The Prophet of Oaklawn

Taylor takes you to the Oaklawn Racetrack for lunch.

On the way there, he gives you a rundown of race relations in Hot Springs. “The city is less concerned bout enforcing Crow than the county — that’s why them boys feel like they have to assert themselves ever once in a while. It’s the same thing with gambling, liquor, Sunday laws — any old regulation the city feels is just getting in the way of doing business. But Mayor Troy, Chief Halper — they like to keep a tight lid on things. That includes keeping county in check.”

Taylor makes a turn. “And they’ve done quite a good job of it so far. I wouldn’t be surprised if this stupid exchange with Jimmie at Fordyce gets him some sort of reprimand from the Chief of Police.”

“But, rest assured, we aint gonna let racial prejudice get in the way of doing business round here,” Taylor says, “Last week some of your old Chicago boys came to town — Robinhood Roe and his Southside gang. Mayor Troy took them out to The Vapors — had themselves a big old time.”

“The Vapors?” you ask.

“Oweny Madden casino — you know who Oweny Madden is, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Used to be a big wheel in Harlem. Bought the Cotton Club from Jack Johnson.

“One and the same — one of Capone old New York cronies.”

“I thought he was in the cooler for killing Mad Dog McColl.”

“Well, Capone pulled some strings and got Oweny a parole deal that got him out of Sing Sing — on the condition that he’d never set foot anywhere in New York ever again. So, Capone invited him to retire here in Hot Springs.

“He took Capone up on his invitation and stood up a casino called The Vapors. He wanted it to be kind of like the Cotton Club — topnotch entertainment, singers, dancers. And gambling, of course. He even stood it up in the colored part of town.

“Hope you’re ready to win some money,” Taylor added, “because I’m taking you out there tonight.”

When you get to Oaklawn, Taylor made you bet on King James to place on the first race of the day.

You’re having lunch with Taylor at the grandstand. They’re serving hot dogs and fried chicken, beer and liquor. You opt for a cup of coffee and a couple of hot dogs.

Confirming Taylor observation, you see other Black customers here and they’re having a good time. But there’s always the stuff you can’t see. You know — that late piece of toast or this watered-down drink. The whispers and the passive condescension — quiet slights that they’ll insist is merely a figment or entirely accidental.

A trumpet signals the start of the race. The grandstand crowd turns toward the racetracks — you stand up and work out who King James is amongst the other racehorses. To your surprise, King James pops out of the gate and quickly takes the lead. Seems like he’s a favorite amongst the crowd.

“King James is Mayor Troy thoroughbred,” Taylor tells you.

“King James is gonna win,” someone calls out of the crowd.

King James lost his big lead and placed fourth in the end. Will-O-Wisp darted from third to first mid-race and kept that lead, winning the race. There’s a Black couple to your left — they’d bet on Will-O-Wisp to win and they’re ecstatic. The someone who predicted the King James win zips over to their table and congratulates them.

Still smiling, he comes over to yall table. He’s shorter, well-presented in a crisp linen suit and a light-blue shirt. Peeking out from under his suit was a revolver.

“Rodney always seems to know something we don’t,” he says.

Taylor says, “Sam — meet Mayor Troy McLaughlin.

Mayor Troy’s got a bright, smiling disposition. He says, “Hope you didn’t bet the whole farm on King James.” He reaches out to shake your hand.

You smile. “Good to meet you, Mayor Troy.”

“What’d you say bout Rodney?” Taylor asks him.

“Oh — it’s nothing — I’m just grousing, that’s all.” Mayor Troy sits himself at our table. “Rodney Wheelwright’s been making a small fortune betting on winners lately.”

He signals to a waiter who promptly brings a round of Southsides. He turns to you to explain. “Rodney used to jockey Oaklawn bout twenty years ago. He raced King Henry — King James’ daddy and the winner of the Arkansas Derby three straight.”

He lights up a smoke. “Nowadays he’s the prophet of Oaklawn, picking winners here and there. He’s winning so much that the moment he places a bet, the odds go to shit.”

Mayor Troy offers you a cigarette and you oblige. “Heard the county been messing with yall at Fordyce.”

“Just Jimmie running his stupid mouth again,” Taylor says.

“He said he was just responding to a tip from one of the attendants,” Mayor Troy says.

The Southside goes in smoothly — sweet and strong. For the moment, it forgave all slights. “Just so we can all move on,” you say, “I’m ready to just forget all bout it.”

“Hell — we’re not,” Mayor Troy says, “Chief Halper’s gone down to county to fix old Jimmie.”

“Fix him?” you ask.

“Let’s just say that it’ll sting worse than a mere talking-to. Speaking of — Ned wanted to know why you aint called him yet. How long have you been in town?”

“Since last night,” you answer.

“He reckons this trouble could’ve been avoided if you just called him the minute you set foot in Hot Springs.” Mayor Troy says, hailing for some hot dogs.

“I came in late last night,” you tell him, “and Taylor wanted to meet first thing.”

“Hopefully,” Mayor Troy says, “Chief Halper won’t waylay Jimmie too much this time.”

Yall stay for a few more races. The mayor went over to Rodney table to chit-chat. You’d bet on a couple of trifectas that bore fruit but, on the whole, you lost money. Taylor — who’d bet a chunk of change on King James — had lost more.

The Southsides flowed freely — it was a genuinely good time.

Mayor Troy announces that he’s got to go back to work. On the way out, he takes the couple who’d won betting against King James — Rodney and his wife, Mabel — to yall table for quick introductions all around. They all leave together.

Taylor empties his drink. “I suggest we take an afternoon break — perhaps a nap fore dinner?”

You drive back to CC house. She’s not there — she mentioned this morning that she’d be at work all afternoon till round nightfall. In your room, you take off your shoes and crawl into bed with the rest of your clothes.

Next Chapter — Pleasant Street

Halfway Crook — Table of Contents