SANTA ANITA RACE TRACK

My first memory of attending Santa Anita Race Track in Arcadia, CA was with my dad, Chuck Pullman, and possibly Bill Conroy.  I was 6 years old.  We were sitting in one of the green booths of the grandstand when Dad asked me what horse I wanted to bet to win.  I liked the number 5 back then.  I still do, so I told him #5.  He bet on it, and the horse placed in the money.  Not bad for a rookie para-mutual bet, eh?  The jockey had a shimmery, silk green jersey with the number 5 in white.  The excitement, the smells--cigars, earth, beer, hotdogs--the sights--the expansive arena framed by the foothills and the exclusivity of the Club House all engulfed me.  The colors and contrasts were stunning, not to mention the roaring crescendo at the leading chargers drove down the stretch to the finish.  It was exciting.  But beyond excitement, the old-fashioned grandeur of the place, the track could also be a place where you didn't have to think while being a part of history: Bill Shoemaker, Laffit Pincay, Jr., War Admiral, Seabiscuit, winos, gamblers, winners, and losers.  It was a heady mix.  It was a great place to observe society's strata--the well-dressed loser, the modest-attired winner, and a few young men dressed as dandies.  Most in the pavilion wore polo shirts and sunglasses.  A few men puffed on fat cigars.

My dad was no gambler.  But he could be a betting man looking for some prayerful advantage.  His sister's birthday was November 30 (11/30/One of the scenes I love this time of year is the view of the San Gabriel Mountains, Mt. Wilson, and other peaks, from the grandstand at Santa Anita Race Track in Arcadia.  

So far, I am relieved and feel content at having dodged what would amount to a devastating demolition of an era and culture that once gone will be lost forever.  I do feel lucky that the owners have yet to surrender their property to townhome developers.  So many wonderful memories at this park.  There was the one time that I'd rushed to the track to place a bet for a friend who had a hunch or a tip.  It had been raining heavily earlier in the week and the track was soggy.  It was a thrill to buy and read The Racing Form, and still, it was not easy picking a winner.  Reading the 

And the Santa Anita Racing Program.  The cultural and literacy of the track was beautiful.  Numbers, names, weights, odds, dollars.  Just gorgeous.

The art, the setting, and the history of the track was storied and beautiful.  Numbers, names, weights, odds, dollars, and the aura of men down on their luck hoping for that big exacta ticket.  I was such a man, a young man.  I was at the track with my brother, Joe.  We were on the infield, combing over the program, looking for meaning in numbers and names and odds.  I asked Joe if I could borrow $10 for an Exacta pick.  I promised to share half of the winnings if I'd won.  He agreed.  And the two horses came in, totaling $365.  Oh, yeah!  

Even the printed materials, especially the printed materials were what built its following.  Fans flocked to Racing Form and Program.  Who wouldn't?  Will never forget how lonely some men appeared, sitting by themselves nursing the wounds from the previous race while trying to find some winning formula for the next in a kind of restitution.  And maybe, just maybe that's exactly how they wanted things.  To be alone, putting their money on chance in a big, beautiful arena with indoor grandeur and Southern California's outdoor magnificence.