NYC OTB II

NYC OTB has finally shut its doors for good. No more threats to do so. It is done. This has briefly plopped it back in the news, not as some shining spot that has now disappeared but for what it was: a not too attractive place that did not attract the white wine and shrimp set.

Longevity didn't give it even grudging respectability. Thus, the tributes are hardly pouring in. Nothing like the end-of-the-era odes that have been sparked by the death of Elaine Kaufman, the centerpiece owner of Elaine's restaurant on 2nd Avenue.

Most of the quotes are from unhappy patrons who claim that OTB ruined racing and turned it over to the homeless, to those who believe that organized crime should have been more involved, because government can't run anything. Some truth to all the gripes, and funny, that OTB's passing will likely send a ripple effect through all business precincts, legal and otherwise.

But it did create some memories, and they are not particularly bad. There is the sunny fellow who has made a living picking up discarded OTB tickets that later prove to be worth something. A 'stooper' in Damon Runyon parlance. And 'stooping' can sometimes yield significant sums. Have success doing this long enough and you gain respectability. They start to write about you.

Certainly the success Jesus Leonardo has enjoyed doing the 'stooping' should move him to the obituary-in-waiting list, ready to be used when his own ticket becomes cashed in. He is a legend we can read about now, and should be reading about later, whenever that is.

My own memories of OTB start at its inception in 1971. I was already three years into what has remained my interest in horse racing, and OTB brought the track to the sidewalk. And because it lasted nearly 40 years, there are likely people who have been using it and going there for years who don't even know about the start.

Initially they didn't use numbers to designate the horse you wanted to play. Because they needed more advance time to create entry lists OTB introduced letters for horses. This allowed them to keep the same letter right up to post time. It wouldn't change because of scratches. In the early days, trainers were allowed to change their mind about entries nearly up to post time, or enter within a day of the race. This didn't allow an organization like OTB enough time to pre-publish entries and distribute them as early as they'd like to. Scratches shuffled program numbers, which became assigned the day of the race. To keep things smooth for identification purposes, OTB assigned a letter to a horse as soon it was entered. If it became scratched, no other horse assumed its letter.

The letter system went on for many, many years, until the trainers were given less time to make changes. It was easy enough to understand, since you wrote or called a letter rather than a number. It also offered some 800-like mnemonic possibilities for those who delighted in fun. I had a neighbor in Flushing who told us one night when he was over that he and his buddy always bet the 'GA' Daily Double when they could. The 'GA' reminded them of their Gamblers' Anonymous meetings.

As soon as I could, I became a phone account bettor. It was just easier. My plays continue to be recreational, (through Nassau Downs OTB) and my need to collect is not immediate. I've always been credited with what was coming to me.

But I didn't shun the parlors altogether. There have been occasional needs. I always knew where to find them, where to find a pencil, how to fill out a betting slip, and what window to take it to. And where to collect, if winning occurred. At the outset there was no TV viewing of the races. But simulcasting eventually changed that, so you could actually bet and watch, but it wasn't always so.

In the aftermath of 9/11, when we were displaced by the collapse of the Trade Center, a few of us like-minded individuals would head for a nearby OTB after wolfing down lunch. We'd play the first two or so races from a NYRA track, then return to work. No great scores, and no great losses either. It did provide us with our form of recreation.

The two times the company was made to find temporary space, we found OTBs. The one on Second Avenue was positively posh. There were curtains on the windows, no doubt at the edict of some Community Board. Once our company permanently relocated, we didn't do lunch the same way.

Certainly OTB wasn't my home, but I never felt I was seeing something I wasn't already used to. In the 60s, at the family flower shop, there was a fair cast of characters who sometimes converged on the shop to shoot the breeze with my great-uncle. Barney Greene, John Stern, Dave Levine and Gus. Gus occasionally did deliveries when I wasn't pressed into service. Gus, like the others, came complete with an overcoat, and in all kinds of weather. He did differ in that he really did have a triple row of watches pinned to the inside of the coat--looking somewhat like a Russian general at a May Day review--just in case the stores were closed and you needed something at the last minute.

Collectively, they looked like they were at the Automat; there just wasn't any food around and they were standing. Fast forward them to an OTB, and they would not have been out of place.

And neither was I.

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