Letter to the Editor: Stu Story #8

[Wandering Eyes]

When I moved to Kentucky in 2019 to work for Taylor Made, I didn't know a single person, I didn't know the first thing about the racehorse industry, I had never seen anything like a Lexington horse sale, and I certainly didn't drink bourbon. With no real guidance except to watch, absorb, and help where I could, my first day on the job was the Keeneland January sale. Everyone was polite but busy – clients to help, horses to show – and I mostly stayed out of the way. But Stu, ever aware of every face and name, found me within 48 hours.

He pressed a steaming cup of tea into my hands, parked us in front of the space heaters at the stalls, and in the middle of juggling clients and buyers, patiently explained the inner workings of the sales. From that day forward, he never stopped looking out for me. That night he took me to Shamrock's. He didn't just ask polite questions, he asked the kind that made you feel your story mattered. He cracked jokes, put me at ease, and ordered me my first bourbon on the rocks. When I couldn't get down more than a sip, he grinned, eyes twinkling, finished it for me, and said, “We'll work on that.” After that night, I wasn't just a stranger in Lexington. I was someone Stu had decided to bring under his wing.

Bourbon became the backdrop of our friendship. Lunches, dinners, handicapping races – he taught me, one pour at a time, not just how to drink it but how to savor it. Bourbon with Stu wasn't about the glass in your hand. It was about slowing down, enjoying the people at your table, the stories being told, and the laughter spilling out between sips. Over time, I acquired a taste for bourbon. But more than that, I acquired a taste for the way Stu lived: present, curious, generous, always pulling people closer.

He believed in me fiercely, too. Six months into my job, Stu left for a week-long cattle drive in Montana and handed me his entire business. No check-ins, no second-guessing, just complete trust. That was Stu: lifting you up, bragging on you, and making you feel capable of more than you thought.

By the time my year at Taylor Made was ending, we marked it the only way that felt right: with a flight of Pappy's. It wasn't just a celebration of my time there, but of the friendship and mentorship that carried me from that first sip I couldn't swallow to a bond that, with Taylor Made and with Stuart, felt like family. What started with a wince at Shamrock's had become something I cherished, flavored with Stu's laughter, his lessons, and his friendship.

Even after I moved back to Texas, bourbon kept us connected. I probably have forty bottles now, many of them ones Stu picked out and mailed with a handwritten note saying, “You'll like this one.” Truth be told, I don't know if I love bourbon itself as much as I love what it represents – Stu's way of making sure every moment, every success, was worth raising a glass to. Like the time he surprised me with a box of ball caps printed with my horse's picture after my biggest sale, just to make sure I stopped to celebrate.

One of my last great memories with him was in Ireland last summer. I am forever grateful to Liam and Taylor for letting me crash their wedding – not just to celebrate with them, but to spend more time with Stu. We wandered cobblestone streets, slipped into pubs, sampled whiskeys, watched races, and raised glass after glass to nothing more than the joy of being there. It was Stu in his purest form: good friends beside you, a good drink in your hand, and time enough to enjoy both.

For me, bourbon will always remind me of Stu – strong, generous, a little fiery, and best savored slowly with friends. Every pour carries his memory, and every bottle on my shelf reminds me of the privilege of calling him my friend.

—Brooke Wharton

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