Teach
01-07-2008, 08:09 AM
The man said to me, "Sit down, I want to talk to you." "What about?" I replied. "You’re announcing," he said.
I had just finished calling the first race at Foxboro Raceway. I would do that every weekday we raced because Wally Cryan, our regular announcer, had a news gig at a Providence, RI TV station. He wouldn’t be able to arrive at Foxboro Raceway (some twenty miles north of Providence) until after the first race would have been run. Somebody had to call that first race. It was me.
So, in addition to being the track’s publicist, one of my other duties was backup harness racing announcer.. Every weekday night we raced, I’d make the trek up the stairs and then take the ramp over the grandstand to the announcer’s booth. About fifteen minutes before the races started, I’d call the racing secretary’s office and get the late scratches. I’d then turn on the mic and announce them to the betting public.
I’d then look over the first race card to see if there were any names I’d have trouble pronouncing.
By this time, the horses would be leaving the paddock for the post parade. "A number one in the field is Kay’s Andy Dandy...I six-year old roan gelding..." Well, I’d do this for the entire field.
I would periodically warn people that there were only so many minutes left before first post. "Don’t be shut out!"
When I called races I was, to a great degree, a product of the race announcers I had listened to here in New England. The two I heard the most were Clayt Smith and Gil LeVine. Their styles of calling races were like night and day.
Clayt Smith was a matter-of-fact kind of announcer. Although he would put some inflection in his voice, one could say his delivery was "plain vanilla." On the other hand, Gil LeVine, who had called races in the Chicago area, was much more flamboyant. He’d really get quite animated when he called races. I remember one time he was calling a harness race at Suffolk Downs when a horse named Junior Goose started making a move. LeVine called the horse's name and then started making a "honking" noise like a goose would do if it were flying in formation.
My race calling was a combination of the two. My post parade introduction were a monotone drole. My race-calling, on the other hand, could be quite flamboyant.
On one particular weekday evening I remember calling the first race. The race itself was quite exciting. Two horses had broken away from the rest of the field at the three-quarter pole and were waging a ding-dong battle as they reached the top of the stretch. First one, then the other, would stick his nose in front. I remember saying, "Son Cent is looking Magnificent Marcy (pause) Right In The Eye!" I carried my enthusiastic race call right down to the wire.
Well, once I had finished announcing the winner’s breeding and connections, my announcing stint for the evening was over. I’d take off my announcer’s " hat" and put on my publicity director’s "hat". But that evening, something strange happened. As I was walking back to my office in the track’s clubhouse area, one of the guys who worked at the track as a waiter came over to me and said that a guy in the clubhouse dining area wants to talk to me. "About what?" I asked. " I dunno," the waiter replied. "He just wants a word with you."
Seconds later, the waiter walked me over to where the guy was sitting. I then walked up to the his table. I remember that he was seated alone. I also recall that he was short and stocky. He was wearing a suit and tie. He had a glass of red wine in front of him along with some pasta and a salad. Frankly, the whole thing reminded me of a scene right out of the movie "The Godfather." I half-expected Marlon Brando to show up.
I recall that the man at the table asked me to sit down. As I looked at him, he appeared subdued, but I sensed a degree of agitation in his voice. I recall the man then said, "You put to much into your announcing; it’s too loud. You get too excited when you call the races." I just sat and listened as he continued. "Maybe you should take a tranquilizer before you call the races. It would help you calm down," he continued. "Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you here." "I do," I replied. As I sat there listening to this man, I felt threatened. It just seemed to me that this guy was dead serious. I felt at the moment that if I didn’t pay heed to his advice that, just possibly, I could end up "swimming with the fishes.".
Seconds later, I walked back to my office. As I was finishing up with my paperwork, I was thinking about the meeting I had just had with the man in the clubhouse dining room. It left an impression on me. Was I intimidated? You could say that. I do remember that after that meeting, I did tone things down when I called the races.
I had just finished calling the first race at Foxboro Raceway. I would do that every weekday we raced because Wally Cryan, our regular announcer, had a news gig at a Providence, RI TV station. He wouldn’t be able to arrive at Foxboro Raceway (some twenty miles north of Providence) until after the first race would have been run. Somebody had to call that first race. It was me.
So, in addition to being the track’s publicist, one of my other duties was backup harness racing announcer.. Every weekday night we raced, I’d make the trek up the stairs and then take the ramp over the grandstand to the announcer’s booth. About fifteen minutes before the races started, I’d call the racing secretary’s office and get the late scratches. I’d then turn on the mic and announce them to the betting public.
I’d then look over the first race card to see if there were any names I’d have trouble pronouncing.
By this time, the horses would be leaving the paddock for the post parade. "A number one in the field is Kay’s Andy Dandy...I six-year old roan gelding..." Well, I’d do this for the entire field.
I would periodically warn people that there were only so many minutes left before first post. "Don’t be shut out!"
When I called races I was, to a great degree, a product of the race announcers I had listened to here in New England. The two I heard the most were Clayt Smith and Gil LeVine. Their styles of calling races were like night and day.
Clayt Smith was a matter-of-fact kind of announcer. Although he would put some inflection in his voice, one could say his delivery was "plain vanilla." On the other hand, Gil LeVine, who had called races in the Chicago area, was much more flamboyant. He’d really get quite animated when he called races. I remember one time he was calling a harness race at Suffolk Downs when a horse named Junior Goose started making a move. LeVine called the horse's name and then started making a "honking" noise like a goose would do if it were flying in formation.
My race calling was a combination of the two. My post parade introduction were a monotone drole. My race-calling, on the other hand, could be quite flamboyant.
On one particular weekday evening I remember calling the first race. The race itself was quite exciting. Two horses had broken away from the rest of the field at the three-quarter pole and were waging a ding-dong battle as they reached the top of the stretch. First one, then the other, would stick his nose in front. I remember saying, "Son Cent is looking Magnificent Marcy (pause) Right In The Eye!" I carried my enthusiastic race call right down to the wire.
Well, once I had finished announcing the winner’s breeding and connections, my announcing stint for the evening was over. I’d take off my announcer’s " hat" and put on my publicity director’s "hat". But that evening, something strange happened. As I was walking back to my office in the track’s clubhouse area, one of the guys who worked at the track as a waiter came over to me and said that a guy in the clubhouse dining area wants to talk to me. "About what?" I asked. " I dunno," the waiter replied. "He just wants a word with you."
Seconds later, the waiter walked me over to where the guy was sitting. I then walked up to the his table. I remember that he was seated alone. I also recall that he was short and stocky. He was wearing a suit and tie. He had a glass of red wine in front of him along with some pasta and a salad. Frankly, the whole thing reminded me of a scene right out of the movie "The Godfather." I half-expected Marlon Brando to show up.
I recall that the man at the table asked me to sit down. As I looked at him, he appeared subdued, but I sensed a degree of agitation in his voice. I recall the man then said, "You put to much into your announcing; it’s too loud. You get too excited when you call the races." I just sat and listened as he continued. "Maybe you should take a tranquilizer before you call the races. It would help you calm down," he continued. "Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you here." "I do," I replied. As I sat there listening to this man, I felt threatened. It just seemed to me that this guy was dead serious. I felt at the moment that if I didn’t pay heed to his advice that, just possibly, I could end up "swimming with the fishes.".
Seconds later, I walked back to my office. As I was finishing up with my paperwork, I was thinking about the meeting I had just had with the man in the clubhouse dining room. It left an impression on me. Was I intimidated? You could say that. I do remember that after that meeting, I did tone things down when I called the races.