It was a sad day around our barn when we heard the news of Cary Jackson’s passing early last week. A longtime patron of ours, he was a loyal owner and more importantly a great friend and ally.

He was one of my first owners, he seemed to enjoy helping out the little guy. I was certainly the little guy. You were guaranteed four things when you ran a horse for him.

1. Come hell or high water, he would be there.

2. He would be the best dressed in the crowd.

3. He would give you his thoughts and opinion on how his horse looked and ran. Good or bad.

4. He would pay more attention to the pretty girl sitting next to you.

I learned not to call Cary between 8 and 10 in the morning. He would be working out or out on a hike. He told me he was going to live until he was 100 – and I expected it.

He always did what was best for his horses; taking them home for a rest when they needed it, dropping them down if things got too tough for them. He loved the sport. He loved talking and messing with the jockeys in the paddock.

I remember one time when I ran a horse for him and Sheldon Russell came into the paddock, wearing Cary's yellow and blue silks.

“Sheldon, I hope you can win this one,” Cary said. “I’m awful hungry.”

Sheldon turned to me and said, “He should have eaten a sandwich before he came.”

Cary got a kick out of that. He must have stopped for that sandwich somewhere on the way home after that race.

We’ll miss him. And so will the sport.