Page 12 - April 2005 The Game

12 The Game, April 2005 Your Thoroughbred Racing Community Newspaper
Picture of the Past
By Peter Gross
Have a look at the photograph accom- panying this article. It's a black and white of three men at Woodbine. See the Jackie Kennedy pillbox on the woman in the background? This was late spring or summer of 1961. The man in the middle is my father Ben. He was 43 at the time.
Ben died five years ago and of all his belongings, it was this picture I coveted most. I won't bore you with excessive verbiage about what a sweet, gentle and bright man he was; just believe that some of my warmest memories were from being
at the track with him.
My father was not, strictly speaking, a
horseplayer. To him, a day at the track was something special. Look at the three men. They're all wearing suits. Two of them are sporting bowties. That was how you went to the racetrack in 1961. Check out the fedora on the gentleman to the side. Can
you see the stogie in my Dad's right hand?
Anyone who has been to Woodbine a few times will recognize the doors. The three men in the picture are on the apron, trackside, near the finish line. And you will note at least two sets of binoculars in the shot. In those days, of course, there were no TV monitors inside the track and there was no giant screen by the tote board. Clearly my father's racetrack gang subscribed to the insightful advice of the revered sage Yogi Berra who said,
"You can see a lot just by looking."
It's a very different universe now at the track. In my father's time, you put $20 in your pocket and that was pretty well your stake for the day. Unlike his son, Ben knew how to make a few bucks last the whole day. In 1961, even if you had a credit card, there was no technology for a cash advance; the nearest bank machine was twenty years away. I can assure you that my father never offered to put an entire foursome's meal on his American Express
in return for cash to bet. That's something I've rarely done.
In 1961, when you went to the track, there were eight races, spaced languidly apart by a relaxing half hour. There was a daily double to entice one to arrive before first post, and at least a couple of the races had exactor wagering. No triactors, no superfectas or pick threes or Sweep Six pools. The bet du jour was, inevitably, $2 across the board.
My father's head would probably spin at the pace of equine wagering today. In his day, it took about 4 hours to watch and spec- ulate on eight races. On a typical Saturday in 2005, your first eight races - Woodbine, Gulfstream, Aqueduct, Churchill Downs - have sucked the life out of your wallet in just over an hour. That's assuming you forgot about the Fairgrounds.
To most lovers of the pari-mutuel game, there is a hand-me-down tra- dition, suggesting that somehow, the
urge to bet on a horse is a genetic inheritance. I went to the track with my Dad. I heard stories from him about Dufferin, Long Branch and Thorncliffe Park. I understand that in the 30s, my
grandfather, who had a small tailor shop near Kensington Market, would take my grandmother on the streetcar to enjoy the afternoon cards at Greenwood.
One of my proudest moments is when I got to interview David 'Pud' Foster in 1983, shortly after his horse Sunny's Halo had won the Kentucky Derby.
"I knew your grandfather," Foster told me, "He used to take our bets in the 30's." I tried to confirm this story but was given the silent treatment by my elders, who couldn't quite understand my delight that Zaidy was a part-time bookie.
I loved the stories I heard about the racetracks that no longer exist. I suspect my children and grandchildren won't have quite the same curiosity when I weave tales about Greenwood and Garden City Racetracks.
The man on the right in the older photo is Gordon Laws, who lived next door to us, and there was quite a surprise waiting for me when I visited him in his comfortable apartment at the Glynnwood Seniors Residence in Thornhill. Mr. Laws, now 84, is an exceptionally skilled watercolour artist and the walls of his home are alive with his wonderful renditions of boating scenes. On a small side table are three framed photographs: one of Mr. Laws and his wife, one of Mr. Laws' children, and,
CONTINUED ON PAGE 37
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