Teach
12-28-2007, 05:08 PM
That fall, a new movie had just opened. It was called: “The Agony and the Ecstasy.” The film, starring Charlton Heston, depicted Michelangelo’s life and his struggles with Pope Julius II. That movie’s title summed up the topsy-turvy events that would take place that year, both in harness racing and in my own personal life.
It was 1965. Lyndon Baines Johnson was in the White House and the War in Vietnam was about to escalate. In harness racing, Stanley Dancer’s Noble Victory was the odds-on favorite to win the Hambletonian. That same year, Bret Hanover had just won thirty-five straight races.
Personally, the year 1965 had started out on a bright note. My parents had just bought me a used ‘54 Ford coupe. That spring, I’d be graduating from college. Yet, unbeknownst to me at the time, 1965 would take a decided turn for the worse.
In those days, Rockingham Park in Salem, NH sandwiched spring and fall harness racing meets around their summer thoroughbred schedule. I was a frequent visitor to the southern New Hampshire oval.
One Friday evening, I drove a bunch of my friends up to “The Rock.” It was a night I’ll always remember. I was handicapping like I had never handicapped before. I was picking winner after winner. I particularly recall splitting a Twin Double with a friend that netted me close to $200 My horse’s name -- I’ll never forget -- was Necy II. I left Rockingham that night overjoyed. I was on top of the world. I had won $300 (a fabulous sum in 1965).
Flushed with victory, I returned to Rockingham the following evening. This time, my car was packed with five of my friends. I recall we were running late . I remember that as I was barreling north up Route #93 toward southern NH when one of my “idiot” lights turned bright red.
Well, I was hoping that somehow my oil warning light would magically disappear, but the crimson dot on my dashboard continued to look like a huge “zit” staring back at me in the mirror. Now, I was only five miles from the track. Sanity would have said: “Get off the road. Go to a service station.” But instead, I plodded on. I felt at the moment like the actor John Wayne. I was trying to save my crew and bring my crippled “aircraft” in for a safe landing. I was now on glide path and only two miles from touchdown.
I remember crossing into NH and then nearly coasting into Rockingham Park’s parking lot. I recall that smoke was now seeping out from under my hood. I remember leaving my car in the lot and rushing to the track entrance to catch the daily double.
Oh, I’d make the daily double alright, but I’d end up losing the bet. Not only would I miss hitting the double, but I’d also end up losing just about everything I’d made the night before. That Saturday evening was a complete fiasco.
As I walked out of the track that night and toward my car, I was downtrodden. In the span of twenty-four hours, I’d gone from euphoria to dejection. Then, as if to add insult to injury, my car wouldn’t start --- not even a sputter (I would later learn that my lack of oil had caused my engine to fuse).
In the end, we had to call my friend’s father to come and pick us up. I recall that we didn’t leave the track till well after midnight. The next morning, matters took a decided turn for the worse. “Where’s your car?” my mother asked. “It’s in the Rockingham Park parking lot,” I replied. “What’s it doing there?” she asked. I told her that I’d had engine trouble.
That afternoon, my grandfather, my mother and I traveled up to Rockingham. When we arrived, my car was sitting where I had left it in the now empty parking lot. A few minutes after we had arrived, a track maintenance person happened by. He asked me to pop open the hood. He then looked at the engine. He said to me and my family, “This car ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He went on to explain that the engine was dead. Useless.
After some discussion, I “donated” the car to Rockingham Park. In reality, the cost of dropping in a new engine would have far exceeded the cost of the vehicle.
The ride home was brutal. I wish I could have hidden under a rock. “...and we always thought you were so mature,” my mother said. Ouch!!!
Did I learn my lesson? Hardly. The following year, I bought a new car (I had just begun my teaching career). In the ensuing years, I’d still race to the track to catch the daily double. Only, I must say that in the over forty-plus years since “the incident,” I’ve never again burned out an engine.
Yes, the year 1965 was filled with its “ups” and “downs”. In harness racing, Stanley Dancer’s trotter, Noble Victory, would lose the Hambletonian. His wife Rachel’s horse, Egyptian Candor, would win. Bret Hanover would win “Horse of the Year” honors, but his 35-race win streak would be snapped at DuQuoin by Adios Vic.
In my case, the year 1965 had started out so well. So promisingly. First, I’d get my own car. Then, I’d graduate from college. Yet, as the year progressed, my good fortune would take a decided turn for the worse. Unlike Michelangelo, whose struggles with the Pope played out on the large screen in the movie, “The Agony and The Ecstasy,” my struggles took place on a much smaller scale. Yet, if I had made a movie about my sudden misfortune, I would have reversed the movie title and called it:“The Ecstasy And The Agony.”
It was 1965. Lyndon Baines Johnson was in the White House and the War in Vietnam was about to escalate. In harness racing, Stanley Dancer’s Noble Victory was the odds-on favorite to win the Hambletonian. That same year, Bret Hanover had just won thirty-five straight races.
Personally, the year 1965 had started out on a bright note. My parents had just bought me a used ‘54 Ford coupe. That spring, I’d be graduating from college. Yet, unbeknownst to me at the time, 1965 would take a decided turn for the worse.
In those days, Rockingham Park in Salem, NH sandwiched spring and fall harness racing meets around their summer thoroughbred schedule. I was a frequent visitor to the southern New Hampshire oval.
One Friday evening, I drove a bunch of my friends up to “The Rock.” It was a night I’ll always remember. I was handicapping like I had never handicapped before. I was picking winner after winner. I particularly recall splitting a Twin Double with a friend that netted me close to $200 My horse’s name -- I’ll never forget -- was Necy II. I left Rockingham that night overjoyed. I was on top of the world. I had won $300 (a fabulous sum in 1965).
Flushed with victory, I returned to Rockingham the following evening. This time, my car was packed with five of my friends. I recall we were running late . I remember that as I was barreling north up Route #93 toward southern NH when one of my “idiot” lights turned bright red.
Well, I was hoping that somehow my oil warning light would magically disappear, but the crimson dot on my dashboard continued to look like a huge “zit” staring back at me in the mirror. Now, I was only five miles from the track. Sanity would have said: “Get off the road. Go to a service station.” But instead, I plodded on. I felt at the moment like the actor John Wayne. I was trying to save my crew and bring my crippled “aircraft” in for a safe landing. I was now on glide path and only two miles from touchdown.
I remember crossing into NH and then nearly coasting into Rockingham Park’s parking lot. I recall that smoke was now seeping out from under my hood. I remember leaving my car in the lot and rushing to the track entrance to catch the daily double.
Oh, I’d make the daily double alright, but I’d end up losing the bet. Not only would I miss hitting the double, but I’d also end up losing just about everything I’d made the night before. That Saturday evening was a complete fiasco.
As I walked out of the track that night and toward my car, I was downtrodden. In the span of twenty-four hours, I’d gone from euphoria to dejection. Then, as if to add insult to injury, my car wouldn’t start --- not even a sputter (I would later learn that my lack of oil had caused my engine to fuse).
In the end, we had to call my friend’s father to come and pick us up. I recall that we didn’t leave the track till well after midnight. The next morning, matters took a decided turn for the worse. “Where’s your car?” my mother asked. “It’s in the Rockingham Park parking lot,” I replied. “What’s it doing there?” she asked. I told her that I’d had engine trouble.
That afternoon, my grandfather, my mother and I traveled up to Rockingham. When we arrived, my car was sitting where I had left it in the now empty parking lot. A few minutes after we had arrived, a track maintenance person happened by. He asked me to pop open the hood. He then looked at the engine. He said to me and my family, “This car ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He went on to explain that the engine was dead. Useless.
After some discussion, I “donated” the car to Rockingham Park. In reality, the cost of dropping in a new engine would have far exceeded the cost of the vehicle.
The ride home was brutal. I wish I could have hidden under a rock. “...and we always thought you were so mature,” my mother said. Ouch!!!
Did I learn my lesson? Hardly. The following year, I bought a new car (I had just begun my teaching career). In the ensuing years, I’d still race to the track to catch the daily double. Only, I must say that in the over forty-plus years since “the incident,” I’ve never again burned out an engine.
Yes, the year 1965 was filled with its “ups” and “downs”. In harness racing, Stanley Dancer’s trotter, Noble Victory, would lose the Hambletonian. His wife Rachel’s horse, Egyptian Candor, would win. Bret Hanover would win “Horse of the Year” honors, but his 35-race win streak would be snapped at DuQuoin by Adios Vic.
In my case, the year 1965 had started out so well. So promisingly. First, I’d get my own car. Then, I’d graduate from college. Yet, as the year progressed, my good fortune would take a decided turn for the worse. Unlike Michelangelo, whose struggles with the Pope played out on the large screen in the movie, “The Agony and The Ecstasy,” my struggles took place on a much smaller scale. Yet, if I had made a movie about my sudden misfortune, I would have reversed the movie title and called it:“The Ecstasy And The Agony.”