One of the more exciting and memorable things about Thoroughbred racing is you never know who you will meet at the track or under the shedrow.

Growing up on the Jersey shore in the 1960s was as idyllic as it could get. Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons blasting on AM radio, the famous Max Ember’s hot dogs along the boardwalk and, of course, Monmouth Park — the track! It was a time of innocence and grace. (Well, the track and its patrons were graceful, I’m not so sure, in hindsight, about the innocence).

At the time, my summer job was as a veterinarian’s assistant to the fine doctor Peter Hall. We treated all the best horses on the grounds, including “outfits” that belonged to legendary Hall of Fame trainers Jimmy Croll and Grover G. “Buddy” Delp … not to mention a few like Tony Bardaro, John Forbes, Bill Greely, George Handy, Dan Perlsweig and Jimmy Toner. The great jockeys rode at Monmouth Park as well, names like Sam Boulmetis, Walter Blum, Eddie Maple and Jorge Velasquez.

As I finished my work day, I moved from the backstretch to the “frontside” to take in the last few races and meet up with my mom and dad, who were going to drive me back to their summer house a few miles south in Elberon, N.J. There was a bit of a buzz in the stands that afternoon. As I walked the grandstand apron I realized why. Bob Hope, the legendary comedian, actor and American patriot was presenting the trophy for the feature race. People were clamoring around the winner’s circle to get a glimpse and maybe an autograph.

After the races, I was to meet my parents in the clubhouse parking lot as I was still dressed in dirty and smelly work clothes. As I walked to their car, another figure, bigger than life, was getting ready to get into the car too — Bob Hope, himself!

I knew my parents knew him. My mom (Leah Ray Hubbard Werblin) was actually his first silver screen co-star. Hope was in New York back in the late 1930s to star in the Broadway version of “Roberta.” My mother, who had a short but distinguished singing and acting career, was teamed up with him in a short film, “Going Spanish,” which is actually so clichéd it was good!

As I found out, a certain member of the board of Monmouth Park (my dad, Sonny) had cajoled him to come down for the weekend to receive an honorary doctorate from Monmouth University (then Monmouth College), which by the way was not associated with track, except for some professorial customers! The commencement was to take place on Saturday morning, allowing Hope to try and get even for his Friday sojourn at the races.

Mr. Hope and I got in the back seat. I smelled like horses and hay. He could have cared less but he did open the hand-cranked window! As we drove the few miles south, we passed the campus of the school. The college was originally built on the large gilded-age mansions that existed on the shore in the late 1800s and early 20^th Century. The rule of thumb was when the original owners passed on, they would give their estate to the college. My guess is that were certain estate-tax advantages to this. But again, this was an era of innocence and grace — perhaps!

Mr. Hope looked around at all the beauty of the homes, surrounded by abundant foliage, poplar trees and great oaks, and asked my dad, “What the hell do you have to do here to get to heaven, donate a mansion?”

Well, we all broke out laughing, including Hope. A good joke is one you tell and it cracks you up, too.

That night, we settled down for dinner, a few guests and some great Bob Hope stories later, I was sent on a mission to get the Daily Racing Form before Mr. Hope retired for the evening.

You never know whom you will meet at the races.