 by Jay Leimbach
My love
affair with harness racing began in
1962. I was in the eighth
grade, when I chanced to see a television show about harness
racing's leading driver, Billy Haughton. The spectacle of
the horse drawn sulkies dancing around the track really
captured my fancy, and soon I began to research the history
of the sport in my parent's library of Encyclopedia
Americana yearbooks. I made detailed tables of the season's
champions and their fastest miles: horses like ADIOS, TAR
HEEL, GOOD TIME, BYE BYE BYRD and BULLET HANOVER.
Even their names had a magical ring.
A year later, Pennsylvania's first
racetrack opened, Liberty Bell Park in Philadelphia. After
centuries of Quaker blue Laws prohibiting any form of
gambling in the state, the legislature finally legalized
harness racing, paving the way for Liberty Bell and two
other tracks to open.
Liberty Bell was on the far side of
Philadelphia from my home, but the entries and results
appeared daily in the newspaper and I began making imaginary
bets each day in study hall, which I usually spent in the
school library.
In the summer, the harness racing shifted to
Brandywine Raceway, just across the Delaware border and
about 12 miles from my home.
In 1964, when my
friends and I turned 16, we began to make regular
pilgrimages to Brandywine whenever one of us could
borrow a car from our parents. In my first outing at the
track I shared bets with 2 friends, each of us
contributing $.67 toward a $2.00 ticket. Betting only
place and show, we won five of six wagers, for a profit
of $3.30 apiece.
 We
were on our way. |
 There
was magic in the air at Brandywine. A kind of Never
Never land where the hustle of the Modern world
vanished, and where every once in awhile fairy tales
still came true.
|
There was magic in the air at Brandywine.
A kind of Never Never land where the hustle of the Modern
world vanished, and where every once in awhile fairy tales
still came true. I loved the sights and sounds and smells of
the track. Harness racing was truly poetry in motion. The
clip clop rhythms of the horses warming up was a comforting,
pacifying sound, in contrast to an outside world that seemed
to be accelerating out of control.
There was a sense of innocence and order
at the racetrack. It was a little bit like traveling through
a time warp - to a time and place where people still
had their feet on the ground, and decisions were clear and
simple. Whoever got to the finish line first was the
winner.
Next |