Parker Buckley III

The filly’s pace fell into a soft rhythmic drumming on the damp earth. The sun cast long shadows and the morning air still lied undisturbed over the oval track. Parker felt the warmth of the easy workout rise from her neck as they made their way around the Oklahoma Track, in Saratoga. Nice and relaxed, just as the August morning had promised.

As he brought her up, slowing the young horse’s workout she caught a reflective glint off the windshield of passing car. The light exploded in the dark eye of the horse. The high strung horse danced, moving off to the right, crossing her delicate legs in a prance. Parker caught every signal of her irritation - the change in gate, the flicker of her ears, the nod of her head, a muffled snort.

He had seen this many times in his career as a jockey on the small track of the Finger Lakes. With 947 wins to his name he had twice before been thrown, but the injuries never could keep him from the horses he loved. Now working as an exercise rider Parker pulled the filly’s head back with the wet leather reins. The firm but gentle tug was meant to calm the edgy temperament of the thoroughbred.

Instead, the light chestnut horse fought back. She gave a short kick throwing clods of dirt behind her. Then she bolted forward into a quick gallop. For a brief second Parker was aware that he was airborne. The once still air of the morning rippled around him. His body brushed lightly against the flank of his mount. He never remembered hitting the ground, head first.

When Superman fell off his horse, he never walked again. When Parker hit the turf the inside of his head resembled a scrambled egg. As he laid on the damp track, he thought the sky looked remarkably blue, unusual for the month had been particularly rainy. He swore he never seen it so clear. That would be the last thing he’d ever think.

Parker Buckley III died at Albany Medical, never regaining consciousness.