Colins Ghost

Red Smith called “…winter racing where it’s summer, strictly for sissies.” He said “…the true test of gallant greed (is) winter racing where it’s winter.”

Maryland commenced running in winter (“where it’s winter”) starting in the 1950s. From this, a new species of horse player evolved. When the now defunct Bowie racetrack started opening in the throes of winter over 50 years ago, it gave birth to what Shirley Povich – the Linnaeus of 20th century sport – identified as the “Bowie Breed.”

Image: Ad for 1957 racing season at Bowie (American Racing Manual)

In 1958, Bowie opened on February 8, the earliest racing in Maryland history to that point. Washington Post race writer Walter Haight began his story on opening day with this: “At a period once called ‘the dead of winter’ in racing and sewing circles, Bowie aims to be alive and kicking.” Alive and kicking indeed, as nearly 18,000 fans showed up for opening day.

Two weeks later, a tremendous snowstorm stranded a reported 3,000 fans at Bowie who were forced to spend the night in the track’s clubhouse. Management canceled the next day’s racing, undoubtedly disappointing those who “stayed over.”

It was this event that inspired the legendary Shirley Povich to classify the “Bowie Breed” in his piece in the Washington Post a few days after the infamous snow-in. Here is what Povich reported on February 19, 1958:

“As one who yields to no horse player in his avidity for the track, it is easy to be resentful of the efforts of some fanciful authors to compare the defeat in the Bowie snow of Saturday to Napolean’s historic retreat from Moscow.

“At Moscow, Napolean chickened out. He abandoned the whole idea, never to return. In the image of MacArthur, not Bonaparte, we shall. Even now it is safe to say of Bowie’s horse players that they are re-grouping. It is safe to say because there breathes no hardier band than the Bowie breed of bettor.

“There has been interruption since Saturday but the Bowie horse player is unwilling to take snow for an answer to his ruling passion. At the first indication that there’s a new pathway to the track, followers of the horse will follow the snow plows in close-order formation. They know the mutuel windows are always under cover.

“They had warning about Saturday’s snows before they set out for the track but 13,354 scorned the thought of a Saturday afternoon at home and fireside. They paid the newly-doubled parking fees, invested eagerly in programs at newly-hiked prices and paid the $3.60 clubhouse admissions for the worst seats at the track…

“…Not only for horse players but for track operators, success can be a heady thing. The Bowie owners gambled on the weather last winter and won, with a spate of sunny days that fetched big crowds who bet an average of more than $1,100,000 a day. Oh it was wonderful and so this year the track people pressed their luck and opened for business four days earlier than last year’s Feb 12 start.

“Now they know how King Canute felt about it when he tried to joust with the forces of nature and hold back the tides. As if wroth at the Bowie owners’ attempts to re-make the calendar, Dame Winter confected the biggest snow job in 22 years as a reminder that, at Bowie, June does not exist in February.

“The track’s big profits of last year may now be wiped out by the obvious folly of a Feb. 8 start of racing at Bowie. The track will begin to recoup, however, at the first indication that the horses are running again. The race track is one place of business where the customers are not always right, but they are always eager.”

Three years later, in 1961, when the Maryland track opened in what was called “the earliest spring in the history of the state,” Red Smith revisited the story in an article titled “The Bowie Breed.” Smith’s view of the Bowie Breed lacked the tear-jerking heroism of Povich. It is, however, brilliant, hysterical, and worth quoting at length:

In reporting the January 1961 opening, Smith wrote “…This year Tuesdays as well as Sundays are left open for two reasons. In the event that blizzards interrupt the entertainment, the programs froze out can be fitted in for the open Tuesdays. Also the five-a-week schedule allows for gambling on 10 Saturdays, traditionally the most profitable days. Mr. Don C. Lillis wouldn’t be president of Bowie and senior partner in a Wall Street investment firm if he couldn’t count his change.

“Though Mr. Lillis’ political convictions are a matter between him and his precinct leader, his choice of dates is obviously motivated by patriotism, a response to young Mr. Kennedy’s call for a fitter American beyond the New Frontier. While Florida and California cosset the covetous to the edge of decadence , Bowie has always striven to toughen the $2 plunger. Indeed, the hardihood of the Bowie Breed is practically legendary.

“Everybody remembers the gallant company, 1,000 strong, trapped overnight in the clubhouse by a Saturday blizzard two years ago. At first Gus Hartshorn, in charge of the Stevens commissary, was worried. He telephoned Joe Stevens in New York: “Mr. Joe, a terrible thing has happened—” “Have you closed the bar?” Mr. Joe asked, putting first things first. Actually, there was no cause for alarm. Gus broke out sandwiches and coffee, and Sunday found 1,000 waifs still contentedly blowing into their fists to keep the dice warm.”

NOTE: The Post published that 3,000 were stranded, Smith reported 1,000. This might be one of those rare occurrences where a story like this moves toward the truth over time instead of the other way around.

“In tribute to these orphans of the storm, a rather sentimental ceremony was conducted on opening day last year. Mr. Lillis imported a waddle of penguins who lined up at the clubhouse gate in their snappy thermal attire and were the first clients admitted. Later these Antarctic refugees were presented to the Baltimore zoo.

“Specimens of the Bowie Breed who show up Saturday will find the entire grandstand glassed-in and heated, with big ventilating blowers to clear the air around losers. Perhaps this is an improvement, yet it must be viewed with mixed feelings.

“Horse players love to suffer. They are never truly happy unless they are miserable—freezing or sweltering or drenched by rain, shiny in the seat and tissue-thin in the sole, elbowed and trampled and bruised in cramped space where the air they breathe has already been breathed several times, unable to find a slat to sit on or a winner to back, stony broke and sinking hopelessly deeper into debt.

“Nowhere has this design for living been honored more faithfully than at Bowie. In the old days the Maryland season always opened and closed there, with a short meeting in the raw rains of April and another among the snow flurries of late November and December. When the spring and fall meetings were abandoned in favor of a single glorious frolic in a winter wonderland, the joint retained all its old-time charm, perhaps even expanded it. Not only could the patron have a perfectly wretched day betting losers but a frostbitten ear might snap off to boot.

“Now, well, we’ll just have to wait and see. Creature comforts are all very well in the plush sinkholes of Las Vegas, but the clientele attracted by strippers and one armed bandits has little in common with the Bowie Breed. When a horse player has nothing to complain about except the jockey’s dishonesty, the trainer’s incompetence, the placing judges’ myopia and the stewards’ indifference to fouls, he may very well quit the game cold and just stay home and beat his wife.

“Attendance and mutuel figures will furnish the answer. In recent seasons Bowie has drawn an average of 12,000 to 13,000 Eskimo’s daily with a handle running above $1,000,000. If the winterized plant starts attracting loafers who’ll just sit around dozing in the artificial heat when they ought to be tearing their pants getting to the $5 windows, Mr. Lillis will have only himself to blame. Once a breed has been fixed, like the thoroughbred, or schnauzer or Poland China, it’s a mistake to tamper with it.”

A “Poland China” is a breed of pig — I get the feeling Red Smith had little affection for horse players but he sure was a great writer.

If you have memories of Bowie, I would love to hear them. Does anyone remember hearing about the “Bowie Breed” when the place was still open? Leave a comment or send me an email: kmart1944[at]gmail.com.

I might do a future piece that is more historical in nature on the track that still stands as a training facility. Check out these great images from Barbara Livingston for the current 2001 state of the once state-of-the-art track. CORRECTION: Thank you to reader Frank for pointing out that the grandstand in these images has since been torn down.

SOURCES, NOTES, AND OBSERVATIONS

“Bowie Ready for Opening on Saturday,” Washington Post, 2/2/1958
“3000 Stranded by Snow At Bowie Race Track,” Washington Post, 2/16/1958
“This Morning with Shirley Povich,” Washington Post, 2/19/1958

I found the Red Smith article from a book titled The Best of Red Smith published in 1963. I bought it for a $1 at a used book sale last weekend — one of my better finds!

“Winter Racing of Despair” — An article from Sports Illustrated in 1979 mentions the “Bowie Breed”

Thanks for Reading and Good Luck!

I recently stumbled across an interesting site (www.fultonhistory.com) that has thousands of pages from New York state newspapers as well as other historical documents and images. It is difficult to navigate but worth the effort once you figure it out. In doing my usual searches, I came across a fascinating article on a familiar topic.

Image: George E. Smith (aka Pittsburg Phil) circa 1890s. Image from Tod Sloan by Himself published in 1915. Sloan was a jockey and a friend of Pittsburg Phil. He devoted an entire chapter to him in his memoir.

Pittsburg Phil, the founding father of horse players, died in February 1905. A month before he died the Utica Sunday Journal picked up a story from the New York Sun. It seems word began to spread about the failing health of the famous gambler whose exploits in the betting ring were well documented in the New York press. The story presents a theory behind his demise:

“…Those who know Pittsburg Phil best said that his nervous system has been shattered because of the intense strain and worry caused by his extensive operations on the turf. The noted plunger has never given vent to his feelings, whether winner or loser, at the racetrack. He has never been demonstrative, but has always possessed a cool, phlegmatic demeanor, which is a singular characteristic of some of the biggest turf speculators. The case of Pittsburg Phil, in some ways, resembles that of another famous plunger of his day, Michael F. Dwyer. Both of these men have won and lost thousands without showing outward signs of excitement.”

NOTE: Micheal F. Dwyer and his brother Phil Dwyer, former butchers, ran a successful racing stable and became well know for the exorbitant prices they paid for quality horses starting in the 1870s. Their huge investments paid off with major success at the track – winning the Belmont Stakes five times. They were also part of the investment group that built the Gravesend Racetrack in Coney Island, New York. Like Pittsburg Phil, Mike Dwyer’s exploits in the betting ring became legendary.

“The story has often been told of how Dwyer once made a wager of $40,000 on one of his famous racehorses and lost; he saw his horse beaten in the last jump and looking at his split second watch, cooly remarked:

“‘That was a fast run race’

Note: A $40,000 bet in 1900 equates to approximately $975,000 in 2008 dollars

“Today Dwyer is a physical wreck. He has been practically helpless for a number of years, yet he still clings to his old love. One day last summer, when he had been driven all the way from Gravesend to Morris Park, the veteran suddenly felt a desire to see the big betting ring.

“‘Take me down so that I can see the books’ he said to his faithful attendant, and forthwith they literally carried him to the scene of bustling speculation under the big grandstand. Dwyer looked at the big crowd for several moments listening to the [talk] of the layers and their runners and then turning to his attendants, said in a husky voice:

“‘I’ve seen enough! Take me back! Its the last time I shall ever go to the betting ring!’

“Pittsburg Phil has suffered fully as great a strain as Dwyer. But he has been more fortunate than the veteran horseman in that he made a fortune. Phil received a hard blow when the Jockey Club refused his entries two years ago and also revoked the license of his jockey, Willie Shaw. He protested his innocence vigorously but all to no purpose until one day last summer the stewards relented. The plunger by then was in poor health and had practically given up heavy betting. He visited the track now and then for an outing and put down a small wager out of mere force of habit but that was all. He said he could not stand the strain.”

NOTE: Phil’s involvement in the game as an owner was fought by the Jockey Club who didn’t think he would run his horses honestly considering his primary occupation as a gambler

“Men who have watched the career of these two plungers say now that if they had given vent to their feelings they would have probably escaped ill health

“‘It was inward suffering that hurt them,’ said a leading bookmaker recently. ‘They lost without a grimace and won without a smile. Other men let out a roar when they drop a bet and dance for joy when they cash and all of them are in robust health. They let off the steam which does them good. It is a fearful strain in the nerves to keep under control all the time.”

Interesting that the legend of Pittsburg Phil lauds him for keeping his cool but here the author claims it was the strain to stay calm that killed him. Phil died a month after this article was published. One year later, Dwyer died in dire circumstances because of substantial gambling losses.

Both men live in the lore of racing’s colorful era in New York before the gambling ban in 1908. They both had honors paid to them posthumously.

In 1916, a horse called George Smith, the birth name of Pittsburg Phil, won the Kentucky Derby. A book published after his death - The Maxims of Pittsburg Phil – remains in print over one hundred years later. Many of the gambling angles it articulated for the first time ring true to this day.

New York racing honored the Dwyer Brothers when they renamed the Brooklyn Handicap the Dwyer Handicap in 1918 (now known as the Dwyer Stakes).

SOURCES, NOTES, AND OBSERVATIONS

“Pittsburg Phil’s First Bet”, The Utica Journal, January 15, 1905. Accessed at Fulton History

“Phil Dwyer Dies as Suburban is Ended”, New York Times, June 19, 1917

Full-text of Tod Sloan by Himself is available at the Internet Archive

Check out previous posts about Pittsburg Phil:
Obituary of Pittsburg Phil, 1905
Pittsburg Phil Immortalized in Stone

Really enjoyed the article over at Mary Forney’s blog about lost racetracks.

Thanks for Reading and Good Luck!

A brief post today inspired by an article at Brooklyn Backstretch about Jimmy Winkfield – I wanted to share a story I found awhile back while virtually “wandering” around the Library of Congress. The works of Edward Hotaling and Joe Drape tell the story of the unfortunate end to the era of the black jockey at the turn of the nineteenth-century. The clip below provides a snapshot of that era and offers insight into the mechanisms that drove African-Americans jockeys out of the sport. The following is from the New York Evening Sun, May 23 1908. I think the content speaks for itself:

(Click to enlarge)

The New York stewards did nothing to protect J. Lee. His name disappears from the record as did the names of all other African American jockeys.

SOURCES, NOTES, AND OBSERVATIONS

Article accessed at Library of Congress: Historic Newspapers. Check out the original context here.

The tributes to the great Joe Hirsch have been wonderful to read. Not only have we been given the opportunity to read the memories of writers we know but the comments by readers on Crist Blog and Hangin’ with Haskin have made quite a contribution to the writer’s memory. There is something to be said for a man who left an impression on so many people. I hope the Daily Racing Form publishes a compilation of his writing or, at least, makes it available online. A compilation of his year in reviews from the American Racing Manual would produce an instant textbook for horseracing in the 80s and 90s.

I am still in pain from the Eagles loss on Sunday. I thought this was going to be the year after they killed the stinkin’ Cowboys in week 17. It is tough being an Eagles fan…

Speaking of football – Valerie at Foolish Pleasure put together an outstanding article on Steelers founder Art Rooney’s crazy handicapping prowess and love of racing.

Back with another post this weekend. I have a number of half finished posts that I keep getting distracted from.

Thanks for Reading and Good Luck!