The Captain Is Out to Lunch

10/3/91 11:56 PM

Today was the second day of inter-track wagering. Where the live horses ran at Oak Tree there were only 7,000 people. Many people don't want to make that long drive to Arcadia. For those living in the south part of town, it means taking hte Harbor Freeway, then the Pasadena Freeway and then after that more driving along surface streets to get the track. It's a long hot drive, coming and going. I always came in from that drive totaly exhausted.

A small-time trainer phoned me. „There was nobody out there. It's the end. I need a new trade. Think I'll get a word processor and become a writer. I'll write about you…“ His voice was on the message machine. I phoned him back and congratulated him for coming in 2nd on a 6-to-1 shot. But he was down.

„The small trainer is finished. This is the end,“ he said.

Well, we'll see what they draw tomorrow. Friday. Probably a thousand more. It's only inter-track wagering, it's the economy. Things are worse than the government or the press will admit. Those who are still alive in the economy are keeping quiet about it. I'd have to guess that the biggest business going is the sale of drugs. Hell, take that away and almost all the young would be unemployed. Me, I'm still making it as a writer but that could be shot through the head overnight. Well, I still have my old age pension: $943.00 a month. They gave me that when I turned 70. But that can die too. Imagine all the old wandering the streets without their pensions. Don't discount it. The national debt can pull us under like a giant octopus. People will be sleeping in the graveyards. At the same time, there is a crust of living rich on top of the rot. Isn't it astonishing? Some people have so damn much money they don't even know how much they have. And I'm talking millions. And look at Hollywood, turning out 60 million dollar movies, as idiotic as the poor fools who go to see them. The rich are still there, they've always found a way to milk the system.

I remember when the racetracks were jammed wtih people, shoulder to shoulder, ass to ass, sweating, screaming, pushing toward the full bars. It was a good time. Have a big day, you'd both be drinking and laughing. We thought those days (and night) would never end. And why should they? Crap games in the parking lots. Fist fights. Bravcado and glory. Electricity. Hell, life was good, life was funny. All us guys were men, we'd take no shit from anybody. And, frankly, it felt good. Booze and a roll in the hay. And plenty of bars, full bars. No tv sets. You talked and got into trouble. If you got picked up for being drunk in the streets they only locked you up overnight to dry out. You lost jobs and found other jobs. No use hanging around the same place. What a time. What a life. Crazy things always happening, followed by more crazy things.

Now, it has simmered away. Seven thousand people at a major racetrack on a sunny afternnon. Nobody at the bar. Just the lonely barkeep holding a towel. Where are the people? There are more people than ever but where are they? Standing on a corner, sitting in a room. Bush might get reelected because he won an easy war. But he didn't do crap for the economy. You never even know if your bank will openin the morning. I don't mean to sing the blues. But you know, in the 1930's at least everybody knew where they were. Now, it's a game of mirrors. And nobody is quite sure what is holding it together. Or who they are really working for. If they are working.

Damn, I've got to get off this. Nobody else seems to be bitching about the state of affairs. Or, if the are, they are in a place where nobody can hear them.

And I sit around writing poems, a novel, I can't help it, I can't do anything else.

I was poor for 60 years. now I am neither rich nor poor.

At the track they are going to start laying off people at the concession stands, the parking lots and in the business office and in maintenance. Purses for races will decline. Smaller fields. Less jocks. A lot less laughter. Capitalism has survived communism. Now, it eats away at itself. Moving toward 2,000 A.D. I'll be dead and out of here. Leaving my little stack of books. Seven thousand at the track. Seven thousand. I can't believe it. The Sierra Madres weep in the smog. When the horses no longer run the sky will fall down, flat, wide, ponderous, crushing everything. Glassware won the 9th, paid $9.00. I had a ten on it.