September 16, 2024

Every year on this day, I bring roses to my mother’s grave. It has been seven years since she died, but it seems like yesterday. She lies in the Chenery plot in Ashland, VA, with her parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

I go with my friend Leeanne Ladin—who is also my co-author and partner in bringing the Secretariat Monument to Ashland—and we raise small glasses of bourbon in loving tribute to all she was and all she did.

As always, I think of Mom’s legacy. We all know and celebrate her for the persistence and stamina she showed in managing Secretariat. But I also think about her other achievements: how she stood up to the industry’s not-so-subtle misogyny. How she helped develop the idea of aftercare for off-track Thoroughbreds. How she spoke against the use of performance-enhancing drugs on the racehorses. How she fought laminitis, the condition that killed Big Red. How, in honor of Ron Turcotte, she supported the Permanently Disabled Jockey’s fund. How she kept Secretariat’s memory alive. How seriously she took the fans that shared this goal. How she would sign hats, mugs, and posters until her hands ached, always smiling and focusing on each person directly.

As always, I also walk over to her father’s headstone and notice the perfect symmetry in the fact that he entered this world on the same day she exited it, 131 years later. It is only appropriate, I think. She adored her father. He gave her the passion for Thoroughbreds and horse racing that would come to dominate her life. He founded the Meadow and set in motion the breeding arrangements that would bring us Secretariat, Riva Ridge, and others. He taught her to respect horses as athletes and to put their needs first. He taught her how to notice the fine points of confirmation and personality. He taught her how to accept horses—and people—as they are. He taught her to be tough but fair.

This year, I also think about all I learned as I participated in last year’s celebration of Secretariat’s 50thanniversary of his dramatic Triple Crown wins. Until then, I didn’t understand the pressure Mom was under. She had to keep up a hectic schedule while constantly in the public eye dressed and coifed perfectly. It was a personal standard I struggled to uphold but one that she appeared to meet effortlessly. I also kept in mind her wry humor and the spot-on quips with which she could pepper any occasion. I kept in mind her endurance and dedication to the fans. To me, the year proved fun but exhausting. She would have relished it. I can only hope I did her proud.

On this September 16, let us remember and celebrate Penny Chenery each in our own personal way. She would be glad to know that while she might be gone, she is never forgotten.