Trust

Monmouth Park, a horse racing track in Oceanport, New Jersey, served as a central theme in my childhood. My mother and her family were “heaters”, a slang term used to describe heavy racehorse betters. She would go to the track frequently, losing most of the time. Dinner conversations in our house usually revolved around which “sure thing” horse- inexplicably lost the race they had all bet. 
(Uncle Pete) “Margaret, what happened to that nag you bet in the third?” 
(My mother) “Still running”. 
Gales of rueful laughter would fill the room as they all vowed to do better “next week” and make up for the losses, spending more of my college fund (Har!). Most people at the track, when they lose a race bet, will tear up their losing tickets and with great flourish toss the confetti into the air. Not my mother-She would always bring her losing tickets home to examine later, just in case she had accidentally bought the winning ticket, or the race in question came under appeal which put her losing horse into the winner's circle. Every long once-in-awhile it would happen, making her losses that day to be less severe. As it turns out, there was only one person in the family who could reliably pick winners...me.

A little background: My father taught me how to read, write and do math before I entered school. In New Jersey at the time, we had no kindergarten, we started school in first grade. Since my birthday was in January, that meant that I would start school at age 6 and be basically a year behind other kids. So my father decided to get me started early, and I took to this “early education” very well.
One of the first things I learned how to read was the Morning Telegraph, perhaps the most prominent newspaper to cover horse racing. The next day's races at Monmouth Park got previewed along with an almost hieroglyphic style system of symbols that covered each horse's history of wins, losses, weight, track preferences, etc. At age 8 I started reading this sheet every day, and I became quite adept at picking probable winners. I handicapped races for my mother and uncles Pete and Sal, so that when they went to the track they would win a lot more often than before.
Then, as now, I didn't care much about money, an attitude I inherited from my father. I never asked for, or received any portion of the new-found winnings It just never occurred to me. I had what I needed. I had an allowance of $2.00 a week. I used it to buy model cars-AMT 3-in-1 customizing kits, $1.29 plus paint, brushes(no model spray paint existed yet) and glue. This situation continued for about 3 years-I picked horses, mother and uncles did well at the track, everyone was happy. Until that day.
It all happened on a Saturday in June, I think. School had ended for the Summer. I was at home with my father. My mother took the bus to her weekly betting adventure at Monmouth Park. I do not know why, but he never drove her there. Maybe he objected to gambling, maybe she liked the bus ride, who knows.
Anyway, this particular day I decided that I wanted to place a bet of my own on a horse that I knew would win. I do not remember what prompted this decision, but for some reason I chose to have my own payday at the track. Of course 13 year olds could not bet money, or even be allowed onto racetrack property, so I asked my mother to place the bet for me. Also I needed her to advance me my allowance for that week, so that my 2 bucks, not hers, would go for the bet. If I lost, so be it. If I won, I would be rich. I advised my mother to place her own bet on my sure winner. It was quite the long shot bet, went off at 20 something to 1. That means that it would pay about 50 dollars for the standard 2 dollar bet. Remember, this was around 1957. Gas sold for 20 cents a gallon. VW Beetles cost $1749.00(never forgot that price). 50 bucks seemed like a fortune.
My mother agreed to place the bet for me, reminding me that it was my money and if the horse lost then my money would be gone. I eagerly agreed, and emphasized the horse and the race. I think that it was “Happy New Year” in the fifth. She seemed annoyed at my insistence, but promised to bet on my horse.

In those days Monmouth Park was a big deal in the area. Many people worked there, visiting gamblers spent money locally, the track payed both tons of taxes and large payoffs to Jersey politicians. Also, a local radio station live-carried the calling of each race, which I attended everyday. I had an interest in all things horse-racing related.

On the day in question I made sure to come inside to listen to the fifth race, sitting in the kitchen with my ear next to the radio. My father worked in the yard cutting the grass. The race started in the usual way, with “Annnnd they're off!” followed with the hoof-by-hoof coverage by the monotone-voiced announcer. It was a claiming race covering 6 furlongs(3/4 mile). My horse went off at 26 to 1 odds, which pays $54.00 for a $2.00 bet.
"Happy New Year" started last then swept around 12 other horses to win the race. I jumped up and ran outside screaming “He won, he won, my horse won.” I found my father mowing in the front yard. “He won the race” I shouted over the sound of the mower. He turned off the mower and looked at me with kind of a wry half smile, then he looked down and shook his head a little. He mumbled something like “I wouldn't count on it”. I had no idea what he meant. He was not a very optimistic person, maybe he was just being opposite. I resumed running around the yard, drunk with my good fortune. What would I do with the 54 bucks? 54 bucks! A fortune to a young boy from a family of limited means! I had never felt so excited in all my 12 years. Then I learned what he meant.

My mother returned from the track on the 7 bus that ran from Long Branch, past the track in Oceanport, through Eatontown where we lived, then on to Red Bank. I did not go to the corner to wait for her bus. I waited in the house, watching an old western movie on the tv.
She entered the house without saying a word, then started to walk to the kitchen to make dinner. I went up to her-she still had on her coat-and asked her if she played my horse. She said yes. Then I reminded her that my horse had won the race. She said “I know that”. Then I asked her if I could have my winnings She looked at me without emotion, then turned to walk away, and as she turned from me she said “Heh, maybe I'll give you a dollar”, then she took off her coat and went into the kitchen.
Funny thing, I didn't give it a second thought, I just went back to the western and waited for dinner. We never spoke of it ever again. It didn't bother me at all that she took my tip and 2 bucks, parlayed it into at least $54-$108 if she also bet on Happy New Year for herself, then punked me out of any of it. She could have explained to me that we really needed the money and “here's a tenner for your help”. She could have done anything else than just blow me off. 
Funny thing, it didn't bother me at all, although...I never again picked another racehorse.