I worked with Earl Howard.
I was a 21 year old drifter hot walking at the track. Meaning, I handled the horses after a workout or a race and walked them around the shed row, maybe a graze later, or to take them to the drug test barn for winners. You can see the character in a horse in how he/she (not sure there is a ze yet), how it winds up and settles down. It takes at least 40 minutes to chill. Most of the thoroughbreds really love racing, some don’t. Some run hurt. That fucker Wayne Catalano, fat ass race rider won a lot of races with the whip. Horses would come back from the race bleeding on the flank and scarred on the neck. Racers would know what I mean. Horses were terrified of him. As a jockey, he was a butcher. (Don’t send your boys, W, I took care of your brother Joey for a spell.) I just didn’t like your style.
The Fairgrounds Racetrack in New Orleans, circa 1977-79 meets I worked for the Jack Van Berg barn, Frankie Brothers was trainer, Kenny his assistant, and a fabulous group of committed help for low pay and the chance to win it at the window on race day with their horse. A groom normally would take care of four horses, claimers and such, or a Big Horse / money maker, and a horse or two. Grooms are intricately linked to a horses’ success, more firsthand than the trainer. The exercise riders in the morning also are first respondents to a gallop stride or any difficult step. A successful barn was a team effort. Myself and a galoot from Maine, an Ed Norton clone, were Frankie’s regular walkers, but people came and went.
I lived above the stable. I was paid 65 dollars a week, worked 7 days a week. I cashed a lot of Show tickets to survive. There was a bar/small Italian restaurant called Perry’s near the entrance. Their 2 dollar meat sauce spaghetti filled my yawning void (I was young), and their hospitality – I was a tracker with horseshit on my boots – they put an extra spoonful. Like I said, people came and went. They made an impact on my life, but I came to talk about Earl Howard.
Earl was a well-respected groom on the backstretch. He was talented with horses. As my memory recalls back 43 years, his Big Horse was Master Derby, quite a specimen of horse flesh. Earl, Elwood and MD came in to the grounds after winning the Arkansas Derby easily. They were going to pick up some cash at a Fairgrounds stake, on the way to win the Bluegrass Stakes, falling short in the Kentucky Derby. I went for that ride alongside Earl and his aide-de-camp, Elwood Eades.
Elwood was an on-call exercise rider, no stranger to the life, a capable horseman. He told me once he was the top earnings rider in the country for 1964. I didn’t believe him as he was about 165 lbs in 1977, so I did what I do when I’m confused – I go to the library. At Keeneland Racetrack in Lexington, Ky, a Horseman’s Thoroughbred Racing Library stands for the curious. The librarian was helpful, and sure enough, I looked it up, Elwood Eades was the leading jockey earnings winner in North America 1964. Double E had once made a lot of money for himself as a young man. Somehow I don't think he lost it back to the track, or some other desperation tale. It was his character to have that money stashed somewhere. He worked the backstretch because he loved the work.
Elwood adored Earl. Earl adored me. Earl was gay. Elwood would never admit to it. The three of us meshed well, as jokers and pals for that period of time marching to the Kentucky Derby with a winner.
Earl Howard stood 6’6”, probably 6’8” in his day. The comparison to the Chief Broom in Cuckoo’s Nest is a bit extreme but not off target. His big square head was framed by grey curls to his shoulder. We got along great. I also knew he had the power to rip my head off if he wanted…
… which he had done, in some form. He had spent 10 yrs ‘in school’, Osingsing to be exact, for murder. He explained to me the significance of the hand tattoos regarding convicts. He had several to show me, not at all in an intimidating way. What he told you. He meant to say. More than frightened, I liked Earl around. He was smart in the street-wise way. He demanded respect and the more I got to know him, he didn’t want to hurt anyone.
He taught me under-the-radar living. He had nothing in his name; the Buick Riviera we rolled around in was in his sisters’ name. He didn’t have insurance, didn’t have a drivers’ license. Never signed a contract, never would. Lived off his skills, horses, he grew up in Ocala, FL and talked fondly of it. Prison taught him one thing – disappear. Cash for everything. I can't say for certain if Earl Howard was his name.
Oh! Elwood, he was such a good ole country boy, utmost respect for his unabashed honesty, his homespun wisdom, a Woody Boyd of Cheers, and, … his betting skills, we were doing alright as far as I’m concerned. I didn’t make too many 10 dollar bets, but if Elwood touted me steamer… he knew horses.
Elwood would go to church services on Sunday wherever we traveled. He’d go to bed early on Saturday night. In New Orleans, Earl and I would go to Pete’s Underground in the French Quarter.
In recollection, if you are underground in New Orleans, it screams GET OUT, but I was there. Earl wanted to meet his friends. Earl showed me off, they assumed I was with him, and I was as a friend. We had several serial Saturdays at that bar until…
Billiard Ball Night.
I don’t know what ship was in port. I don’t know how Mars sent asteroids. I didn’t know things could break that easily…
… I went to the fights and a pool game broke out. Obviously an act of Mob thuggery, the quarters go in, the slide, the 16 porcelain balls come down the chute. Then four fucks start throwing these balls against the mirrors, booze – conking one off the bartenders’ coconut – retrieving them and continuing to bash until Earl rises up to defend the Establishment, as I’m totally under the side wait table hugging my knees. He stood up, and it was crazy. Haven’t been back, but I remember Earl. I'm glad he was on my side.
Earl, Elwood and I traveled to Keeneland in Lexington, KY, the spring meet. I found a gal to pal with (Candy, call me), a memorable spring in my life. We all worked so very hard, I sought Elwood, you know, for my bank. Earl was surprised I was at the Library. As a hot walker, every other day at the track was why I worked the track, being in the Grandstand those every other days. We all went to Louisville to watch Earl and MD the first Saturday in May. Earl was part of the Kentucky Derby! He cleaned up pretty well for the procession to the Paddock. And launching the jockey onto the saddle for race time. I bet from my heart and took a beating. Master Derby ran fourth.
We caught on with a stable going east to Delaware Park. It was a decidedly different culture there, but accommodations were far better. Candy and I checked in with a very workable space, of course, no hot plate. As your whole life will be soon retrograde, Candy goes back to Canada (hence her name) and I have 300 sq ft to myself. I took in a Korean War vet from, memory says, the Red Devils Air Brigade. He was a drunk, but noble, a good man with horses. And Joey Cat, a time quite forgettable.
In one respect it was a more summer camp experience for the workers, as the industrialization of horse racing goes on sending them nightly to Keystone, Monmouth, various other tracks. Let’s face it that’s why we are there – to race.
Elwood went to Aqueduct. Earl was hesitant. He spent too much time in New York. He came to me asked what I was going to do. Back to Chicago, I say. He gets all sad and conjugally, the band was breaking up - and kisses me. This was the first time he ever approached me in such a manner. I didn’t at all fight it, just waited for it to end. Earl. It ain’t happening, pal. He knew it, and I knew it, and we settled best of friends.
Thank you, Earl. Thank you, Elwood. Thank you, all the backstretchers of that time. Incredible memories.
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This is a free form recollection from events over 40 years ago. I can't say it is entirely factual. - EWS
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