and how certain he was that he could satisfy the customers. At the right moment I added words of praise for both Kahn’s products and his character. Finally Collins was convinced that the concession should be turned over to Kahn.
“But I’ll have to give the other man a few days’ notice,” he said. “Suppose you begin next Monday, Mr. Kahn.”
“Yah,” replied the German. “That will be good.”
“Fine.” Collins ordered another round of beer. Then as if the concession matter had been settled and was of no further concern: “Joe, isn’t it about time to make the killing?”
“Yes,” I returned. “We’ve decided on next Saturday.”
“What’s a killing?” asked Kahn.
Collins hesitated.
“It’s all right to tell him, Sheridan,” I nodded. “He’s one of us now, you know.”
So Collins told him. “We have bad days, when attendance isn’t very high. If it’s raining or we have other bad weather, people don’t come to the track. At the end of the season, we’d be in the hole if we didn’t do something to make up for our losses. So we have a fixed race once every season. We take some of the Association’s money and bet it on this race. That way we even up the losses.”
“You mean it costs so much to run a race track?”
“It wouldn’t except for the purses we give. The purses, combined with the expenses, exceed the receipts, and we have to do something to make up for it.”
“I understand,” said Kahn brightly.
After we had left Collins and were driving back to Chicago, I suggested to Kahn that it was a good opportunity for him to clean up. I explained that it was arranged for the winner to be a horse on which the odds would he long. But to prevent the bookmakers from getting suspicious, the money was spread around the country in various cities, including Milwaukee.
He seemed interested. The following day I dropped in at his shop.
“I’m going to Milwaukee on Friday,” I told him, “to place $10,000 for the Association. Would you like to come along and get in on the killing?”
Kahn was cautious. He was eager to make money but at the same time he didn’t want to take any risk.
“How much would I make?” he asked.
“The horse will probably pay about 5 to 1.”
“I could bet maybe $500,” he muttered.
“Don’t be foolish!” I scoffed. “This is your chance to make a fortune. Why, $500 is only a drop in the bucket.”
After some additional persuading he decided he might as well make it worth while, since it was a sure thing anyway. He went to the National Bank of the Republic and withdrew $5,000. The following Friday, we were in Milwaukee.
I had arranged a poolroom setup to take his money. I bet my $10,000 and he put down his $5,000. Then I asked him to wait for me at the poolroom.
“I have some business downtown. I won’t be long. I’m expecting a phone call from Sheridan Clark in Chicago and if it comes while I’m gone, take the message, will you, Mr. Kahn?”
My only purpose in leaving was to permit Bob Collins to make the call. He called and told Kahn to tell me to “Bet as much as possible!”
When I returned and he gave me the message, I said: “I’m going to bet a marker for $10,000. Why don’t you bet some more?”
“I haven’t got any more money.”
“You can bet a marker as I did.”
“What is a marker?”
“You tell ’em how much you want to bet. They give you a ticket and they’ll hold your bet until noon tomorrow. That’s to give you time to wire the money.”
As usual he was cautious. But he finally decided to bet a marker for $2,500, the money to be wired from Chicago the following morning.
We returned to Chicago and the next day, Saturday, the day of the supposedly fixed race, I was at Kahn’s place. He gave me the $2,500 and I went over to the Western Union office. I wired $25.00 and got a receipt. It was no trick at all to alter this to $2,500. I took the receipt back to Kahn, and that’s the last I ever saw of him.
I later learned the sequel, which I had intended to prevent. I had arranged to have Bob Collins call him on Monday and tell him the concession deal was off. But I had not reckoned with his German thoroughness. When Collins called Mr. Kahn had left for the track.
He had a wagon loaded with frankfurters, roast beef, and the trimmings. He arrived at the track just after dawn and began to move his stuff in. When the Superintendent of the grounds questioned him, he told of having made the deal with Sheridan Clark. The Superintendent did not question his story.
Rather he pitched in and helped Kahn unload and set up his stand. The old fellow had bought a new sign: “Now UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT. BETTER FOOD WILL BE SERVED.” It was put up and he was ready to do business. Then the regular concession man came in.
Seeing the sign and the excellent food Kahn had brought, this man too thought the deal was on the level and that the concession had really been taken from him. He was about to depart when Sheridan Clark appeared.
Eventually, the old man got the drift. He packed up his things and sadly returned to Chicago. He made no complaint, and as far as I know never told the story to anyone. He has passed on, but the fine food shop that bears his name has continued to prosper.
A somewhat similar deal was made with a man named Bolton, a Dutchman with a beard, who owned a business block known as Bolton’s Opera House, where public dances were held twice a week.
Patsy King, who controlled the policy game in Chicago and owned a string of poolrooms, had set Billy Skidmore up in business in Bolton’s building. Skid had a cigar store, with a little gambling in the back room. A lot of us used to hang out at his place.
Mr. Bolton had a paint store in the same building. He also was a contractor and employed a crew of painters. He had seen me around.
One day he asked me what my business was. I told him that I worked for the Racing Association. I arranged for him to visit the track with me.
He too had a great curiosity. But his particular interest was focused on the grandstand, which was badly in need of paint. I contacted Collins. We went through the routine, and ended with a promise to Bolton that he could have the contract to paint the grandstand and stable the following week.
Meanwhile, I worked the “killing” game on him, and he wagered $2,500 - or thought he did. The following Monday morning, bright and early, his painters were at the track with their materials. They set up their scaffolds and were busy at work on the front of the grandstand when the track manager came to work and discovered them.
“What are you doing up there?” he demanded.
“We’re painting the grandstand,” replied the painters’ foreman. “And when we finish that, we’re going to paint the stables.”
“Is that so?” The track manager had a vicious temper. “Well, nobody told me about it. You get those scaffolds down and get out of here.”
“Not until we’ve finished this job.”
“You’re not going to finish the job,” the other retorted hotly. “Come down!”
“Suppose you come up and get me!” growled the painter.
“I’ll be glad to accommodate you.” The manager started to ascend the scaffold.
The foreman had been mixing a huge bucket of paint. He took careful aim, slowly overturned it, and dropped it. The track manager was soaked with paint from head to foot. The painters roared.
The man yanked