view raw text
, I = - » ; = = ■ . Profile of Evan Shipman Old Friend Remembers Writer, Soldier, Scholar, Gentleman By TOM OREILLY , BELMONT PARK, Elmont, L. I., N. Y., June 25. — Evan Shipman was my friend. Those are the proudest and saddest words Ive ever written at a race track. As you know, he died Monday in New York Hospital,, at the age of 53. It was he who first j-— , , suggested that I work for this newspaper. , I "Its great, Tom," he enthused, "Ygo racing every day." He was right, as usual. Shipman was a tall, thin, gaunt man with a high forehead, rather thin, brown hair, pale blue eyes and a droopy mustache which gave him the appearance of an old-time, gun-totin cavalry officer. In another era he might well have been a beau sabreur, because when he returned from the continental war and was asked how in the. world he had elected to join Pattons tank corps, he replied, with careful consideration, as he did to all questions: "Well* I always Was interested in cavalry tactics. And it was the only cavalry we had." He was a writer, soldier, scholar, and gentleman with a great a devotion to horses. He enjoyed trotting, flat racing, steeplechasing, fox hunting, polo, horse shows and plain riding. Nobody ever touched a typewriter professionally who knew more about a horse. A man of considerable culture, he could have been successful writing of other things — his father had been a noted playwright — but but he he was was haoniesfc happiest limniner limning the the triumphs1 trhimrjhs# = - but but he he was was haoniesfc happiest limniner limning the the triumphs1 trhimrjhs# pand strivings of the animals he loved. He was a passionate devotee of racing who would back his judgment of a horse for ,000, which he had worked hard to earn, and, if she lost by a nose, remark with a tug at his mustache: "Too bad. But she. did run a beautiful race, didnlfe she? She has a great heart;" Joined Spanish Loyalists Discussing betting, he once saidr "To me, pain must accompany" betting. If there is no pain, there is no fun for me." But to Evan it was a way of life and in the words of Lord Byron had "a heart for every fate." If he believed in something he had to go the whole way. There wasnt a halfhearted tick in his system. That was why, when he felt that the Spanish Loyalists were fighting for freedom, although it was no immediate concern of ours, he had to join them in the Lincoln Brigade. He was wounded and captured. He was proudest of an incident that occurred after his capture/ The prisoners were to be moved. This meant parading them through the streets during a frightful civil war. For a Spaniard to be paraded through the streets in handcuffs would be a disgrace. Evan spoke to the man in charge. He argued that these were soldiers — not criminals. The officer said, in effect: "Senor, if you give me your word that no one wilf try to escape, we will not use the handpuffs." / Evan gave his word. He never mentioned it, but the. notion lingers that if one did try to escape it would have been too bad for Evan. They were a hard-bitten, bitter crew and he had to do considerable selling. In the end, they were grateful for his understanding of their feeling about the handcuffs. " "It was great, Tom," he confided.* "We walked through the streets like real soldiers. Nobody tried to make a break." Hemingway Dedicated Book to Him Evan was an intense man of great generosity, with an inner fire that had to be released. His good friend, Ernest Hemingway, dedicated the book, "Men Without Women," to him. Evan was so devoted to racing, it seemed as though he wanted, to get right in there and live with the horse that was racing. In fact, that is exactly what he did. After leaving Groton, he traveled for a year with a trotting "combination," rubbing, walking and driving racers; sleeping in barns, betting the pay-check and dining occasionally he was a devout gourmet at the best restaurant in the city. It was here that he gathered the material for his outstanding book, "Free for All." a trotting horse tome, published in 1935, exactly 20 years before its time. Todays great trotting crowds would gobble it up. An avid reader of the classics, he realized : that his education was being Neglected and i took the entrance examinations for Har- ; vard. A time scholar, he had no trouble in : anything except French, in which he was i given a "condition." His father suggested ; that he enter the University of Louvaine, : learn the language and then come back to Harvard. He went to Europe, in 1922, during the j F. Scott Fitzgerald era and stayed eight years, studying not only at Louvaine but ] also the Sorbonne, Longchamp, Auteuil and similar educational centers. He pub- i lished a book of poems, "Mazzepa," and began writing for a list of publications that PLATAN — Hasty House Farm seven-year-old stallion will be retired at the close of this season. : i ; : i ; : j ] i grew to Scribners, The New Yorker, Trans-Atlantic Review, Polo, Esquire, Les Nou-velles, Litteraires and many more. On returning to this country, after the Spanish war, he continued writing and, of course, maintained his intimate contact with racing which was to him a way of life. He took a temporary job with a stable and actually "rubbed" Armful, dam of the great Armed, before she was sold to Calumet Farm for breeding purposes. You can only imagine how he backed Armed, after that experience. I first met Evan in the early thirties, at the Hambletohian Stakes, in Goshen,~N. Y. At the time, I suggested that he read "Flat-teiys Foal," a brilliant novel, whose young Russian author" had died shortly after its completion, while being hailed as a genius by all English critics. I cant recall the writers long Russian name and the New York Public Library couldnt find it today, but Evan was charmed by the book and impressed by my seeming erudition, not realizing I had come upon it by accident and am a fearful name-dropper anyway. He figured there was hope for anybody who appreciated such a tome it was the tale of a highly-bred Orloff trotting mare, lost in the Russian revolution, whose foal was brought back to the Moscow races by a farmer and immediately recognized and for many years tried, manfully, to impart some of his own great knowledge to me. To be Evans friend was a big thing, not only because he was the greatest turf writer of his time, but also because his passionate devotion to truth carried over into his every day life. This led to many amusing incidents. Im sure he never wrote an insincere line in his life and he often tried to answer people the same way. Any writer, foolish enough to "fish" for an unearned compliment from Evan, one of the most generous of men, would get a straight answer, although he always softened the blow by indicating that perhaps the "fisherman" could do -better. Like Bernard Shaw, he hated anybody who didnt give his best at all times. He did. And his best was the greatest. He will be missed not only by his friends, but by all racing. I could write forty more columns about Evan Shipman and never get his true worth on paper. To repeat, he was a scholarly fighting man of infinite courage. In the words of the racing charts he loved so well, Evari "showed superior class." "Bye Evan.
