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OReilly on Racing Turf Fans Voluble in Their Criticism of Favorite Sport By TOM OREILLY BELMONT PARK, Elmont, L. I., N. Y., May 30. There are no more voluble critics of their favorite pastime than racing fans. If you doubt this, ask Eddie Arcaro, after he has lost a photo finish on a 4-to-5 shot. Years ago, Eddie voiced a rule for riding success, to an interviewer, "Dont get beat no noses!". And never were fans more at their hilarious, critical best than the day beautiful Belmont opened its new, modernized park to the public. A total stranger, boarding a race train in Penn Station, would have known that something unusual awaited him before the engineer put one hand on the throttle. As usual, the trains last carwas filled with regulars, from force of habit. That car is handiest to the entrance at Jamaica. Suddenly, a critic in a loud, sports jacket, entered and shouted, with a chuckle: "Ill lay 8-to-5 this car is on the wrong end of the train!" "How much you wanna bet ,000,000?" came a reply from deep behind the charts its owner was studying. A small, excited, bald-headed man, turned to the passenger beside him and ejaculated: I "Three million bucks they say they spent. Well, it better be good. Im not kiddin. Thats my dough they spent out there. If it aint good they lose a customer." "Aw. shaddup. ya miserable jerk." a six-footer, with crenellated neck, said his fellow rider. "Ive heard that before. You look like a sucker tme and a suckers a sucker all his life." With that, he got up and moved to another seat. "Wassa matter with that guy?" asked Baldie, in hurt tones, "his stomach both-erin im, er sumthin?" He opened a paper and began studying. At Belmont Park the last car proved to be handy enough to the stairs. And the customers were quick with their comments. "Stairs, yet, for ,000,000! Wheres the oscillators?" exclaimed a fat man in a cap. "This is moider," he added, starting eagerly up the steps. There was much grumbling on the steps. "The escalators is inside," one man announced, condescendingly. "These stairs is the railroad. The trucks should put them out of business the crooks." Long Queue Before Escalators Inside, there was a long queue before the escalators to the grandstand mezzanine. People looked at each other selfconsciously and smiled. "Well, boy!" exclaimed a fairly young man, witha broad grin, "I paid a lot. for this ,000,000. Plenty of it is my money." He held his hand out expansively and said, joyously, "Take me up, money!" People behind him smiled with approval. Traversing the mezzanine, it was noticeable that the old Widener chute judges tower," a cross between a silo and Cleopatras Needle, had been removed. The walk across the infield, from the northern parking lot, had been covered with gravel, causing a laughing cynic to remark: "I see they paved the road to ruin." Humorists were all over the place. Descending the staircase, from the clubhouse mezzanine, to the paddock, fans encountered beautiful models posing for the photographers. "Well,- thats an improvement, certainly," said a man in a Homburg-hat. The clubhouse escalators go up directly behind a row of booths selling and cashing mutuel tickets. It was noticeable that iron, protective screens had been erected over 10 sellers windows and eight cashiers windows, exposed to the gaze of riders. A 0 cashier explained: "This is the clubhouse, I know. But even so, some of the customers might get aggravated and decide to crown us with a pop bottle." Sam Lewis,, the aged song writer, was Continued on Page Fifty-Three j OReilly on Racing Continued from Page Three encountered at the top level of the clubhouse. "I must-a walked from Montauk Point," whispered Sam. "I come by train and it dropped me way off there somewhere. Tomorrow Im comin by car." A loyal regular, who had been listening to all these comments, couldnt take it any more. Finally, he let go : "Wha dyou guys want? Helicopters to bring you an your dough out here an drop ya right in the vaults? Stairs! What horse player ever worried about a few stairs, jus to get into the joint. Theyd come on bended knees over broken bottles. Now you characters will go down an send your friends those free postal cards to show people how rich yare, goin to Belmont. Nuts. I think the joints all right. If ydont like it take off for some place else." It was quite an oration. A ,000,000 blast. The accolade of the chalk-eaters. Belmont is in the second half of its first hundred years and, as everybody knows, they are the hardest!
