coolest people. We came from different places and different backgrounds, and somehow we all ended up working in this unusual little corner of the sports world together.

People like Tim Moore, Tim Driscoll, Chris Dilley, Jeff Murphy, Matt Bonar, Dominic Gomez, Eric Cox, Susan Hillman, Dave Gordon, Sean McBride, Mitch Mullican, Dave Hinders, Aric Rasmussen, Marty Pohlmeier, Ryan Merritt, Andrew Archibald, Tom Binkley, Chris Emslie, Mike Curran, Scott Steinmetz, Delisa Cogburn, Nate Simon, Ben Murr, even my two brothers, Aric and Alex, and so many others who are a part of that chapter of my life.

And there are two names I can’t write this without remembering a little differently.

Shawn Oakland and Ivan Carlson. Rest in peace to two icons of United Tote.

It’s strange what happens as you get older. At the time, you’re just going to work. You’re trying to keep the systems running, get through another racing meet, figure out what comes next and probably talking a little trash with the guys along the way.

You don’t necessarily realize you’re living through a period of your life you’re going to miss someday.

I certainly didn’t.

More than 30 years later, I don’t remember every terminal we installed. I couldn’t tell you everything that happened during every race meet. Some of the technical details that once seemed incredibly important have faded.

But I remember those guys.

I remember working with David Gordon in those late-summer days and learning that he had once been a jockey. I thought that was pretty damn cool. Here was somebody who had experienced racing from the back of a horse and had ended up on the technology side of the sport with the rest of us.

I remember Sean McBride and all the other personalities who made those United Tote years what they were.

I remember Calumet.

I remember those pastures.

I remember the stone.

And I definitely remember the green.

That’s what this whole Road to Keeneland story is really becoming for me. I started writing about a horse named Cigar and somehow ended up remembering a bunch of people and places I hadn’t thought about in years. I’m glad I did.

To everyone I worked with during those United Tote years—and there are plenty of names I’m leaving out—thank you for making that time in my life truly unforgettable.

As for Keeneland, I was about to discover something else unusual about the place.

Opening day came. The horses went to the track. People filled the grandstand. The betting windows were open and racing began.

Everything looked and felt like a day at one of America’s great racetracks.

Except for one thing.

I kept waiting to hear something I had heard at every other racetrack.

It never came.

Where was the track announcer?

I’ll tell you about that next…

The Road to Keeneland continues in The Pacific44 Journal.

Live Well • Stay Curious • Keep Moving.

PACIFIC44 | THE PACIFIC44 JOURNAL Stories for the Road to 60 & Beyond.

Continue The Road to Keeneland

View all chapters in reading order →

← Previous: Part Two — The Guys Behind the Tote Board

Next: Part Four — Where’s the Announcer? →