A Sad Goodbye to Suffolk Downs
In the crisp, early autumn New England air, racing fans will mourn the passing of the region’s last Thoroughbred racing venue, along with the dying days of summer.
Sadly, it is not surprising. Suffolk Downs has been on life support since the time of my teens in the mid 80's. The East Boston oval, that had to compete with air traffic from nearby Logan Airport, in a forgotten part of town, and partially hidden by natural gas tanks, has been up against it for the better part of 30 years. But it had survived up until today.
Among its trials and tribulations, Suffolk had overcome Red Sox trainer turned minority owner turned real estate developer, Buddy LeRoux. It stood the victor of a no-holds-barred, death match competition with its New Hampshire neighbor, Rockingham Park, just 30 minutes to its north. It hung in there when Connecticut erected towering casinos while the Commonwealth stood silent to billions of betting dollars traveling by the busloads just three hours south. It even continued when its marquee race, The Massachusetts Handicap, won by the likes of Seabiscut, Whirlaway, Riva Ridge, Cigar and Skip Away, had to be discontinued.
In the age of advance deposit wagering accounts and wide spread simulcasting, Suffolk Downs could only offer a blip on the screen when most big name tracks took the day off on Mondays and Tuesdays. A bevy of $5,000 claiming races with just a dash of an allowance or $25,000 listed stakes was obviously not enough of a betting attraction.
In the state where the legislator never sleeps and rarely gets anything done, slot machines, betting table games and casinos have been a matter of discussion and committee meetings with dying legislation for most of my adult life. Today the Massachusetts Gaming Commission rang the final death bell by giving Steve Wynn’s casino plan in neighboring Everett the thumbs up while voting down Suffolk’s plan with partner Mohegan Sun.
As aside, I have nothing against the bare knuckles town of Everett, but a casino there will not be attracting busloads of Connecticut blue hairs or others to its cityscape. Neither would Suffolk Downs, but at least gambling was already in place and the prospects of casino infusion could have kept it going for some time...along with its thousands of jobs and $42 million in wages earned each year.
For me, losing Suffolk means losing a piece of my youth. The place my father took me only after I learned to read The Daily Racing Form. I was 11 and in fifth grade pouring over the numerical puzzles that are past performances while my friends read chapter books.
It also feels like I lost a little bit more of my father – a man whose been dead more than 18 years, but whose lessons carry on in me. One of those endearing memories was sitting with my dad in Suffolk’s cavernously empty grandstand trying to figure out just what track announcer Jim Hannon was saying through his gravely amplified track announcer microphone that endlessly echoed out in front of just the two of us. Sitting there we’d talk about money management – betting only 10% of our pool at a time – or trying to find an underlay in field of $16,000 claimers. We’d also talk about life, girls, school or The Sox while we bided our time between races.
In those days we called it Suffering Downs. These were the mid-1980s to early 90s. The food was awful, even the seagulls turning away from discarded pretzels and such. The facility was in need of facelift from the deplorable, fifthly condition it was left to rot into itself. The aforementioned LeRoux wanted none of the track, only its potential valuable land, accessible to Logan for acres of parking for passengers on their way of out of town.
Once we asked a parking attendant for hot tip. He gave us the 6-horse in the sixth race. The hyped up horse, snapped away from its outrider during the post parade, threw its jockey and raced counter clockwise around the track twice, holding up the race for 10 minutes while eluding capture. It was that kind of place. I also watched in muted horror and humor as lightning struck the tote board once, knocking out electricity at the track while thousands of birds cowering undercover shoot out in every direction like a scene from Hitchcock’s Birds.
Of course, I saw some great racing from local heroes like Rise Jim to those on the national stage. It was all pomp and circumstance for both of Cigar's Mass Cap victories versus overmatched competition. It was also along Suffolk’s nondescript rail where I witnessed the fiercest stretch drive in my life – Waquoit’s narrow victory over Broad Brush in the 1987 MassCap.
The race was truly a spectacle with local favorite and Dorchester native, Chris McCarron, up on Waquoit. Through the crowd, yes there was a crowd that day, and standing about five deep from the track, all I could see was McCarron’s constant urging and the absolute determination of both horses not giving an inch through the entire stretch.
In my mind, I remember hearing the effortful snorts of breath from both Waquoit and Broad Brush, but that couldn’t be. I was too far from the action and the cheering fans had to be too loud. That’s the wonderful thing about tracks where horses run their hearts out and fans are thankful for them trying to win. The equine and human connection brings us to places unforeseen or only in our dreams. It’s where we bet our money and lay our claims to and sadly, by next week’s end, there will be one less place to do such a thing.