Rest In Peace, My Friend!

We were on the leaky roof circuit, in New England, when we first met. I had written a few critical comments about the guys boss. He was new in town, he took exception. And then the fun began!

I was new to the sport, trying to get started. He was a tried and proven Race Caller. He actually revolutionized the art of announcing the harness races in this area. He called every step of the miles, not just the poles.

I had no right to be talking back to this guy. But, I was young, and brash. So we went at it. After about a week, we had reached an impasse. We were getting close to being friends.

Two months later, although he didn't realize it, he gave me my start as a Race Announcer. Seem he had an affinity for betting the ponies, he loved the action. One afternoon he was off to the local Fair, banging the windows as they say. He lost sight of the time of day, and missed Post Time for the evenings card at the Downs.

Back at the track, there I was on the roof, ready to time the miles as usual. General Manager Tom Shehan called up, and told me to play the Anthem. Jack would be late. Okay, that was easy, I didn't say a word, simply put the Tape in the player, and stood at attention.

10 minutes later, I began to panic. Another call from Tom. "Do the Post Parade." And you might have to announce the race. Fear crept in. "Tom, I'm not an announcer. I don't know if I can do that." I will never forget his reply. "I didn't ask if you could do it. I said do it."  And at that point, My career began, thanks to two guys named Jack and Tom.

A month later, Jack gets the Announcers job in Winnipeg, he has to leave with three days left in our season in Maine. No problem, Tom says, "we have Lucky Lloyd, he is ready."  Jack left town, I didn't think I would ever see him again. But this was only the beginning. There was a long road ahead.

The next time I see Jack, we are in Wheeling, West Virginia. I'm timing the races again. Jack is at the helm in the announcers booth. I get a call from the Presiding Judge, he tells me to look out the window, and tell him what I see. Gazing out the window, its snowing hard, a wintry scene.

To my right, there is Jack, hanging over the edge, and dropping tiny pieces of paper to the ground. Down below is a lady friend, scooping up the messages, and hurrying to the wagering windows.

I wasn't going to be the one to blow any whistles. I relayed the word to the Judge that it was snowing heavily in the Wheeking area. He laughed.

A few nights later, its Race 10 on the program. Last race of the evening. As the field flashes under the wire, I can still hear his call.  "I don't believe that #*@* got that horse beat." And the next thing I heard was a heavy thud down below. He had tossed the television out the window. I guess I forgot to tell you that the guy was intense.

A few days later, we are at the local eatery for an early afternoon lunch. A fracas developes at a nearby table. A younger couple were having a heated argument. It became ugly. The guy grabbed the lady, and dragged her towards the door.

A new side of the big-guy was about to be seen. He bounced out of his seat, and raced after the couple. Just outside the door, the guy trips, and falls into the gutter.

In a flash, Jack is on the guy, I mean, he is sitting on top of the guy, and screaming, " don't try to move. I'm telling you, don't try to move."  How could he? Jack weighed close to 350 pounds.

Soon the police arrived, Jack had calmed down, and it became a memory. As an aside, later that night, after the races, we are back at Lou's for a snack, and there they were, the same guy and lady, hugging and kissing. I told Jack, "lesson learned buddy."

Jack soon took over ownership in a couple of small, and rather seedy movie theaters in the Ohio-area. One night, Tom stops by the apartment, says "come on with me. Jack is having a Comedian Show over in Bridgeport tonight. We should go over and support him."

A Half-hour later, we paid our $5-bucks, and had no problem finding a seat. The place was virtually empty. There were five people in the house. That's not the end of this story.

Seem the advertised Comedians didn't show. And there was Big Jack, up on the stage, telling some very bad jokes. But that was Jack. He could squirm his way out of the tightest of spots.

The next problem involved the thorughbreds. Another good friend, the Waterford Park announcer, Kenny Vick, had been involved in a bad accident. They needed a substitute, in a hurry. Tom sent Jack up the river, 35-miles to Chester.

Jack liked the idea, there was action to be had, although he was definitely not a T-Bred guy. The second night he was there, he enticed me into riding up with him. It was a smooth program, no problems, until that last race.

I'm standing directly behind Jack in the booth. The horses are thundering off the final turn. The leader drifts wide, Jack doesn't notice that, as another contender slipped through along the fence, and draws of for an easy win. Meanwhile, Jack was still calling that earlier leader, the steed he had wagered on, as the winner.

He was not happy. Heading back down the river, Route 7, we stop at a fast food joint. Forgot to tell you that Jack liked to snack. We're seated, enjoying the moment, when a problem develops. In the booth, right behind me, are four upset race fans. They were being very critical of that #&*(#@ Announcer who blew that last race call.

Needless to say, Jack goes berserk. He is up on his feet, yelling, and beating his chest like a monkey. We were asked to leave the premises.  Moments later we're in the car, and Jack is laughing. "Do you realize we didn't even have to pay for that meal?"

The next night, guess what? Jack wanted nothing more to do with the thoroughbreds. And there I was, the new Track Announcer at Waterford Park. Staying close to this guy was doing wonders for my racing career.

Next time I see him, he is at my doorstep. "I just made a nice hit at The Meadows. I need you to help me tomorrow night. A day later, it is bitterly cold, snowy, and above all foggy in that hilltop stable area. Jack is dealing. He has an 8-horse truck, and he is looking to fill it up with race ready horses to take to Maine.

I mean, the fog was so dense, it was almost impossible to see the horses. Yet, with in a hour, Jack has eight-horses loaded, and ready to roll. I think he spent about $1,500, so he was a happy giant.

With an extra $500-bucks in his pocket we were off to the grandstand. I wanted to listen to Roger call the races, Jack, of course, wanted to bang the windows. Half hour later, Jack is on top of the world. He just hit one of those Big Payoffs. The kind that bring attention to the victor. Especially if he weighs around 350 -pounds.

He is quickly in line, ready to pick up his $1,600 windfall. One problem, a few people had been watching his celebration. They knew Jack, only too well. They met him as he left the window, hands out, sems he had had business dealings with them in the past.

The money was soon gone. The victory a memory. And guess who had to buy the gas for the return trip. But it was worth every penny, another great memory.

Once he got back to Maine, it was a myriad of problems. Bad racing luck. Couldn't find the good "free" help. I mean, Ray Turner just wasn't doing the job. The horses, one by one, were getting claimed for less than he paid for them. And every penny was flying through those busier than ever windows at the Seaside oval.

Meanwhile, the Motel would not allow pets. Seems his bitch had a litter of about six puppies, Next thing I know, I got six puppies in my cellar. And Jack is nowhere to be seen. A month later he shows up. No problem he says, and away he goes to the local dog pound.

Along the way I introduce him to another race announcer, my friend, Howard. Jack decides to race a few at Monticello. Next comes a call from the " Oil Man."  He states, "Jack has kinda moved in here. I just don't have the room. You gotta help me." No problem, Jack understood and was soon back on the road to his beloved Salisbury, Maryland-area.

There are a thousand "Talley" stories. We haven't even scratched the surface here. The time he got an invitation to Tommy's wedding. He was flabbergasted, "Tommy was gay" he bellowed." How can they do that?" But you know what? We went to the nuptials, and he behaved, within reason.

He found a new friend in Maine, guy named Jerry. To this day I'm not sure who taught whom. But it was a buyer beware scenario to be sure. Or how about his friend in the Mutuel department?

Seems the guy might have been burying his last minute wagers, in his back pocket. But the law of averages always catches up. Jack makes a big hit.

The guy, whose name luckily escapes me, quickly calls the roof. " Sorry Jack, I couldn't get the bet in. The windows closed." This created another problem.

The next race had to be delayed. The 130 pound mutuel clerk was being mauled by a 350 pound race announcer, who had bolted down stairs to get even.

He was quite a sports fan as well. Even served as a Sports Director on the radio in the Delaware-area at one time. I made the mistake of going to Fenway Park with him one night. He was a fanatical Oakland Athletics fan. He almost got us killed that night with his antics, while surrounded by Red Sox fans.

He had used all his guile to get us free tickets, so that was a plus. Later, on the trip home, we stopped for another one of those late night snacks. After enjoying two fantastic Pastrami sandwiches, Jack hands me the tab.

I remember it as if it just happened yesterday. I was broke. I was still a Timer, I wasn't an Announcer. Then came the bad news, Jack says, " well I ain't got no money."

Now I can see the wheels turning in Jacks head. There had to be a way out of this mess? And, Yes, he did come up with the solution. I can't tell you what it was. That's wouldn't be nice. But somehow we had wriggled out of one more problem, and were back on the road again.

Through it all, the good times, and the bad, this guy remained my friend. When I made it big at Rosecroft and Laurel Raceways, he was my guest on many occasions. I loved his enthusiasm, his intensity, his loyalty, and believe it or not, his big heart.

He called every race as he saw it. He always had an opinion. Right or wrong, you were going to hear it. This guy was one hell of a race caller!

The Big Guy's voice has been silenced. Hard to believe it, but he is gone. He was my friend! He will always remain my friend.  Maybe, someday, I will hear that voice, way up there where all of us race callers end up sooner or later.

Rest in Peace, My Friend!