OK, so I’m not a poet, and this isn’t a poem to honor Lenny DeVito.
And it’s taken me 10 days to write this, because it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
Last Tuesday–January 7, 2014, Lenny died. He and his wife, Patti, are two of my dearest friends on this side of the heavenly veil. As close to family as I have here on Earth.
So writing about Lenny, and all he means to me–and to so many other friends from horse racing–seems to be a task of Herculean proportions. Please bear with me if this isn’t the most articulate piece of my writing you’ve ever read–I’m processing my grief, even as I rejoice because my friend is in Heaven…
I met Lenny and Patti DeVito on the Fourth of July, 2005, at the home of mutual friends, Robin and Tony Malatino. A lively game of Trivial Pursuit and lots of laughter foaled new alliances and a warmth that I wouldn’t fully realize until the following summer in the Saratoga backstretch.
Lenny was many things in this life: husband, father, brother, son, student, coach, mentor, pharmacist, businessman, humanitarian, golfer, rabid fan of the New York Yankees. A horse lover and owner. All of those things were articulately spelled out in his obituary in the newspaper.
But to those of us who knew him at the racetrack, he was a friend, colleague, and brother-in-arms. One day–I wish I could tell you exactly which day, at the very moment–but Lenny and I found ourselves parked at the same picnic table near the ancient oak tree.
If you know Saratoga, you know The Tree. It’s in the backstretch, near the white rail. You’ve seen The Tree–Our Tree, as she became–in the backstretch scene in Seabiscuit, in which the Howards looked out across the infield at the famed Clubouse. A huge, sheltering, mighty Oak, she hosts the sign that states that the adjoining parking space belongs to Roy Williamson, our Starter.
Our Tree has seen thousands of memories unfold over the 150 years since Saratoga Race Course was founded. Many tears and much laughter have lifted to the skies and fallen to the ground at her feet. Losing tickets (not ours, of course) litter the ground near her tremendous roots.
And ‘neath Our Tree: picnic tables, where our rag-tag group of new friends set up camp nearly every day of the Saratoga meet. Beautiful faces, extraordinary hearts–all of whom Lenny loved, and spoke of with such warmth that you could feel it like a cozy blanket. Every time he asked me if Rumara or Carol would be there that day, I knew that he looked forward to Rumara’s quiet sweetness, and Carol’s melodic laugh and fabulous storytelling. Susan and he shared so many hearty, sincere laughs. Susan’s precious Yellow Lab, Sunny, always made Lenny smile–he loved animals, and sweet Sunny always reminded Lenny why. 🙂 Cathy and Lenny always talked over each other. Lenny loved Jeremy, just because. Karen was like a daughter to him. He adored Pam, and his love for children spilled over to Pam’s daughter, Abbie. (Whom he taught to handicap,when Abbie was just four.) Butch was genuine, and that, to Len, was better than gold.
And Roy. Oh, how he loved Roy–every story, every conversation with Roy was a treasured moment for Lenny.
As he told me often, he learned so much from Roy.
And we learned so much from Lenny. Like generosity: so, so many times, he’d show up just before the first race with a couple of pizzas, or strombolis. Anyone who even walked past our table was invited for the feast–Len would gesture to total strangers, and beckon, “Help yourself!” (The first summer that he did this, he earned the nickname, Lenny Stromboli.)
Through Lenny I met Cousin Raffa (“Ralphie,” as Lenny called him), and his other BFF, Dick. Those three men together helped fill a gap in my life–strong, masculine presences. I always felt safe if even one of the triumvirate was present. (Not that there’s a need for protection in the backstretch–I mean, in Life. A general sense of well-being.)
Lenny and I made friends with the Backstretch Butterfly, the remarkable messenger of God about whom I wrote in a previous column here on Saratoga.com. Every year after the first, Lenny asked, first-thing, if I thought we’d see our Backstretch Butterfly. And every year, we did. (Yes, we both knew that it wasn’t the same butterfly, but we had no doubt that it was a job assignment that the butterfly community gave to one of its quiet, ethereal members each year.) Our connection to that mystical, otherworldly creature and his assignment of escorting the horses to the gate quietly cemented our own friendship.
While there are scores of stories to tell about Lenny–and every one of us in our backstretch colony has tales to tell–the most compelling thing that you should know about this outrageously brilliant, kind and funny human being is that he loved horses. We used to worry that his lips would be bitten off one of the times that he put a carrot in his mouth, and shared with one of the residents of the pony barn. We’d laugh that nervous laugh, and he’s assure us that, hey, even if his lips were bitten off…”…wasn’t that something?”
He loved his horses: over the years he owned horses with Cousin Raffa and a couple of other friends. He loved handicapping and betting. I know that he won often–but he never bragged. And the only way we knew that he lost was when he’d shrug and say, “Nah.”
But for Lenny, a losing ticket meant only that he had to stay for the next race.
That, to me, sums up Lenny DeVito’s outlook on Life, itself: so, you lose some. But if you stick around long enough–eventually, you win. And you’ve got all those memories that happen during the 32 minutes between posts.
I thank God for so many things: that I knew Lenny DeVito, at all, was a gift from the Lord. That Lenny became as close to a brother as I’ll ever have. That he taught me to think and use physics when putting. To bet a longshot–because everyone needs someone to believe in them. To laugh, to love, to give generously and without thought about getting it back.
Lenny loved us–loves us, still–and believe/s in us,all. He saw the sparkling soul in each of us who, for six short weeks every summer, create a family. He just knew in his heart that each of us is someone special–someone great.
Only a truly great man can see the potential greatness in others, and encourage them without reserve. Lenny DeVito–my friend, my brother, my family member–died, but only his body has failed. His soul is in Heaven. His spirit lives on in every longshot who topples the Champion. In every guardian angel-butterfly.
And every time I watch beautiful, muscled horses break from the gate–and hear them breathing, “Huh-huh-huh” in that first furlong–I will think of Lenny, and the passion that we share(d) for those majestic animals, and the things that he learned from them, which he passed on to me.
NYRA’s grounds crew can relax now: Lenny won’t be whacking any golf balls into the infield after Closing Day anymore. But if they–and our posse–get still for just a moment, we will feel his presence at the six furlong start, and at the finish line. Saratoga 2014 won’t be the same without you, Lenny, but I do thank God–you’ve left so much of your beautiful self with us and on the track, that you’re not really gone, at all.
<3
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Photo courtesy of Cathleen Duffy.
