The Race is Run

The front page of today’s Chicago Tribune features the headline ‘Arlington Enters the Final Stretch’. I read it and my heart skipped a little beat, because Arlington owns a piece of it. I started working there when I was 21 in 1973 and stayed until 1976 when I left to become a stay home mom for the following 22 years. Like many of us, I had driven past Arlington Park countless times but never really thought about what went on there behind the scenes. The day I walked into the dank offices at ground level, mid-building, with a door that opened directly onto the parking lot, I walked into a different world. I became the Secretary to the Treasurer and it was the most exciting job I’ve ever had. My boss was Sheldon Robbins, who went on to be one of the owners of the ‘new’ Arlington. He always insisted that I call him Mr. Robbins, in spite of the close working relationship we developed over the three years I was there, and the fact that he was only 14 years older than me. One Christmas, at the office party and with a couple of drinks under our belts, my co-worker Sandy and I petitioned him to drop the ‘Mister’, but he would have none of it. Shel Robbins had a little boy who would come into the office once in a while. He was adorable, about 5 years old. He grew up to be Larry Robbins, a billionaire hedge fund manager and philanthropist. Arlington in 1973 was not the beautiful facility it became. In 1973 it was a relic of the mid-century, with linoleum running the length of the clubhouse, and populated by broken down horseplayers (that’s a nod to Dave Feldman – more on him in a second). I was thrown into a job with no training, because my predecessor had been fired. I made it up as I went along. I was the Treasurer’s secretary, but I was also the Insurance Coordinator. That hat meant that I managed Public Liability – if someone slipped and fell on spilled ice cream in the clubhouse, I would get the lawyer’s letter. I liaised between Lloyd’s of London and the Jockeys and Exercise boys. I managed coverage of the backstretch area, which became a small town during the ‘season’. The Season lasted about 90 days every summer. The rest of the time we budgeted, prepared, and filed intentions and plans with the Illinois Racing Board. The other part of my job was working with Madison Square Garden, which owned Arlington. I used to send faxes to New York on what we would now characterize as an incredibly archaic fax machine. You’d call your recipient, put the phone on a cradle and wait five minutes for every page to be sent. MSG owned Jam Productions, which was a big-time concert promoter. Mike and I had front row comp seats to Harry Chapin, Seals & Crofts, and plays at the Arlington Park Theater. Mike was invited (men only!) to a closed-circuit heavyweight fight between Ali & Frazier. When the horses were running, we would often have VIP’s visit Arlington. I have a vivid memory of riding an elevator with Milton Berle! I would take messages up to the money room. This is exactly what the name suggests. All the cash bets would be sent through pneumatic tubes to the heavily guarded money room, to be manually counted!! I also took messages up to the press box, which was located under the eaves of the clubhouse. Phil Georgeff would stand out on the parapet with his binoculars calling the race. My most embarrassing moment occurred when I brought guests up there one time and we stood out there on an adjacent balcony. I wanted to give them an unparalleled viewing experience. The problem was, they really got into it, screaming for their horse to win. Not only was Phil distracted but the screams went out over the PA system. When the race ended, Phil gave me a piece of his mind and I deserved it. Lesson learned! In the office, every day the pastry chef would bring a huge tray of warm sweet rolls to the accounting office. Our office was incredibly ugly with stained corn colored carpet and Steelcase desks. But we were a little family. Dave Feldman, sportswriter for the Chicago Sun Times, would come through several times a week. I read his column every day, and he regularly referred to being a ‘BDH’. One day I summoned the courage to ask him what a BDH was. He seemed delighted by the question and told me it was a Broken Down Handicapper. Next day, I’m in his column!! My 15 minutes of fame! Harry Chapin is gone now. Phil Georgeff is gone. Dave Feldman is gone. Sheldon Robbins is gone. And soon, Arlington will be gone. But it will still own a piece of my heart.