Back in the fifties, things was different—and not just at the track. Men wore hats and suits everyday, and the only guys wearing jeans were the boys mucking out stalls. You tipped your hat to women, you were polite, you took care of business without a lot of drama.
That also meant if you walked the other way around the track, you didn’t advertise it. Sure, there were queer guys back in the fifties; we just didn’t make a big deal about it. I never saw guys living together like they do nowadays, least not in the tri-state area. Not in my crowd. My guys learned not to make jokes about women with me, and by the time I was in my thirties and running my own crew, it wasn’t a matter of discussion. Not in my earshot.
I wasn’t even at the track when I met Liam. It was at Leprechaun Farms down to
