The Rembis Report and Other Fascinating Topics - Volume L (that means fifty!)

Royals.

That song by Lorde shares a somber acquiescence to help us make peace with the fact that we are one of the 99%, lamenting that reality as much as celebrating it. And it is true. If you are not royalty, you will not be, at least not in the standard definition. You may find yourself successful in your sphere of influence, and even wear the banner of celebrity, but to be a royal, you must be born or marry into it.

Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor, BKA Queen Elizabeth II, is being honored in her position on the throne at her platinum jubilee, marking a reign of 70 years. She is the longest-serving monarch in British history, followed by Queen Victoria, (63 years). The longest-serving monarch in history is France's King Louis, (72 years), and Thailand's Bhumibol Adulyadej (now tied at 70 years). Go Mum, you can do it!

Some Americans don't get it. The pageantry is just not for them. Same thing in Great Britian. Some people get into it, and some don't. To call the price tag of this event astronomical is not an understatement. Depending on where you search, the whole she-bang will cost a few Billion British Pounds. In US dollars with today's exchange rate, for whatever number you land on, add 25% for the exchange rate. That is a lot of doughnuts, or whatever you equate to a buck.

Huge parties with shocking bills can be a lot of fun, but they are not for everybody. One British mom points out that $12 Million Pounds spent on books about the jubilee, given to children across the UK as gifts, could have been better spent feeding some of those kids who barely get a lunch at school. Many would agree with her. There are numerous stories pointing fingers at what some view as a waste. Some despise the monarchy.

Muthoni Mathenge, a woman in Kenya, would not have much good to say about the platinum jubilee either. She wants reparations. She is probably about the same age as the Queen. When Elizabeth first took the throne, in the early 1950s, Kenya was fighting against Britian for its' independence, and she recounts being tortured with an axe by British soldiers as young woman because she would not betray her husband, a rebel against the invasion. She was forced to bury bodies all day. In 2013, the British government paid money to 5,000 rebels from that conflict, but she got nothing. She still wants to be paid, and she wants Queen Elizabeth II to deliver the money herself.

That is not going to happen. Royals are insulated. The Queen will probably never hear these stories of grief and discontent. Future rulers, like Princes Harry and William may get more information, as they are younger, have more tech savvy, and like their mother, Princess Diana, show compassion for the world and understand their role in it.

On the flip side, imagine being one of the biggest landowners in the world and owning more ocean than anyone else you know. At first glance, you wouldn't think you could make money from owning the ocean, but you can if you own enough of it.

There are so many facets to the monarchy it is as awesome as it is extraordinary. Once you think you might have a handle on the whole story, you find that there are leagues more to dive into. There are way too many moving parts for the machine to ever stop, so it won't, because it makes lots of money, and it always will.

But we don't have that kind of trouble. At least, I don't. Life is pretty simple for me. I don't have to consider what to do with millions of acres of land, miles of ocean, and a country full of people with opinions about how I could do everything better. I have it easy.

But having a couple extra bucks would be nice.

My Dad always wanted a couple extra bucks, so he was a gambler. He took us to the horse races from as early as I can remember. Before I ever went to school I was at the track.

In the 1970's it was a family affair. Dad handicapped the thoroughbreds and Mom watched the kids. There was a playground with slides and swings and playsets, and we hung around with other kids and their Moms. I didn't know any of these kids from school or my neighborhood, just the track.

My trips to racecourses as an adult have never compared to the mystique it held for me as a child. There were four tracks we frequented, Detroit Race Course (DRC), Hazel Park, Northville Downs, and Windsor Raceway. DRC was my favorite, maybe because we went there most often to watch thoroughbreds. Hazel Park and Northville had harness racing, usually at night, and Windsor was only visited occasionally. These parks didn't have the style that DRC had. The announcers who called the races at Windsor and Northville were lackluster, barely bringing any excitement over the loudspeakers.

Jack Riggs, the announcer at DRC sometimes worked at Hazel Park. He called races in a crisp, clear, confidence that resonated through the stands. It was exciting to be there. Each race started with trembling account of where each horse was lined up, and for a brief moment there was silence. Then the bell would ring, and Jack Riggs would shout "They're off!" He would bring you along for the ride as the fought for position in the turns and bumped on the straightaways. The tension in his timbre rose when the horses hit the homestretch. Sometimes, it was down to the wire, or one horse ran away from the pack for a clean win. Every race was a thrill.

Sometimes we watched from the grandstand, and many times, right along the fence near the finish line. Horses are grand animals. They are true royalty. I know there is corruption and drugged horses running races, that gambling is an addiction, that some people who are basically living at the track for that high that comes from a win. But I didn't know about any of that as a child, so the experience remains a happy and magical memory for me. It was different then, especially through the innocent eyes of youth.

The tickets were all different colors and sizes, not just one-color carbon copies like they have now. Now you can put all your bets on one slip, in all kinds of combinations. Back then, your basic ticket was about 3 x 4 inches and the amount paid for the tickets were denoted not just by the print, but the color of the paper. $2 yellow, $5 blue, $10 pink, $20 purple, and $50 dark green. Perfecta, daily doubles, and superfecta tickets were printed on thinner, longer slips in reds and yellows. At the end of the program, the losing tickets littered the ground like royal confetti everywhere. It was beautiful.

The odds board was a glimmer of light bulbs that clicked when the mutuels were updated. No giant video screens anywhere, but there were TVs throughout the grandstand and clubhouse. And the clubhouse was elegant. Pretty waitresses who I thought were all models brought drinks to your table and you could order a hot dog, a cheeseburger, or even a steak.

Just walking into the track from the parking lot, it felt like entering a special place, because at that time, it was. It was grand mid-20th century architecture built in 1950. The structure conveyed a sense of grandiose I had seen no place else. Only Disneyworld came close. But they did not have horse racing.

The interior boasted inlaid tile along the walls that made up the murals of the horses you see running around the circular ramp inside the atrium. It was lovely artwork in glimmering colors. I wish I could find color photos of it.

These pictures are courtesy of Michigan Modern.

It wasn't just a place to gamble. It was a place to watch horses do what they love. Horses love to run. Yes, they really do. And you could see them become champions and stand beside them in the winner's circle and get their picture taken. On special occasions, the sweaty, prancing victor would be adorned with a wreath of flowers, and lucky people got to caress them.

Once in a while, a celebrity would visit the track. At one special stakes race, when I was really little, probably between 1969 and 1972, I met Colonel Harland Sanders of KFC fame. I did not know it at the time, but that is about as close to American royalty as you can get. I knew who he was from TV commercials, but I did not know he was as big a deal as he was. He sat in a chair in the winner's circle with the horse and jockey standing behind him, and all the kids from the playground gathered around in front. People took pictures of us. I would love to find one of those pictures. Somebody has to have one. I am not sure if my sister Christine was there, but I think she was. I don't recall speaking with him, as I am pretty sure he wasn't fielding too many questions from children. I might have gotten his autograph on a program, but that artifact, if it ever did exist, is long gone. I am guessing that race event was the Michigan Mile.

The Michigan Mile was the biggest annual race in our region. The purse was huge, usually $1 Million dollars. Adjusting for inflation from 1970, that would be about $7 Million today. I will never forget the 1976 Michigan Mile.

Royal Glint was the horse to beat. He was favored to win at or below even money, meaning that when he won, if you played him to win, you would get double your money, or just a little less than double the money you risk.

My Dad was excited about taking us to see him. He had won over $1 Million in over 20 races across the country. Only 6 years old, he was favored to go on to the Kentucky Derby and possibly be a triple crown contender the next year. I don't know how much it was, but my Dad had a lot riding on Royal Glint. When said that he cashed in his tickets he would to take us out for dinner at a nice restaurant. We voted for Chinese food and the plans were in motion.

Jack Riggs' voice echoed through the grandstand. My Dad watched the race through binoculars and shouted "Go! Royal Glint, go!" Royal Glint took the lead early on in, but somewhere in the backstretch, he faltered. All the other horses ran past him and finished the race. Royal Glint did not.

It was his last race. He hobbled off the track with a broken leg and was retired. The horse was humanely euthanized some time later.

So, while we may not enjoy the riches that Royals do, we may love watching them, and living vicariously through their pageantry while we can. A royal glint, if you will.

I knew he was sad about the horse and whatever he lost on that wager, but my Dad still took us out to eat anyway. Maybe he paid with a credit card.

Thanks for reading my stories. Click here for past editions.

And, if dear reader, you happen to be one of the 1%, (and even if you are not) please introduce yourself. I would love to know what you are up to. I may even write about it.