Flatter: Remembering comic and horseplayer Shecky Greene

When I met Shecky Greene four years ago in Las Vegas, I already knew full well who he was. But he had no idea who I was. And he had no idea if I knew who he was.

The occasion was an interview over breakfast at the Grand Café at Green Valley Ranch. I recognized him right away.

Just to be sure we connected, Greene carried with him what looked like a big, white cue card. In felt-tipped handwriting, he wrote in big letters, “I’m looking for Ron.” And in tiny letters in the corner, the card said, “My name is Shecky.” I still have the card.

“Did you know what I look like?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said. “I have been watching you all my life.”

I was 60. He was 93. I came to find out our birthdays were one day and 33 years apart.

Shecky Greene, a big reason Las Vegas became a showcase for stand-up comics and a lifelong horseplayer who had an Eclipse Award-winning horse named for him, died at home in Henderson, Nev., early Sunday at 97. John Katsilometes of the Las Vegas Review-Journal was first to report the news.

Hear Shecky Greene in 2019 on Ron Flatter Racing Pod.

“I’ve been a horse bettor all my life since my father took me when I was about 6, 7 years old, which I hate my father for that,” Greene said that summer morning in 2019. “I sometimes look up at heaven. I don’t get a reaction from that, so I look down at the other place. I said, ‘Why, dad? Why? Why would you do this to me?’ Because I’ve gone through thousands and thousands and thousands and thousands and even more thousands of dollars betting horses. Now I like horses, but I wish I didn’t bet them.”

He sounded like a man complaining about a family he nevertheless loved.

That morning over coffee and eggs and cinnamon rolls, Greene at times broke into song, improvising the whole way, just as he did in a nightclub and showroom act that blazed a pioneering trail in the ’50s and kept him working for seven decades.

“I can’t dance, don’t make me. I can’t dance, don’t make me. What I do is bet horses every day.”

Greene’s singing had a jaunty rhythm with a just a tinge of resignation. Laugh, clown, laugh and all. The old comic with a lifetime of experiences never forgot the Yiddish beat he learned as a kid in Chicago.

“Anytime I bet on horses, anytime I lose my dough, there’s a time I should bet on horses, I want you all to know.”

The extemporaneous songs punctuated an hour-long conversation, a Memory Lane stroll that took in Las Vegas nightclubs and Hollywood television appearances and anytown racetracks and, of course, that horse named Shecky Greene.

Bred and owned by Joseph Kellman and trained by Lou Goldfine, the colt was an Eclipse Award winner as America’s champion sprinter. That was in 1973, when, for some reason, it was decided to stretch Shecky the horse to 1 1/4 miles in the Kentucky Derby against legend-in-the-making Secretariat.

“That was the owner’s decision. It was not Goldfine,” Greene said. “Goldfine was a druggist that became a trainer and a very wonderful, magnificent man. ... They knew that the horse was a sprinter.”

With Larry Adams riding, Shecky Greene the colt raced to an easy lead and set an honest pace for the first seven furlongs with fractions of 23.4, 47.4 and 1:11.8. As expected, though, he ran out of gas. Secretariat blew past him with a time that remains the Derby record and raced on to Triple Crown history. It was like Shecky the horse was the opening act who yielded the stage to the equine version of Shecky the comic superstar.

Sometime before that Derby, someone had the obvious idea to get the namesakes together for a photo op. The racing media were there in force back when the racing media were a force.

“They brought Shecky out to meet Shecky,” Greene said. “There were about 100 people. Out of all the people who were there, he bit me. The horse came over like he knew it was me, and I don’t think he liked me. But he bit me.”

The two of them actually were together the year before when the colt was racing as a 2-year-old back at one of Greene’s home tracks in Chicago.

“When he won that first race at Arlington Park, I was there,” Greene said. “He took the lead, and I started to run along the rail. I was running with him, and I beat him to the wire. I paid $3.40 and $2.80.”

A few days after our interview, I met Greene again under less formal and more familiar circumstances. At least they were for him. I was back at Green Valley Ranch in the sportsbook to bet on some early-season college football and, of course, the races.

Walking through the long carrels that look like Las Vegas’s version of pews in the churches of wagering, I saw Greene and my old radio colleague Hank Goldberg. They were longtime friends who often got together after Hank the Hammer moved from Miami to Las Vegas to spend his final years.

They invited me to sit with them for a few minutes. That visit turned into a few hours and more than a few lost dollars. Except for Goldberg, who cashed a few tickets betting on the Woodward undercard at Saratoga.

“I like to bet jockeys,” Greene said.

He had his angles and loved the Ortiz brothers. The problem was he did not always consider the possibility some of his favorite riders might be on bad horses. Bettors are never stubborn, though, right?

The day ended with Greene offering me a ride to my car, which was in a parking garage on the other side of the property. Even with an aluminum walker, he still got around all right for a man in his 10th decade of life.

“I’m so frustrated about how old I am,” he quietly said that day in a concession to his mortality. “I still have a lot to do.”

On the way out the door, he saw a young boy who was there with his dad, a man who looked about 30. They were waiting for their ride when they were approached by the old gambler emerging from the casino.

“How old are you?” Greene asked.

“I’m 6.”

“Wait here. I have something for you.”

Greene brought around his big car, maybe a late-model Cadillac. He stopped and popped open the trunk. Inside were enough toys to fill the front window at an old FAO Schwarz.

“Here, have this,” Greene said, handing the boy a mint-condition fire engine in its original box. It was a gift from yesteryear.

The boy looked delighted and mystified at the same time. So did the dad, who soon would tell his son who this old man was. That he was an iconic performer who put the Las Vegas Strip on the map for comics who then had stages on which to perform and a craft that would make the best of them rich. It was a story the young father could tell, because I told it to him while Greene was getting his car.

The comedy world lost a legend. Horseplayers lost one of their own.

The Hammer died about 1 1/2 years ago. Now he can get back together and commiserate with Shecky the comic.

To hear Greene sing it, “It’s cost me a lot, but there’s one thing that I’ve got. Losing tickets. Lots of tickets. In my pockets it’s plain to see, number 4 or number 3, losing tickets. Losing tickets.”