HARD TIMES - THE TRUE STORY - Part 1



The True Story of “Hard Times” - Part 1

"He took the Magazine Street bus to Canal Street, then walked a mile in 15 minutes to the film site of “Hard Times” - a good clip for a man of 65 who was a filterless Pall Mall smoker most of his life. He was going to meet Charles Bronson, who was playing the character “Chaney”, a down-on -his- luck street fighter.
Before the States-Item, or the Times-Picayune reported that the film was on location in New Orleans, he had gotten wind of the news at the racetrack. One of the sports writers in the press room had pulled him aside and told him that there was a movie being made in New Orleans with his name - his turf name - “Hard Times”.

He looked like his track tag, with clothes as loose and wrinkled as the skin on his face. His nose touted a few breaks, as did his knuckles. His eyes were unforgettable. They were a shocking blue - like pure, crystal waters - with an undercurrent of strength and pain. When the young man mentioned that the film was about an Irish street fighter during the Depression, the old man’s blue eyes narrowed and penetrated the messenger’s eyes. “Who’s playing the fists”? he asked, as he pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. The writer divulged another scoop saying, “Charles Bronson.”. Hard Times put a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, looked away from the cub reporter, and said, “Bet the Number 2 horse in the 5^th. Keep it under your hat”.

He hung around until the 5^th race, collected his winnings on the number 2 horse, then found a vacant phone booth. He pulled a small spiral notebook from his change pocket, located a penciled entry, then dropped some coins into the phone’s metal mouth. He dialed slowly, enjoying the clicking sounds. He lit a cigarette, took a puff, and put his notebook back in his pocket. “Judge? Hard Times. I need a favor…”

As he was leaving the track, heading for one of the two busses it would take to get him back uptown, he heard his name being yelled. “Hard Times! Slow down”! He kept walking. “Hard Times! Damn it, man. I know you need a ride home”! The old man wasn’t in the mood to spend the next 20 minutes dodging sharing his picks for tomorrow’s races. He never lied. And he never betrayed the owners and jockeys confidentialities, either. He only gave that stuff out to his paying customers…and sometimes as a favor - like with that baby-faced reporter. “Don’t need a ride. Stopping for a shoe shine”. Hard Times kept walking…"

Hopefully, I'll add to the above memoir of my father, as I am inspired!