Teach
01-21-2008, 05:51 PM
"What kind of jelly would you like on your toast?" the waitress asked. What kinds do you have?" I responded. "We have orange marmalade, grape and our famous cherry. It's made right here in the Glens Falls area," she added. "I'll have the cherry toast," I said.
Just the mention of the two words -- "cherry toast" -- had brought back a flood of memories. My wife broke my spell of concentration by saying, "Walt, I've never known you to have cherry jelly." "Yeh," I said, "This is for old times sake," I added.
Last summer, my wife and I took a weekend vacation to upstate New York. We made one of those compromises that all married couples make over the years. My wife acceded to my wishes to take in Friday's race card at "The Spa," if I would spend the rest of the weekend sightseeing and antiquing in the Lake George area. I agreed.
Yet, the thought of that cherry toast that morning at the bed-and-breakfast had brought me back to my college days in the early 1960s.
It was nearly forty-four years to the day. August, 1963. I was about to enter my senior year at Boston University. Yet, that summer had not been kind to me. I had been dating this very attractive co-ed when suddenly -- out of the blue -- she had told me that "we weren't right for each other." It came as a complete shock. Not only had I enjoyed Sue's company, but I found her quite attractive (If you've ever seen the movie, "Something Wild" with Melanie Griffith in that black page-boy wig...).
Well, I was in a funk for the next several days. Thankfully, it occurred over the summer. If I had been in school, I don't think I could have attended classes. I was that distraught.
One of the ways I dealt with my depressive moods was to go the the track. The excitement and ambiance of the track perked me up. When I made money, it was like a balm that soothed my disappointments.
That Saturday, I had gone to NH's Rockingham Park. In hindsight, I should never have gone. I was too unfocused. I wasn't thinking straight. I was trying to escape from the pain of the break-up. Under those circumstances, it was foolhardy to be betting races. Besides, I needed the money for books and tuition for my senior year.
I recall that I had taken $200 with me to the track (in this day and age that may need seem like much, but for a relatively poor Boston kid, it was a heckuva of lot of money to be bringing to the track).
As I look back, I could do nothing right. Then, I got panicky and started chasing. I was grasping at straws. I was going "tilt." Thankfully, I did hit one of the later races, but I was still down over $100.
When I left Rockingham that afternoon, I kept thinking, "I've got to recoup." But where? I recall shaking my head for a moment and then thinking, "Wonderland."
"Wonderland," of course, was Wonderland Dog Track in Revere, MA -- a stone's throw from Suffolk Downs. I remember driving south on Route #93 and then cutting over to the east toward Revere. I recall arriving at the dog track about 6:30 PM.
As I walked into the track and bought a program, I was down over a "C-Note." I desperately needed to get back. Yet, I again continued my foolish betting practices. Quinella after quinella hit the track floor. I was now down well over $150. I was fast losing any chance of getting back to even. Panic was again setting in.
As I think back, it was about the sixth or seventh race that I spotted a dog, the name I'll never forget --- Cherry Toast. She was the number #7 dog in an RC (Revere Course) 3/8ths race. The more I looked at the form, the more I liked this dog.
Moments later, I went to the windows and said, "$20 to win on the number #7." I then handed the teller the 'Double-Saw' and received my $20 ticket.
A few minutes later, I heard the call: "Now there goes Swifty (the lure)." I remember that my #7 dog broke alertly from the outside and was second as they came down the front-straight. As they made the curtain turn and headed for the backstretch, my dog, "Cherry Toast" was now head-and-head with the leader. As the two dogs pushed into the far turn, Cherry Toast had gained the advantage and began pulling away. It was as if -- at that moment -- a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
I remember letting out with an inaudible scream (sounds like an oxymoron). If I had looked in the mirror at that moment, I know my face would have been aglow.
Seconds later, the payoffs were posted on the infield tote. Cherry Toat had paid $15.80 to win. I collected a nifty $158. I remember the teller saying, "Nice hit." I woulda tipped the guy, but I was just happy to bring myself to near even.
As I think back, I remember playing a couple more races. I ended up the day down about $10. As I left Wonderland, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had survived. My tuition and book money was still intact.
Just then, my wife snapped me out of my trance-like state and said, "Walt, are you all right? You seem distant. You look a little flushed. You're not allegic to that cherry jelly." "No, I don't think so, Dear," I said. "It's just that cherry toast brings back so many warm memories. Some day," I added, "I'll tell you about it."
Just the mention of the two words -- "cherry toast" -- had brought back a flood of memories. My wife broke my spell of concentration by saying, "Walt, I've never known you to have cherry jelly." "Yeh," I said, "This is for old times sake," I added.
Last summer, my wife and I took a weekend vacation to upstate New York. We made one of those compromises that all married couples make over the years. My wife acceded to my wishes to take in Friday's race card at "The Spa," if I would spend the rest of the weekend sightseeing and antiquing in the Lake George area. I agreed.
Yet, the thought of that cherry toast that morning at the bed-and-breakfast had brought me back to my college days in the early 1960s.
It was nearly forty-four years to the day. August, 1963. I was about to enter my senior year at Boston University. Yet, that summer had not been kind to me. I had been dating this very attractive co-ed when suddenly -- out of the blue -- she had told me that "we weren't right for each other." It came as a complete shock. Not only had I enjoyed Sue's company, but I found her quite attractive (If you've ever seen the movie, "Something Wild" with Melanie Griffith in that black page-boy wig...).
Well, I was in a funk for the next several days. Thankfully, it occurred over the summer. If I had been in school, I don't think I could have attended classes. I was that distraught.
One of the ways I dealt with my depressive moods was to go the the track. The excitement and ambiance of the track perked me up. When I made money, it was like a balm that soothed my disappointments.
That Saturday, I had gone to NH's Rockingham Park. In hindsight, I should never have gone. I was too unfocused. I wasn't thinking straight. I was trying to escape from the pain of the break-up. Under those circumstances, it was foolhardy to be betting races. Besides, I needed the money for books and tuition for my senior year.
I recall that I had taken $200 with me to the track (in this day and age that may need seem like much, but for a relatively poor Boston kid, it was a heckuva of lot of money to be bringing to the track).
As I look back, I could do nothing right. Then, I got panicky and started chasing. I was grasping at straws. I was going "tilt." Thankfully, I did hit one of the later races, but I was still down over $100.
When I left Rockingham that afternoon, I kept thinking, "I've got to recoup." But where? I recall shaking my head for a moment and then thinking, "Wonderland."
"Wonderland," of course, was Wonderland Dog Track in Revere, MA -- a stone's throw from Suffolk Downs. I remember driving south on Route #93 and then cutting over to the east toward Revere. I recall arriving at the dog track about 6:30 PM.
As I walked into the track and bought a program, I was down over a "C-Note." I desperately needed to get back. Yet, I again continued my foolish betting practices. Quinella after quinella hit the track floor. I was now down well over $150. I was fast losing any chance of getting back to even. Panic was again setting in.
As I think back, it was about the sixth or seventh race that I spotted a dog, the name I'll never forget --- Cherry Toast. She was the number #7 dog in an RC (Revere Course) 3/8ths race. The more I looked at the form, the more I liked this dog.
Moments later, I went to the windows and said, "$20 to win on the number #7." I then handed the teller the 'Double-Saw' and received my $20 ticket.
A few minutes later, I heard the call: "Now there goes Swifty (the lure)." I remember that my #7 dog broke alertly from the outside and was second as they came down the front-straight. As they made the curtain turn and headed for the backstretch, my dog, "Cherry Toast" was now head-and-head with the leader. As the two dogs pushed into the far turn, Cherry Toast had gained the advantage and began pulling away. It was as if -- at that moment -- a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
I remember letting out with an inaudible scream (sounds like an oxymoron). If I had looked in the mirror at that moment, I know my face would have been aglow.
Seconds later, the payoffs were posted on the infield tote. Cherry Toat had paid $15.80 to win. I collected a nifty $158. I remember the teller saying, "Nice hit." I woulda tipped the guy, but I was just happy to bring myself to near even.
As I think back, I remember playing a couple more races. I ended up the day down about $10. As I left Wonderland, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had survived. My tuition and book money was still intact.
Just then, my wife snapped me out of my trance-like state and said, "Walt, are you all right? You seem distant. You look a little flushed. You're not allegic to that cherry jelly." "No, I don't think so, Dear," I said. "It's just that cherry toast brings back so many warm memories. Some day," I added, "I'll tell you about it."