Our row house on Narcissus Avenue in Northwest Baltimore was a mere four city blocks from Pimlico Race Course, and if the wind was blowing in the right direction, the familiar call of the race could be heard faintly in the distance: "They're off! … for the lead …"

It was with those words that my fascination with horse racing commenced. The first time I actually witnessed what the distant voice was describing came as a 5-year-old, when my dad, just home from a long, hard day's work at his packaged goods store on Pennsylvania Avenue, took me with him to Pimlico, where admission was free for the last two races, and a free program and racing form were available for the asking from those exiting the track.

Finding two seats in the grandstand, my dad would handicap, and place his proverbial $2 bet (never more) on, the eighth and ninth races of the day; meanwhile, I collected discarded "Daily Double" tickets, with their fascinating curlicues and other designs (the anti-counterfeiting codes that were the precursor to today's computerized version) from the ground. I was mesmerized as the jockeys, donning uniquely designed silks astride their sleek and powerful "horsies," burst out of the starting gate and came thundering past the grandstand for the first time. Then, as the horses entered the final turn and I saw that the No. 3 horse (which my dad had selected) was third, and then second, and then was battling for the lead, I, too, was caught up in the irresistible, almost involuntary, need to scream at the top of my lungs: "Come on, three!"

Many years and many trips to Pimlico later, as an assistant attorney general in the Maryland Attorney General's Office, the opportunity to serve as legal counsel to the Maryland Racing Commission arose. Deeming it beshert — in Yiddish, "meant to be" — I leaped at the opportunity. I have relished that role for the past 22 years and, as a result, have been blessed with the fortune of mixing vocation with avocation.

My cheering for a horse to win a race was never louder than during the running of the 2004 Belmont Stakes; yet, I was not at the racetrack. Instead, I was in front of my parents' television set, as my beloved father, my mentor, had passed away in the early morning hours of that day. While out running errands in preparation for the company that would come following my dad's funeral, I drove to Pimlico, where I placed a bet in the Belmont for my dad — $2 to win ("not to lose," he would often say) on Smarty Jones, who, after having won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes, would be vying for the coveted Triple Crown.

I never wanted a horse to win a race more, and as I watched the field enter the final turn, Smarty Jones had the lead. "Come on Smarty; come on; keep him up; keep him up!" I screamed as the horses came down the stretch. Alas, it was not meant to be, and Smarty Jones did not make history that day. Nevertheless, I still have, and treasure, the priceless $2 win ticket that was my dad's.

At his funeral, I spoke of the lessons I had learned from my dad. Among them:

Equity. On the rare occasion when my family splurged and had a T-bone steak for dinner, my dad would carve the steak and present half of it to me, with instructions that I, in turn, was to cut that portion, keep half of it for myself and give the other half to my younger brother, Gary; however, Gary, not I, was to choose which of the resulting portions he wanted. (Of course, my estimation of what constituted "half" was quickly redefined.)

Respect. I was to address each customer in my dad's packaged good store with a courtesy title, no matter how low their station in life: "Mr. Champ" and "Miss Celina" and even "Mr. Mickey Mouse."

Honesty: As effortless as it would have been to take advantage of the clientele who frequented the store, my dad never, ever did so. Indeed, I so well remember my dad hurrying from behind the counter and chasing after a customer who had forgotten his change.

Courage: Ravished by the cruel and merciless disease known as "Parkinson's," which slowly but relentlessly robbed him of his capabilities, my dad never — not even once — complained or cried out or took self-pity.

Last year, Magna Entertainment Corp., the corporate owners of the Preakness, Pimlico and Laurel Park, as well as five other major racetracks throughout the country, filed a voluntary petition for bankruptcy under Chapter 11. As counsel to the Maryland Racing Commission, I became part of the team of lawyers whose primary role in these proceedings was to ensure that the Preakness — with its 135 years of history and tradition, as well as its significant economic impact — did not leave our state.

Soon into the proceedings, we filed a motion seeking to enforce a state law providing that if the Preakness is offered for sale, the state has the option to buy it for the amount of any offer the racetrack licensee wishes to accept (for the Preakness, together with the other MEC assets, was being placed on the "auction block"). In addition, with the assistance of the governor, the attorney general and the Maryland General Assembly, we were able to have emergency legislation enacted providing the state, in accordance with its sovereign powers, the ability to condemn and then purchase at fair market value all of MEC's racing assets in Maryland — including the Preakness.

More than one year later, an agreement was reached consisting, in part, of the "Preakness Covenant" whereby Pimlico's new owner, its affiliates, its successors and assigns are barred from ever moving the Preakness from the state of Maryland.

The day the confirmation order was signed, I was asked to attend a press conference being held by Gov. Martin O'Malley, Attorney General Douglas Gansler and Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake at the cupola located on the infield at Pimlico (the small, porched house where, historically, the colors of the newest Preakness winner are painted onto the house's weather vane, and the Woodlawn Vase is presented to the winner of the Preakness Stakes). When I was getting dressed that morning, in anticipation of the event at which this historic accomplishment would be announced, I first cradled, then gently kissed and put on the watch I had given my father years earlier, which had returned to me upon his passing. I also put on my dad's worn belt and then headed to the track.

Later that day, I listened to the governor proudly state, "The Preakness Covenant will ensure that the people of Maryland continue to enjoy this time-honored tradition, and that the state of Maryland and city of Baltimore will continue to realize the economic benefits of this annual event."

My dad and I were together at Pimlico once again.

Bruce C. Spizler is a Maryland senior assistant attorney general. His e-mail is bspizler@dllr.state.md.us.