At the Rail

At this point, anything that is in the print media that refers to, relates to, or is about thoroughbred racing catches my eye, if only because anything written about racing outside of the Daily Racing Form is rare. The sport is not dead, but it does operate somewhat behind the curtain. It occasionally emerges onto the main stage when there is a BIG race, but that is not often. The NYT has all but stopped writing about it, assigning their last racing reporter, Joe Drape, to other assignments. Joe occasionally gets to report on what he sees through his binoculars, but it is rare.

So when there is an Op-Ed piece in the Wall Street Journal! that contains a headline about "Railbirds" attention must be paid.

And then there's the out quote that pulls you in: "Racetracks may be the most democratic places in America, even if there are fewer of them now." Yikes, I've got to read this one.

The Op-Ed piece by Alan Pell Crawford relates a story about meeting and talking to Sergei Tolstoy at Laurel Park, a racetrack in Maryland in the 1980s. Sergei it turned out was Leon Tolstoy's great-grandson and was in attendance with someone who seemed like a bodyguard.

Despite what might seem like forbidding circumstances, Mr. Crawford tells us Sergei was only too eager to talk to him and tell him who was going to win the next race. When you're at the track, there is always a next race, until the last race, and after the last race, there is usually a tomorrow, if you;re still alive. The horses run around an oval, and racing revolves around Earth.

Talking to a Russian Count tickled Mr. Crawford's sense of equality and accessibility to all types of people, made possible by watching horses in the paddock and sharing the goal of picking a winner.

When I was a young lad at the flower shop I always heard stories about the people at the racetrack. Someone would always say that you'd see well-dressed people at the $2 window, and people who looked like bums at the $100 window (That was the time when there were separate windows for the size of your bet.)

This year marks my 50th anniversary of first going to the track, Belmont, on Belmont Day when Stage Door Johnny won the Belmont Stakes. To my father's great consternation I loved handicapping and loved going to the track. He always feared I'd become a degenerate I guess. It didn't happen.

If Mr. Crawford was younger he might have gone to Bowie and talked to J. Edgar Hoover, the head of the FBI. Hoover liked the racetrack and could be found there often. (The gangster Frank Costello was said to brag that he had to fix races so Hoover could pick a winner. This may not be true.)
Whether anyone actually felt comfortable enough to talk to perhaps the most feared man in America at the time is another story. I don't know. But J. Edgar was there, and accessible.

I must admit, Mr. Crawford is right. I've always talked to someone who might have directed a comment in my general direction. None have been Russian Counts however.

I do remember our mentor Les, mentioned often in these racing posts, who would sometimes leave us at the seats and opt to go stand at the bottom of the aisle to better see the race. Aqueduct has the best sightlines over Belmont, but even better if you can get to the bottom of the aisle. Right now, that is no problem, but in the 60s and 70s, the place was packed. Even the aisles were packed.

There are several times Les would rejoin us at he seats after the race and tell us he was just talking to Jack Dreyfus, the Wall Street tycoon who was head of the Dreyfus Fund, one of the few mutual funds at the time.

Jack Dreyfus was also an owner of Hobeau Farm and a NYRA trustee and sometimes chairman of NYRA. But he could be found at the bottom of an aisle, and Les recognized him and would talk to him. About racing, not stocks.

Les would also sometimes point out Mrs. Phipps to us, a somewhat shabbily dressed older woman who was seen scurrying for the exit after the last race. Mrs. Phipps was Dinny's mom, and was the matriarch to a considerable fortune. Partners of Andrew Carnegie.

There was the Belmont Stakes when Air Forbes One was pretty much carried across the finish line first by Angel Cordero and I spotted the former hockey player, and soon to be manager of the New York Rangers, John Ferguson. As a player, Ferguson was a nasty fighter, and a look at his nose confirmed he should have breathing problems. In person he did seem a lot smaller than I expected, but then again, he wasn't wearing skates.

Anyway, after spotting John and then being a Ranger season ticket holder I asked him if we were going to have a good team this coming year. John said "yes." (No we didn't.)

Another time I spotted the former Montreal great and former New York Ranger, Boom Boom Geoffrion stuck on the $10 Win line, hopping around and nervously smoking, trying to see why the line wasn't moving as fast as post time was approaching. I yelled out "Boom Boom." He nodded, but was only interested in making the bet.

The last time I was at the track the last fellow I talked to told me that the hot walker that just walked by who held up one finger was telling him that Linda Rice's (trainer) horse was a good bet—perhaps a shoe-in—in the next race. My new found friend and I were however backing another horse in the race.

The hot walker was right, and after the race when Linda's horse won my friend and I exchanged "what-are-you-going-to-do gestures."

I never considered the banter at the track to represent admission to a democratic place, but I guess it is. However, with greatly decreased attendance you can find yourself just plain talking to yourself—and perhaps a seagull.

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