| “And they’re off!” Chapter III Papa Joe The number 6 horse that Papa Joe had picked for me came in second, and since he had boxed in the horse, betting it to Win, Place and Show (1st, 2nd and 3rd), I had won money. I got back my twelve plus four dollars in winnings. I was happy, but Papa Joe was ecstatic. I could tell that he was very pleased with himself that his recommendation had paid off and that his credibility as a handicapper had been established even if the horse did only finish in second place. He had been wise enough to bet the horse three times to cover the wager so I would get paid. I was impressed with my new friend’s ability to call a race with just a few moments’ notice and I wanted to learn more from him. We bet two more races together and both times I followed Papa Joe’s picks exactly. Both bets were the same as the first, one horse bet three times to win, place, and show, or a “three by four” as I was now easily calling them to the teller. Nate was sure to listen as I placed the bets and then checked each ticket carefully before I sat down just to be sure. By the end of the third bet I was ahead by 33 dollars, which I thought was quite amazing, and Papa Joe was beaming with delight and having the grandest of times. About this time it occurred to me that Papa Joe had not placed any bets with his own money, and, as a matter of fact, I saw no sign of any money on him or near him. I didn’t want to think of Papa Joe living like some men I had seen on the boardwalk, homeless and wandering, sleeping outdoors on a bench or under the boardwalk of on a grimy Atlantic City street. I did, however, settle for the image that Papa Joe might pass lonely nights in some rundown motel in AC, spending all day at the Trop with little or no money to bet on his beloved horses. It was an image I could cope with regarding the friendly man in the Yankees hat providing me with entertainment. I took ten dollars from my winnings and casually placed the new crisp bill in front of Papa Joe. I wanted it not to appear as charity but as money earned. He looked at the bill and before he could refuse, I blurted “Here’s your share, partner,” gaining a smile and a nod. He placed his hand over the bottom half of the bill, and I felt good that I had handled the matter correctly. We kept betting with my money and his suggestions, doing all right, when a neatly dressed black man in his 40s four seats to our left joined in our action. He and Papa Joe shared tips and played “if only we had” as in, “If we had just picked this one over that one, and just imagine if we had.” This went on and on, to the point where I saw that the horse players really didn’t ever feel like they had won even when they did because they just didn’t win big enough. Those suppositions invariably led to the old days stories of the time when, back in the 70s or the 80s at Belmont or Yonkers when the trifecta hit for a big payout or the time when they’d just missed a $20,000 dollar triple box in the eighth |
| “Papa Joe” (continued) |
