The vase remained hidden in Kentucky soil throughout the war
In the long arc of American sport and memory, few objects carry as much weight as the Woodlawn Vase — a sterling silver trophy born in 1860, buried to survive a civil war, and now enshrined as the most valuable championship prize on the continent. Each spring at the Preakness Stakes, its replica is placed in the hands of a winner, while the original rests under guard at the Baltimore Museum of Art, a quiet testament to the idea that some things are too meaningful to risk losing again. It is a prize that has outlasted the people who made it, the war that nearly destroyed it, and the era when such things could simply be carried home.
- A trophy worth over $4 million — crafted by Tiffany & Co. and standing 36 inches tall — makes the Preakness Stakes winner's circle one of the most historically charged moments in American sport.
- The original vase was once buried in Kentucky soil to keep it from being melted down for Civil War ammunition, a desperate act of preservation that somehow worked.
- For decades, winning owners took the real vase home for a year, until 1953, when Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt Jr.'s wife quietly declined — recognizing the burden of holding something irreplaceable.
- The original has not left permanent protection since, traveling only under heavy security for the annual ceremony before returning to the Baltimore Museum of Art.
- Winners now receive hand-crafted sterling silver replicas — a graceful solution that honors the tradition without gambling with the artifact itself.
- More than 160 years after its creation, the Woodlawn Vase remains in a category of its own: part trophy, part historical survivor, part national heirloom.
This weekend, the winner of the Preakness Stakes will be handed a replica of the Woodlawn Vase — a sterling silver trophy that represents far more than a race won. The original, crafted by Tiffany & Co. in 1860, stands 36 inches tall, weighs roughly 30 pounds, and is valued at over $4 million, making it the most valuable sports trophy in North America. Atop it sits a silver figure of the legendary racehorse Lexington, mounted with a jockey — a detail that speaks to the extraordinary craftsmanship behind the piece.
What makes the vase remarkable is not just its artistry or its price, but its survival. When the Civil War broke out, those who held it faced an impossible choice. Rather than risk its seizure and melting for ammunition, they buried it in Kentucky soil. It stayed there throughout the war, hidden and intact, and emerged when the fighting ended — a physical object that had outlasted one of the nation's most devastating conflicts.
The vase became the official Preakness trophy in 1917, and for years, winning owners were allowed to take it home for a year before returning it. That tradition ended quietly in 1953, when the wife of Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt Jr. declined to accept the original after Native Dancer's victory. She understood the weight of what it meant to hold something so fragile and so irreplaceable.
Since then, the original has never left permanent protection. It lives at the Baltimore Museum of Art, transported under heavy security only for the annual ceremony. Winners receive hand-crafted replicas — genuine, meaningful, and real — while the artifact itself remains safely behind museum walls, still accumulating history, still outlasting everything around it.
This weekend at Laurel Park, the winner of the Preakness Stakes will stand in the circle holding something far heavier than a ribbon and a check. They'll be presented with a replica of the Woodlawn Vase, a sterling silver trophy that has become the second jewel of the Triple Crown—and one of the most valuable championship prizes ever created.
The original vase, crafted by Tiffany & Co. in 1860, is worth more than $4 million today. It stands 36 inches tall, weighs about 30 pounds, and is made of solid sterling silver. The craftsmanship is extraordinary: the design features intricate details throughout, with a silver figure of the legendary racehorse Lexington mounted with a jockey at the top. When it was first insured in 1983, the value was set at $1 million. Modern estimates have quadrupled that figure, making it the most valuable trophy in North American sports—a distinction it holds without serious competition.
But the Woodlawn Vase is not merely expensive. It is a survivor. The trophy was originally commissioned by the Woodlawn Racing Association in Kentucky, and when the Civil War erupted, those who held it faced a terrible choice: keep it visible and risk its seizure, or bury it and hope for a future when racing would return. They chose to bury it. The vase remained hidden in Kentucky soil throughout the war, preserved from the melting pots that would have turned it into ammunition. When the fighting ended and racing resumed, the vase emerged from the ground intact—a physical artifact that had outlasted one of the nation's bloodiest conflicts.
For more than a century after the war, the vase traveled between racetracks and states, accumulating history with each race it crowned. It became the official trophy of the Preakness Stakes in 1917, and that association has endured ever since. For decades, winning owners were permitted to take the original vase home for a year before returning it for the next race. That tradition ended in 1953, when Native Dancer won the Preakness. The horse's owner, Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt Jr., had his wife decline possession of the trophy. She understood what the vase represented—not just a prize, but a responsibility. The risk of damage, theft, or loss was simply too great.
Since that moment, the original Woodlawn Vase has never left permanent protection. Today it is housed at the Baltimore Museum of Art, transported under heavy security only for the annual Preakness presentation ceremony. Winners instead receive a smaller sterling silver replica, each one hand-crafted over the course of months. It is a graceful compromise: the winner gets a genuine trophy, a piece of the tradition, something real to hold and display. But the artifact itself—the actual vase that survived the Civil War, that carries the weight of American history—remains safe behind museum walls.
There are other great trophies in sports. The Stanley Cup travels to winning teams. The Lombardi Trophy goes home with Super Bowl champions. But few championship prizes carry the combination of artistry, historical significance, and sheer monetary value that the Woodlawn Vase possesses. It is a trophy that has outlasted wars, outlasted the people who buried it, and outlasted the era when winners could simply take home what they had won. It remains, more than 160 years after its creation, one of the most remarkable objects in American sports.
Citas Notables
The wife of Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt Jr. declined possession of the trophy after Native Dancer won in 1953, citing the responsibility and risk of protecting such a valuable artifact.— Historical accounts of the 1953 Preakness Stakes
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why bury a trophy during wartime? Why not just hide it somewhere safer, like a bank vault?
Because in 1860, there were no bank vaults like we know them. And burying it was the safest option they could imagine—it would be melted down for ammunition if the wrong hands found it. Burying it meant it would survive.
So the vase sat in the ground for years. Did anyone worry they'd forget where it was?
That's the thing—we don't know exactly how long it was buried, or all the details of how it was recovered. The historical record is thin there. But it came back intact, which is what matters.
And then it traveled around for decades before becoming the Preakness trophy. Why did it take until 1917?
Horse racing was growing, becoming more organized and prestigious. The Preakness needed a trophy worthy of its ambitions. The Woodlawn Vase had already proven itself—it had survived the worst America had endured. It was the perfect symbol.
The Vanderbilt wife refusing it in 1953—was that a turning point?
Absolutely. She recognized something the sport hadn't fully grasped yet: that some objects become too valuable, too fragile, too important to treat as personal possessions. Once you understand that, you can't unknow it. The vase had to be protected.
So now winners get a replica. Does that feel like a consolation prize?
Not really. A hand-crafted replica is still a genuine trophy, still made of sterling silver, still takes months to create. What changed is that the original—the actual artifact—finally got the reverence it deserved.