8 THE BEGINNING. 



If you were in favor with the Colonel you were given 

 one — two, did you say — no never, that was not on 

 record except the year that Jim Oglesby brought a 

 great unknown from the far west as a driver. He 

 slipped into the stand while the Judges were discuss- 

 ing the advisability of postponing on account of a 

 slippery track and before he was noticed filled a Mis- 

 souri vacuum, commonly called a stomach, with a 

 bunch of the revered meat pies from the slate-colored 

 mansion at the lower end of Gordon Park. 



The races went on, but the Colonel stormed ter- 

 ribly and Oglesby's driver — Oh, that I could but place 

 his name on record, as he is an only of the onlies and 

 his record will never be beaten, as the old mother 

 earth has like a great morass swallowed about all of 

 those who figured as leaders in the amusement world 

 of Northern Ohio at the period covered by this story. 

 Their obituaries have been written and so it will go on 

 while the old world wags. Some one possibly still un- 

 born will rattle off a line or two about you and me, only 

 to be forgotten like a puff of dust on the road. Others 

 will yell themselves hoarse possibly from the seats 

 which we once occupied in the grand stand or discuss 

 the chances of the field and favorite in the betting ring. 

 Like the line in Tennyson's Brook "Men may come 

 and men may go" but the ponies go on forever. 



A broiled black bass with French fried potatoes 

 and a cup of hot coffee in one of the stalls at the Oys- 

 ter Ocean on Bank Street soon made the dust and 

 confusion of the race track seem like a memory and as 

 I rang for a cigar — I smoked in those days — the com- 

 motion of a party in the next stall attracted my atten- 

 tion. With my heels on the table and a chair tilted 



