The year was 1950. She was 18 years old.

Her hair was brunette. She was as big as a minute. She attended her first Kentucky Derby, dressed in white lace. And she was excited. Her name was Ophelia. And it still is.

“It was a big deal then,” Ophelia said, “Just like it’s a big deal now. Everyone wanted to go.”

Ophelia wore a flamboyant hat that day. She wore all-white. She swilled mint juleps, and hooked arms with her escort, a 23-year-old Louisville boy who was studying to be an attorney. He was handsome. He wore cream linen. She let him kiss her. On the lips.

“It was the first time that had ever happened,” she admitted. “I really liked it.”

That year, a horse named Middleground won the Derby. But Ophelia was more interested in the attorney with the cute dimples.

She is 92 now. This last year has been a trainwreck, healthwise. She just got out of the hospital due to a urinary tract infection. They thought she was going to die. But she didn’t.

Today, she’s in brittle health. But the Derby never stops. And there’s something comforting about that.

She has endured Kentucky tornadoes, two bouts with COVID-19 that nearly killed her, and she has survived one husband.

“This Derby is for Mama,” says her daughter, Crystal. “We’re celebrating her today.”

This year, the Derby turns 150. Every year since 1875, the Run for the Roses has taken place without interruption. It is America’s longest continuously held sporting event, beating Westminster Dog Show by two years.

The Derby isn’t unlike Ophelia, in that it has survived a lot. Two world wars, one Great Depression, a few pandemics—the Spanish Flu, and COVID-19, when the race took place in near silence.

“We all know this could be Mama’s last Derby,” says her daughter, who is throwing the Derby party. “So we want it to be a good one.”

And so it shall be, Ophelia’s Derby party will take place in the living room, in Sarasota. She’s having close friends and family members over for the occasion. All women.

Husbands are not invited. Sorry.

“We’re going to get a little crazy,” said the old woman with a laugh. “We’re going to wear the big hats and talk about girl stuff. Men can’t handle that.”

Also, they’re going to eat tiny, crustless sandwiches, pimento cheese, mixed-fruit concoctions, and mayonnaise-based salads that most Northerners just wouldn’t understand.

They’re going to play a few games. They’re going to drink mint juleps until someone has to call Uber.

“There’s nothing better than the Derby,” she says.

Each year, the race draws about 150,000. It’s pure pageantry. There is a hand-sewn garland of red roses presented to the winner. And it’s still a cherished pastime for most Americans. Kentuckian or otherwise.

Last year, the Derby was the second-most watched sporting event behind the Super Bowl.

But it’s more than that for Ophelia.

“For me, it’s that one thing that keeps happening even though life keeps throwing me curveballs. You always know that May is coming around, you know someone’s going to win, and life goes on.”

She smiles and adjusts her hair.

“…I didn’t recognize that little old woman in the mirror I saw this morning. Because inside, I’m still that 18-year-old girl who’s just dying to be kissed by a handsome attorney.”

Happy 150th birthday, Kentucky Derby.