The five-year anniversary marking the "second death" of Hall of Fame jockey Ralph Neves quietly slipped by with nary a notice last month, not a single mention in any major horse racing publication.

But the story of his initial "demise" got plenty of press in its day and merits retelling every decade or so, especially for the benefit of those who weren't following the sport of kings during The Great Depression.

The Neves odyssey officially came to an end shortly past midnight on Friday, July 7, 1995, when he was pronounced dead.

Neves, who was 79, retired in 1964 after riding 3,771 winners during a 30-year career. He died in his sleep at a San Marcos, Calif. nursing home not long after undergoing surgery for lung cancer. He had been ill for years, battling a variety of ailments.

Reputed for a volatile temper which earned him the nickname, "The Portuguese Pepperpot," as well as a fearless riding style that bordered on the reckless, Neves was the subject of one of the sport's favorite and most oft-repeated stories.

In a 1936 race at Bay Meadows, he went down in a horrific spill when his mount took a bad step, broke down and fell on the far turn. He was catapulted into the rail, then trampled by several trailing horses.

Neves, lying crumpled on the track, was unconscious and exhibited no vital signs when examined by the attending track physician. He was placed on a stretcher and taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital.

Emergency room doctors worked feverishly over the comatose jockey, who still showed no evidence of life. They finally gave up the ghost (pun intended) and had Neves transferred to the county morgue.

Word soon got back to track announcer Oscar Otis---later to become the longtime west coast columnist for the Daily Racing Form---who ominously informed the crowd that Neves had died and requested a moment of silence in his memory.

Deathly stillness fell over the hushed crowd.

A doctor friend of Neves' heard the news and rushed to the morgue, where the jockey's big toe already had been tagged. The physician, Dr. Horace Stevens, figured he had nothing to lose by making one last attempt at resuscitating his friend.

Stevens pulled back the sheet that covered Neves and injected a shot of adrenalin directly into the 20-year-old rider's heart. Upon seeing no immediate change in Neves' lifeless condition, Stevens sadly departed.

However, shortly thereafter, Neves miraculously regained consciousness, slowly arose from his slab, lowered himself to the floor and began wandering groggily through the morgue.

This part of the story has never been positively confirmed, but reportedly a terrified morgue attendant screamed and fainted at the sight of the bloodied, bedraggled Neves slowly shuffling past, clad only in a badly torn pair of riding pants and one jockey boot.

Neves proceeded to walk out of the morgue and hailed a cab back to the track.

One can only imagine the bewildered, disbelieving looks on the faces of Neves' colleagues when he unexpectedly walked through the doors of the Bay Meadows jockeys' room after having been pronounced dead only a couple of hours earlier. Indeed, reports of his demise had been greatly exaggerated.

He rode again the following day and for most of the days to come during the next 28 years. Few jockeys were as well-respected as Neves when he finally hung up his tack.

There may have been some old friends and former riders who heard about Neves' passing in '95 but still half-expected him to make another dramatic appearance, one more resurrection from the "dead."

Sorry, not this time.

But it brings to mind another tale told on so many occasions that one cannot be sure whether it's authentic or apocryphal.

As the story goes, there was a huge Hollywood funeral for Bela Lugosi after the longtime villain of countless Dracula films passed on and went wherever it is that vampires go when they expire.

The procession of mourners was slowly filing past the open casket and paying last respects when fellow actor Peter Lorre, long renowned for an impish sense of humor, leaned over with a sly grin and softly whispered in Lugosi's ear: