
For 107 years Lexington’s thoroughbreds ran at the Kentucky Association course on Race Street — the ground that launched Isaac Murphy and gave America its oldest stakes race. Then the Depression killed it, a housing project rose on its grave, and a handful of horsemen gambled everything on a non-profit called Keeneland.

The Kentucky Department of Revenue has produced the last five missing years of the Red Mile TIF’s state ledger — on the exact day it promised. The decade’s total is public for the first time: $3,197,344 paid from 2015 through 2024, after state auditors spent ten years correcting Lexington’s math, striking gamblers’ income taxes…

On the night Fayette’s school board locked in four more years of Demetrus Liggins, a board member lectured skeptical parents that “sometimes transparency is a choice.” Eighteen months of receipts later, we know whose choice it was.
Sometime around mid-July, Attorney General Russell Coleman’s office is due to answer a question that sounds procedural: did the Fayette County Board of Education violate Kentucky’s Open Meetings Act on June 10, when it emerged from a two-and-a-half-hour closed session and unanimously suspended Superintendent Demetrus Liggins with pay? Liggins filed his appeal June 30;…

Every summer, usually in late June or July, Lexington gets a warning that sounds routine until it isn’t: flash flooding possible. The city sits in a shallow limestone bowl, its founding creek — Town Branch — buried under the pavement of Vine Street since the nineteenth century, and when a cloudburst stalls overhead the…

In 1910 the Lexington Herald gave a full section front to the safe-and-sane crusade — the campaign insisting America’s fireworks Fourth killed more people than the Revolution it commemorated.

At Woodland Park’s Kentucky Chautauqua, the Fourth of July meant brilliant lectures, helpful schools, splendid music — and a former Opera House stagehand going up in a balloon he called a thing of shreds and patches.

On the 50th Fourth of July, Lexington raised a glass to the living Thomas Jefferson — and learned from the same newspaper, seventeen days later, that he and John Adams had both died that very afternoon.

In April 1930, a 66-ton embalmed finback named Goliath rolled into Lexington in a glass-walled railcar — and 3,000 people came out the first night.

Lexington’s single biggest source of local political money is a horse farm. Its growth boundary — the nation’s first, drawn in 1958 — is what that money is defending. A documented, bilateral look at the homebuilders and the horse farms fighting over where to draw the line, traced dollar by dollar through the campaign-finance…