Chapter Five
Dawn’s phone rang and D.R. ran to answer it. Dawn got there first. “Hello.”
“I just had a thought,” Ben said, standing in his kitchen. “Do you still have personnel contacts at the newspaper?”
“A few. Why?”
“I’m thinking we need to make people care about what’s going on at the racetrack.”
“You don’t mean about us buying it?”
“No, I’m talking about the people, the owners and the trainers, the horses. I’m thinking you can use your contacts at the paper and maybe get a daily article run.”
“Daily? I don’t think, uh….”
“All right, weekly. And I want you to write it.”
Dawn smiled. “Did Randy put you up to this?”
“No. Why?”
Dawn hesitated. “Oh, I’ve just been thinking I would like to get back to writing.”
“Well then,” Ben said, as if it were a done deal. “This is perfect.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’m not even sure who the sports editor is anymore.”
“I don’t think you should write it for the sports section. You need to get it where everyone will read it. And something else I’ve been thinking, I think we should start the racing at two instead of one and have two daily doubles. One for the people that come at two and one for the people who come after work, maybe the last two races of the day and move the trifecta up. And I think we should look into changing the time frame between races.”
Dawn sat down on the couch, giving thought to all this, and admittedly, was starting to get just a little excited with the possibilities.
“Spears is going to be in the barn at five in the morning. I want him to spend some time seeing what it is we horsemen do.”
“Okay, but I’m going to have the kids tomorrow. Carol won’t be home until early afternoon.”
“So, that’s even better. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Five o’clock the following morning, it was raining. Not a downpour, but a steady rain nonetheless. Wee Born, the three-year old filly Ben and Dawn had entered for today, did not like the mud. It would be best to scratch her. There was a race back for her next Friday. But, the race she was in today was only a six-horse field. Ben glanced at his watch. Here came Spears, looking lost, but right on time.
“Good morning,” he said.
Ben nodded. “When horses are being walked around the shedrow you’ll want to step to the inside. The stall side,” he said, adding that last part when Spears seemed confused. “If something scares you, freeze. If you see hooves flying, duck.”
“You’re kidding. Right?”
“Only about the scaring, freezing part. “ Ben smiled. “You are best not to make any sudden moves though, unless it is to duck.”
“So what is it you want me to do?”
Tom came around the corner toting his western saddle. “Hot damn, old man. I thought you were kidding when you said you wanted Spears to pony a few.”
Spears eyes got big and wide.
Ben chuckled. “Have you met Tom?”
“No, I can’t say that I have.”
Tom shook his hand and introduced himself. “Tom Girard, pony boy, assistant trainer, friend…servant of the Lord.”
“Born again,” Ben said.
“Uncle Tom!!” D.R. ran to Tom and wrapped his arms around Tom’s leg. “I want to wide.”
Tom laughed. “And this is D.R., the little shepherd boy.”
Dawn came around the corner, toting Maeve and what appeared to be all of Maeve’s earthly possessions. “D.R., come here!” She let Maeve slide down off her hip and set her down in the tack room. D.R. ran to join them. “What did I tell you about running in the shedrow?”
“Good morning,” Spears said.
Dawn smiled as best she could with a pacifier clenched in her teeth. “Good morning,” she said, and went about getting both children settled in. D.R. climbed onto the couch and turned on the TV. He stood on his tippy-toes to push the video button and then sat down and started singing. “I love you, you love me….” Dawn turned the volume down.
Ben entered the tack room with Spears right behind him. “Where’s Randy?” Ben asked.
“He had an emergency.” Dawn glanced at Spears. He was a club member; she knew him in passing. D.R. was on his tippy-toes again, reaching for the volume button. Dawn whisked his legs out from under him and he bounced down on the couch, giggling, and then stood on his head.
Spears laughed.
Dawn pretended to scowl. “Please, don’t encourage him.”
“Coffee?” Ben asked.
Spears nodded, still laughing. Fortunately he took it black like everyone else. He added a little sugar. “Help yourself,” Ben said, motioning to a box of donuts. “Don’t touch the fried cake. That’s little Maeve’s.”
“Don’t touch,” Maeve said, in that cute little voice of hers, rocking back and forth in her playpen.
Dawn chuckled. “She’s going to grow up thinking a fried cake is a “don’t touch” after all the times she’s heard it referred to that way.”
Spears smiled, rather enjoying this homey little scene. They all sat down and had coffee and a donut.
Tom came up the shedrow astride Red, all decked out in a rain slicker. Dawn handed him his coffee; he took a sip and handed it back. Behind her, Ben was explaining to Spears, “The horses all got a scoop of oats for breakfast. No hay. Not until after training.”
Dawn closed the child’s gate Randy had built in the tack room; it not only kept the children safely inside the tack room, it was set far enough away from the door in the event a horse would kick out coming around the end of the shedrow.
Dawn walked down to get Born All Together, put the chain part of the lead shank up over her nose, and led her outside into the increasing rain and handed her lead shank to Tom. Tom had already taped her tail to keep if from getting muddy and sticking to her hind legs.
“I’m going to get one of Richard’s between her and Whinny.” Whinny was Winning Beau’s nickname.
Dawn nodded. That would give her time to clean Born All Together’s stall and hand walk her before he came back for Whinny.
“Come on,” Ben said to Spears. “I watch every horse that goes to the track.” Ben popped open an umbrella and the two started their trek to the racetrack. The rain softened the silence of the other trainers, grooms, and owners that they passed. And for that matter, no one recognized Spears. No one even looked at him. He was a “nobody.”
“So you say your horse doesn’t like the mud?”
Ben nodded. “She won’t run a lick in it.”
“Are you going to scratch her?”
“No. Joe’ll just piss me off when I try. It’s only a six-horse field.”
Spears nodded. “You are his boss though, you know.”
Ben glanced at him. “All the more reason to let him do his job the best he can.” There was a steady stream of horses coming and going off the racetrack. “Watch your step.”
Spears was just about to step in a pile of fresh horse manure.
When they got to the racetrack, the only area for standing out of the rain was under the tiny eave by the back door of the track kitchen. It was jam-packed. Ben noticed Spears rather disgruntled expression at the situation, unprotected but for the umbrella. “Yep, a Ginny stand would have been nice.”
“A what?”
“A Ginny stand. A small grandstand for the grooms and the trainers, the owners, even the track manager for mornings like this and for watching the races from the backside.”
Spears smiled apologetically. “I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge seeing Christmases past. I didn’t realize.”
The rain picked up.
“Yeah, well let’s hope we have a future.”
The morning was like any other morning at Nottingham Downs. Rain or shine, horses still needed to be trained, bathed, walked, bandaged, vetted. Randy stopped at the barn twice, once to treat a horse and then again
in passing to check on the children. Dawn was never far away and always with a watchful eye on them. Ben and Spears went back and forth to the racetrack four times. Wee Born was hand-walked.
Spears found himself in and out of the tack room, coffee, another donut. “Bandages? These?” He held them up. Dawn nodded. Ben and Dawn had the first five stalls of a forty-eight-stall barn. Everywhere Spears looked, there was activity. With it raining as hard as it was now, just about every horse in the barn had to be hand-walked. The shedrow got harder and harder to navigate with all that activity. It was a slippery-sliding, watch-your-step ditch by nine o’clock.
“This is ridiculous,” Spears said, when he almost fell for the third time. “Surely there has to be a way to keep the rain from coming in.”
“Not really, but better drainage would help,” Tom said, while doing up Native Beau Born. “Maybe some roll-down canvas or awnings. Boy, now that would be nice. Can you see it all now, old man?”
Ben gave it some thought.
“What about indoor barns?” Spears asked.
Ben shook his head. “All you get is sick horses that way; too many horses, not enough fresh air.”
Randy stopped again at the barn to check in on Dawn and the children. D.R. and Maeve squealed with delight upon seeing him. Spears observed with a smile. The children seemed perfectly content with their play area in the tack room. Johnny, a young man that was Dawn and Ben’s favorite jockey, stopped at the barn. Everyone huddled inside.
They all heard the shouts “Loose horse” then the advent of thundering hooves. Tom took a cautious glance out the door. The horse was just coming around the corner. He timed his move perfectly, stepped out just in time to startle the horse. It stopped, slipping and sliding, and just like that, Tom grabbed hold of the lead shank dangling from his halter. Then here came the horse’s groom, madder than hell.
“This common son-of-a-bitch,” he said, and started shanking the horse.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Tom said, stopping him. “Don’t make me to have to pray for you.”
The man shook his head, still angry, but then had to laugh when Tom added, “You know I will if I have to.”
“Don’t, please…” the man said, laughing again.
“All right then.” Tom patted the horse on the shoulder. “My work here is done.” That had everybody laughing. “I’ll see you at the kitchen in about ten minutes.” He tucked his racing form deep into his back pocket and underneath his jacket to keep it from getting wet. “I’ll be in the reading room until then if anyone needs me.”
Dawn and Randy gathered up the children, piled into Randy’s truck, and rode on ahead to the kitchen. Ben and Spears followed under Ben’s umbrella. It was raining even harder now. The track kitchen was bursting at the seams. Tom walked in behind Ben and Spears. Randy had pulled two tables together.
“Have you ever eaten here before?” Ben asked Spears.
He shook his head.
“Then you’re in for a real treat.”
Spears thought he was joking. There were donuts, bagels, sweet rolls, coffee, milk, juice…. He didn’t realize they actually cooked food - food.
“My usual,” Tom said.
“Me, too,” Ben added.
Spears looked at the menu posted overhead. “Two eggs over easy, toast, and hashed browns.”
“Bacon?”
“Sure.”
They drew some stares, some glances, but still, no one was talking to Ben. They talked to Tom. “Who’s that?” a groom friend of his asked.
“Oh, him?” Tom glanced over his shoulder and flashed one of those “shit-eating” grins of his. “That would be Richard Spears, your racetrack General Manager.”
“No kidding?” the man whispered.
“As God is my witness.”
Tom, Ben, and Spears got their trays, poured themselves a cup of coffee, and after getting their meals, walked to the back of the room to join Dawn and Randy and the kids. By the time they sat down, every horseman and horsewoman present knew who Spears was and were all staring daggers in their direction.
Ben noticed. “Let the man eat,” he said. Several people nodded. No one was leaving.
“This is really tasty,” Spears said, with a hardy mouthful.
“Brownie’s the best cook there is.”
“You mean present company excluded?” Spears said, glancing at Dawn.
She shook her head. “Don’t look at me.”
“Daddy cooks,” D.R. said.
Everyone at the table laughed, as well as some other people sitting nearby, all ears. It was nice having an excuse to laugh. The tension in the room was reminiscent of a big thundercloud on a hot summer afternoon. You knew any minute now, it was going to storm. No sooner had the last person at the table placed their fork down, than the questions started.
“How did the racetrack go bankrupt in the first place?”
“Where did all the money go?”
“How could something like this happen?”
“Who’s not doing their job?”
“What’s going to happen now?”
“How is it we’ve never seen you on the backside before?”
“Well….” Spears started to stand up to answer but Ben discreetly nudged him to stay seated. No grandstanding. They were all on the same level at the moment. “I apologize for not being on the backside previously. I had no idea how much fun you all were having.” It was meant as a joke, in light of the weather, but no one laughed. “Or how hard you all work,” he added, which drew a few nods.
This was not an easy crowd.
“I know you all have a lot of concerns and that’s completely understandable.”
“Why don’t you just answer our questions?”
“Come on, let the man talk,” Tom said, holding up his hands.
Spears cast a glance in Tom’s direction. “Thank you,” set deep in his eyes.
Tom nodded, taking both sides. “I believe the first question was, ‘How did the racetrack go bankrupt in the first place?’ I’d actually like to know that myself.”
Spears concealed a smile. He could see why Tom was so well-liked.
Ben crossed his arms, waiting for the answer as well.
“Well, it’s all rather complicated and would take forever, but I can tell you this,” Spears began. “A little over two years ago, attendance started to drop.”
Everyone nodded.
“Now it’s hard to say which came first, the chicken or the egg, but….” He paused, wanting to choose his words carefully so as not to anger the crowd. “But when the pots started going up at Mountaineer, a lot of horsemen started running there. We never really had to compete with Waterford. If a horse couldn’t compete here, that’s where they went. But with Mountaineer, all of a sudden we did. Now, I don’t blame anyone for running where they’re going to get the most money, but…. “
“Why can’t we get the same money here?” one of the trainers asked.
“Well, for one, we didn’t have the investment dollars. We were trying to operate off the daily handle. Rudolph was tapped. It was sink or swim, and while we were able to keep afloat, if you will, for a while, in the end….”
“What about our investment?” one of Brubaker’s owner’s asked.
“Let me finish,” Spears said, looking like the General Manager for the first time since walking into the room. “We can point a lot of fingers here. I personally know of six horses two weeks ago that should have won and didn’t. They ran up the shithouse.”
Everyone sat silently, even D.R. at the sound of the “bad” word.
“I guess I don’t need to tell any of you where those horses placed this past week down at Mountaineer. Am I accusing anybody of “holding” their horses up here? No. Not outright. But it sure is a coincidence they can’t hit the board here for five and ten thousand and all ran one-two down there for twelve and fifteen.”
There was some uncomfortable shifting of weight and fidgeting in the room.
“And how ab
out racing a horse fit? I’ve heard that expression a lot over the years. But tell me, do you think that’s fair to the betting public?”
Ben smiled. Even he was a little guilty of that.
“Did you ever listen to the bettors as they leave? I have. They think every person on the racetrack is crooked. And you know what? A lot of them are.”
Randy glanced around the room. Talk about silencing a crowd. He looked at Dawn; she was taking notes.
“We all know why the betting public comes here. It’s to win races. They want to lay their two dollars down, their ten, their twenty, their fifty, and they want to win. Eight out of every ten people bet the favorites. And you know what? If they win, we win. If a horse is favored to win, he should either win or run second approximately seven out of ten times. Do you want to know what the average is here? I won’t keep you in suspense. It’s not even fifty percent.”
Dawn raised her hand, an elegant hand, yielding a lot of power. “How do track conditions play into that percentage?”
Spears looked at her. “Some,” he said.
“And post position?”
“Again, some.”
Dawn nodded.
“It’s all about winning and losing? Losing day in and day out, after a while, is like pounding your head against the wall. What’s the point? Then there goes the attendance, there goes the handle, there go the purses. The betting public wants to pick a winner. They want to sit with that racing form and handicap. They want to take an active part. You want to know why they don’t come down to the paddock anymore to pick a winner? Because there’s no reason to pick the fittest-looking horse in the lot. I stood next to a man yesterday and these are his exact words, ‘Yeah, that’s if they let him run.’ How many of you have heard similar sentiments? How many of you have held a horse? I challenge you all to sit down with the racing form for a half hour between now and post time and see how many winners you pick. And that’s with no inside information I might add. Money’s tight, the economy is suffering. If the public can’t pick a winner, they stop coming. They stop coming, we have no money. We have no money, you don’t get paid. None of us get paid.”
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 52