Hard Times - The Story - Part 10

His instincts pulsed “Get off the street, Earl”. He hesitated, trying to decide rather to keep walking to the coffee house or retreat to the apartment building. Before he could choose, The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre erupted. “Muffled fire-crackers. That’s what I heard. But lots of them…” Earl didn’t want to be a witness - he’d already seen too much - heard too much.

“There are no coincidences in life. There was a reason I was there that day…” And there was…

Dad’s business friends had given him carte blanche with training their horses. Nobody breathed down his neck. Their deal was clean - and legal. “Nobody owned me. But that all changed on Valentine‘s Day, 1929”. He didn’t know it then, but God had his back…

A few years after the St. Valentine’s Day fiasco, Earl was summoned to Chicago for a specific “assignment”, and was waiting for the “contact ”. A few days after he arrived, he was picking up some pants he’d had pressed. A face he’d seen in the bookie joints and speakeasy’s around town sidled next to him as he approached the steamy laundry. “You’ll need a ride when you’re done here. I’ll wait outside.”

 Hoisting his pants above the ground, Earl was ushered into a Cadillac Sedan. A man Dad identified as a “mouthpiece for the owners”, gave him his instructions, then dropped him off about two blocks from where Earl was staying.

“In a nutshell, they wanted me to give a colt an injection. Somebody was betting heavy, and ‘he betta win’ was how it was put to me”. Earl didn’t like it. He didn’t dope horses. He was shrewd and “not squeaky clean” in making his “bosses” money - but he never compromised his love of the animal - and the sport. And nobody had ever asked him to - before.

“Little girl, I prayed hard. I kept remembering what happened on Valentine’s Day - and I knew I was in trouble…I asked the Man up There to get me out of this…and I came up with the craziest thing…”

A few days later, the “face” showed up with a syringe - and Earl said, “We got a problem. I pass out when I see a needle. Can’t do it…” It was the truth. Earl passed out every time he saw a needle - or blood.

The face met him one more time before the race…”If ever you’re late for a race, be late for this one…”

The colt ran - and won. But suspicions triggered an investigation. The horse had been doped and Earl lost his training license. Nobody “noticed” he wasn’t there before the race - and there were witnesses who said they saw him in the paddock alone with the colt. The stain on his reputation was indelible - he was pushed to the peripherals of horse training - unofficially managing, advising, and consulting .

By the end of the 1930’s, Earl was making a living by booking and gambling…and still following the horses around the States. He had “friends” still - but his career was over…

These businessmen “spanked him hard” for not giving that colt the injection - but he thought they took it easy on him because “one of them probably loved horses more than money”. Interestingly, not one of the Valentine’s Day gunmen touched the German Shepherd who was there in the garage…That really touched my Dad…He loved horses. He loved boxing. And he loved dogs…

　
　

　
　
　
　
　

Hard Times - The True Story - Part 9

When I was 20, my fiancé - a New Orleans police officer - became enamored with being an undercover narcotics agent - a coveted position which rookies dreamt about. In the Irish Channel, most of the young boys became either cops, priests, or longshoremen. My fiancé was ambitious - eager to escape the “piss and vinegar” squad. My dad and I sat at the kitchen table and I told him about my fiancé’s passion. Soon after our table talk, my fiancé was assigned to a plain-clothes stake out in the French Quarter - and merited his first drug bust. It wasn’t long before he was officially an undercover narcotics cop.

All I said to Daddy about this was, "Thank you".  “Keep it under your hat, little girl. I’m betting on this boy…hope he doesn’t let me - and my friends - down”. He didn’t. He became an affluent lawyer and… the District Attorney of New Orleans…

Daddy knew a thing or two about passion. He never forgot when he was a young man, and needed a break. Earl loved two things: horses and boxing. In his early 20’s, standing at about 5”4, and weighing in at 115, some “businessmen” took a chance on him as a jockey. It was a calculated risk - Earl had hung around the racetracks since he was a kid and had a reputation for “just knowing how a horse is thinking and feeling”. He had some success riding, but he couldn’t keep his weight consistent. He retired his silks and was promoted to training and racing horses around the country.

Earl was in Chicago on February 14, 1929, taking care of some horse business with his friends. They put him up in an apartment on Clarke Street while he was in the Windy City. Across the street was an auto garage housed in a warehouse. He decided to take a stroll to a familiar coffee house, and noticed a Cadillac pull up in front of the warehouse. He would have continued walking, but two police officers stepped out of the car, along with two men dressed in plain clothes. They were all carrying Tommy’s…Something was going down…Earlier, Earl had spied some thugs shadowing the halls in his apartment building…that wasn’t unusual. The game in Chicago between Capone and his rivals was escalating, and the teams were setting up their pieces for the chess match. But "Cadillac’s with Cops Carrying Tommy’s" - that cast an ominous chill in Earl’s bones…