Teach
07-17-2008, 08:05 PM
I have to shake my head. Where’s the time gone? It’ll be twenty-five years this November that I first started working at the now defunct harness track (now part of the Gillette Stadium parking lots), Foxboro Raceway.
Maybe. Just maybe... I was as innocent as pure driven snow. Having been an educator most of my adult life, there hadn’t been much in the way of the cutthroat tactics in the classroom environment that I’d experience in my occasional forays into the business world.
Well, when I first started at Foxboro in November, 1983, I got a quick wakeup call as to harness racing’s "territorial rights". It occurred in, of all places – the parking lot.
As a track employee (there were no assigned spots), I assumed I could park as close to track’s main entrance as I could. Hey, I worked for the track. But. Wait a minute. On one of the first night’s I’m working at the track, one of the parking attendants —a guy who looked like he came straight out of central casting for a part in "The Enforcers" says, "Hey you, you can’t park there.
I replied, "Maybe you don’t know me. I’m new. I work as publicity director." "Buddy, I don’t care if you’re Adios Butler. You can’t park here!" Well, I moved my car back several rows.
About a week later, before the parking attendants arrived (I’d get to the track early, especially on weekends), I parked my car up close to the main entrance. When I came out everything was fine. However, the next morning, one of my tires was flat. There was a nail in it. I could have run over one...but then again... That was the last time I parked up close.
Speaking of parking, we charged for parking. I think it was a buck. Anyway. The Parking and Admissions guys had this straightened-out coat hanger that was attached to a device at the base that allowed it to move in a spring-like fashion when it was run over by a car. It would, after the car passed, then spring back to its erect, vertical position. This was a control as to how many cars would pass. One problem: the parking guys had "a game" going. They’d let cars circumvent the "coat-hanger" device and pocket all or part of the parking costs. Hey, this was better than before where there was no controls whatsoever. The parking guys had hand-held counters. So they got distracted and forgot to click their device. What's $10 or $20, anyway?
Then, there was the afternoon I was selling programs. It wasn’t my job. Hey, it became jurisdiction. But we ain’t got no unions.
The story was that the New England Patriots had organized this Fair. The Pats were represented, but so too were other companies who did business with them, e,g., lighting company, security service, catering and concessions, cleaning service, etc. I persuaded my boss that we should have a booth that I said I’d be happy to man. In addition I brought along a VCR and some tapes of our races. I also brought with me about fifteen or twenty programs. Actually, I thought it went very well. I was showing replays and chatting about harness racing with some of the people who walked by. I also sold about a dozen programs.
Well, when I got back to the track, the head Admissions guy comes up to me and says," I see you were selling programs." I said, Yeh, I turned the money in." He then said, "You shouldn;t be doing that...selling programs. That’s our job." Was there skimming? Was there siding? I couldn't prove that. Yet, controls at the track were nearly non-existent.
Oh there were other games, but you see this at other places as well, Beers and soft drinks. The control is the cups. Let me state the obvious. You sell 50 beers at $3.00 a pop, your take should be $150. But if you reuse the cups. Who knows how much beer is dispensed? Let me let you in on a little secret you probably already know. Those kegs they use to sell beer. After about the first six or seven pulls, it’s all clear profit.
Then, there’s finding out that your job entails more than you thought. I was hired as the publicity guy. I also called hundreds of harness races; but I expected that. Sure, I take a few pictures, write some releases, bang out a few stories for periodicals and newspapers. Yes, deal with media inquiries. Answer requests. Make a few presentations in the winner’s circle.
Yet, by default, I wore other "hats". I became the promotions guy (dealing with travel agents, free stuff: pens, tee-shirts, junk watches, etc.) and the advertising guy (Do you want a "reverse" fror tonight’s papers?). How you gonna promote that big race you have coming up Saturday night? I'd also arrange and get the trophies or blankets if we were making presentations.
Speaking of presentations, there was the time I almost got my head kicked off in the winner’s circle. That Sunday afternoon, I’m down in the winner’s circle making a blanket presentation. I gotta be honest. I didn’t know, at the time, much about horses and their mannerisms. I didn't know that they can see nearly behind themselves (tremendous peripheral vision, something like 270 degrees). There's only one area they can’t see: directly behind themselves. That's their "blind spot." That’s when they're most skittish...and most dangerous. That's when, if you happen to be unlucky enough, or naive or stupid enough to be in the wrong place, that they can kick you right in the
face.
Well, one the track people who was out there with me for the presentation (he and I weren’t exactly buddy-buddy) positions me near the horse's patootie. I begin to sense that the horse is getting agitated. I quickly decide to move to the horse's flank. Just in the nick of time. Seconds later, the horse lets out with a forecful kick that could of — had it landed — turned my face into pulp.
Speaking of horses, I’m calling a race card on a Sunday (the regular announcer was on vacation). In one of the first races on the card I confuse the saddle cloths of the #1 (red) and #7 (pink) coming out of the first turn and heading toward the quarter. I correct myself. After the race, one of the several partners (some had greater shares than others) calls up on the house phone and lays into me for blowing the call. I felt like saying, "You come here and call them." But I kept my mouth shut.
Yes, even the dining area had its games. I heard that the company that was the track's fruit and vegetable purveyor would charge the guys who managed the track dining room less for day-old stuff. Lettuce, tomatoes, etc. Was there a kick-back? I couldn’t tell. But it wouldn’t have surprised me.
Yes, as in most walks of life, there are: Games People Play.
Maybe. Just maybe... I was as innocent as pure driven snow. Having been an educator most of my adult life, there hadn’t been much in the way of the cutthroat tactics in the classroom environment that I’d experience in my occasional forays into the business world.
Well, when I first started at Foxboro in November, 1983, I got a quick wakeup call as to harness racing’s "territorial rights". It occurred in, of all places – the parking lot.
As a track employee (there were no assigned spots), I assumed I could park as close to track’s main entrance as I could. Hey, I worked for the track. But. Wait a minute. On one of the first night’s I’m working at the track, one of the parking attendants —a guy who looked like he came straight out of central casting for a part in "The Enforcers" says, "Hey you, you can’t park there.
I replied, "Maybe you don’t know me. I’m new. I work as publicity director." "Buddy, I don’t care if you’re Adios Butler. You can’t park here!" Well, I moved my car back several rows.
About a week later, before the parking attendants arrived (I’d get to the track early, especially on weekends), I parked my car up close to the main entrance. When I came out everything was fine. However, the next morning, one of my tires was flat. There was a nail in it. I could have run over one...but then again... That was the last time I parked up close.
Speaking of parking, we charged for parking. I think it was a buck. Anyway. The Parking and Admissions guys had this straightened-out coat hanger that was attached to a device at the base that allowed it to move in a spring-like fashion when it was run over by a car. It would, after the car passed, then spring back to its erect, vertical position. This was a control as to how many cars would pass. One problem: the parking guys had "a game" going. They’d let cars circumvent the "coat-hanger" device and pocket all or part of the parking costs. Hey, this was better than before where there was no controls whatsoever. The parking guys had hand-held counters. So they got distracted and forgot to click their device. What's $10 or $20, anyway?
Then, there was the afternoon I was selling programs. It wasn’t my job. Hey, it became jurisdiction. But we ain’t got no unions.
The story was that the New England Patriots had organized this Fair. The Pats were represented, but so too were other companies who did business with them, e,g., lighting company, security service, catering and concessions, cleaning service, etc. I persuaded my boss that we should have a booth that I said I’d be happy to man. In addition I brought along a VCR and some tapes of our races. I also brought with me about fifteen or twenty programs. Actually, I thought it went very well. I was showing replays and chatting about harness racing with some of the people who walked by. I also sold about a dozen programs.
Well, when I got back to the track, the head Admissions guy comes up to me and says," I see you were selling programs." I said, Yeh, I turned the money in." He then said, "You shouldn;t be doing that...selling programs. That’s our job." Was there skimming? Was there siding? I couldn't prove that. Yet, controls at the track were nearly non-existent.
Oh there were other games, but you see this at other places as well, Beers and soft drinks. The control is the cups. Let me state the obvious. You sell 50 beers at $3.00 a pop, your take should be $150. But if you reuse the cups. Who knows how much beer is dispensed? Let me let you in on a little secret you probably already know. Those kegs they use to sell beer. After about the first six or seven pulls, it’s all clear profit.
Then, there’s finding out that your job entails more than you thought. I was hired as the publicity guy. I also called hundreds of harness races; but I expected that. Sure, I take a few pictures, write some releases, bang out a few stories for periodicals and newspapers. Yes, deal with media inquiries. Answer requests. Make a few presentations in the winner’s circle.
Yet, by default, I wore other "hats". I became the promotions guy (dealing with travel agents, free stuff: pens, tee-shirts, junk watches, etc.) and the advertising guy (Do you want a "reverse" fror tonight’s papers?). How you gonna promote that big race you have coming up Saturday night? I'd also arrange and get the trophies or blankets if we were making presentations.
Speaking of presentations, there was the time I almost got my head kicked off in the winner’s circle. That Sunday afternoon, I’m down in the winner’s circle making a blanket presentation. I gotta be honest. I didn’t know, at the time, much about horses and their mannerisms. I didn't know that they can see nearly behind themselves (tremendous peripheral vision, something like 270 degrees). There's only one area they can’t see: directly behind themselves. That's their "blind spot." That’s when they're most skittish...and most dangerous. That's when, if you happen to be unlucky enough, or naive or stupid enough to be in the wrong place, that they can kick you right in the
face.
Well, one the track people who was out there with me for the presentation (he and I weren’t exactly buddy-buddy) positions me near the horse's patootie. I begin to sense that the horse is getting agitated. I quickly decide to move to the horse's flank. Just in the nick of time. Seconds later, the horse lets out with a forecful kick that could of — had it landed — turned my face into pulp.
Speaking of horses, I’m calling a race card on a Sunday (the regular announcer was on vacation). In one of the first races on the card I confuse the saddle cloths of the #1 (red) and #7 (pink) coming out of the first turn and heading toward the quarter. I correct myself. After the race, one of the several partners (some had greater shares than others) calls up on the house phone and lays into me for blowing the call. I felt like saying, "You come here and call them." But I kept my mouth shut.
Yes, even the dining area had its games. I heard that the company that was the track's fruit and vegetable purveyor would charge the guys who managed the track dining room less for day-old stuff. Lettuce, tomatoes, etc. Was there a kick-back? I couldn’t tell. But it wouldn’t have surprised me.
Yes, as in most walks of life, there are: Games People Play.