My dad was a self-proclaimed horse trader from Oklahoma, that moved to California in search of fame and fortune. Well, not really, I mean about the fame and fortune.

He learned the trade of carpentry and even built the house that I was raised in, here in Sonoma County.

But his passion was horse racing.

If you went to any race track in Northern California back in the '50, '60's and '70s, whether it was Bay Meadows, Golden Gate Fields or any of the fairs, you might have run into my dad.

He didn't go everyday, but as often as he could.

So why in the world would I suggest you might remember my dad?

I'll start here.

Back in the day, you had to go to a specific window for making a wager. There were individual windows for $2 win, $2 place and $2 show. There was even a window for a $2 combo, and so on. I mention this only to give you a reference point for how things were.

So where was my dad?

He was the guy standing over near the $50 window. There was usually only one of them, almost always located at the very end of the wagering windows, so he was easy to spot.

Dad always wore a cowboy hat that had a slight tilt to one side. When he was in his element, he sported a wry smile, accompanied by a partially closed right eye, almost like a wink, that told everyone that knew him, he was having a good time. He always donned a pair of bibbed overalls, to go with his Stetson hat, long-sleeved shirt and boots. Never did understand why they called them a pair of overalls? OK, that's another subject.

Dad wore overalls because of the convenience and security the multiple-pocket bib offered, right below his nose. He used these pockets for four things. First was his wallet, so someone couldn't pick it. Second was his glasses. Third was his pocket watch and its fob. And the remaining pockets were for betting tickets.

So now do you remember him?

Dad made it his business to know as many people that had something to do with horse racing. Before the big bettors would arrive to make their wagers at the $50 window, he would head to the paddock area and talk to trainers he knew after they saddled their horses.

I remember R.L. Martin, who still trains at Golden Gate Fields, was one of his favorites. Dad would sometimes give a trainer a pocket knife or pocket watch - things he collected and eventually sold at swap meets and gun shows - all in hopes of gaining a little edge on how that particular horse might do in the next race.

He would just saunter up to a trainer and ask him what he thought of his horse. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

Now do you remember him?

Then it was time to get serious, and off to the betting widows he went. First he made a wager reflecting the sound advice he gained by talking with the trainers.

But then came his speciality.

He bird-dogged the guys that bet for other people in the know. These guys would do the betting for the trainers, jockeys and owners that didn't like tipping people off if they liked their horse.

Some of the $50 windows around Northern California tracks had a wooden partition or little side wings for privacy, often looking like a voting booth. Some of the $50 windows even had a security guard standing by. That didn't seem to stop dad, and many times he would end up sitting in the guards chair just to take a load off his feet.

Dad would slip in behind his target as they moved to the betting window. He would get up as close as he could, and lean in, trying to hear ore see the number announced by the unwitting victim as he called it out to the mutual clerk behind the window. Dad would then spin out of line and head back to his spot. Then, when he had a chance, he would go and make a bet on that horse, usually at the $20 window because the lines weren't as long as they were at the $5 and $2 windows.

Now my dad's got tickets on two different horses. And he wasn't done yet. You just never knew who was going to try and slip in late with the for-sure winner.

Sometimes dad would end up with tickets on three or four horses. It would always seem like he had the winning horse, but how much he spent on getting that winning horse was anyone's guess.

Now do you remember him?

When I started attending the races at the Santa Rosa Fair meet, my dad quickly recruited me and my buddies to bird dog or place a wager for him. This allowed him to stay on watch and never have to leave his post.

He would just stand there and would kind of nod at someone, and off one of us went to get in line and see what horse the guy was betting. If we could tell dad how much the guy bet, all the better. Then after divulging the information to my dad, and with only a minute to go, my buddies and I would scatter, hoping to get in a bet for ourselves.

I remember more often than not, I would comeback and my dad would say, 'well did you get him,' meaning did I bet the winner. I would shake my head and tell him no. I bet the horse he told me to bet and it didn't win. Then he would explain how just at the last minute so-and-so came up and he bird dogged him and . . . well you know the rest, he made a killing.

I remember thinking to myself as I walked away disappointed, and usually broke, damn those long lines at the $2 windows. If I could have only stayed longer before the race started, or had more money to bet, I could have gone to the shorter lines.

My dad died in 1984 after a long battle with cancer.

Like everyone that has lost someone, I just wish he could have stuck around longer. He would have got a kick out of riding with me to the fair and actually parking, just up from the grandstand, for free. He would have loved sitting with me up in the press box while I finished my handicap for the next day's newspaper.

Now, when I'm doing my horse racing blog at home, I often look up at the numerous winning race photos I have hanging on my computer room wall and I realize how lucky I've been.

There in most of the photos are my wife, my son and my daughter. Yes, I'm a father too. And yes, my son also loves the sport. The photos include our close friends and partners and other well-wishers that wanted to get in the picture with us. But there is someone missing in every photo. Some one who would have given anything to have been there. My dad wasn't in any of them.

He would have loved to have been in the winner's circle with one of the horses I co-owned. We even won twice at Santa Rosa. He would have been so proud.

So, now do you remember him?

No, you probably don't, but I sure do.

I miss you dad, happy Father's Day