Bowlers Journal International - January 2008 - (Page 10) PARBOWLING BY TOM KOUROS COURTESY NATIONAL MUSEUM OF RACING AND HALL OF FAME A WINNING APPROACH Bill Hartack rode hard whether atop a winning Kentucky Derby mount, or on a bowling lane. THE ONLY EATERY WITHIN 15 MILES OF MY BOWLING center in 1961, Elmer's, was little more than a shack whose counter top was profusely emblazoned with cigarette burns, accompanied by 10 stools that could have justifiably claimed antique status, and five booths whose dark green padding displayed a number of random lacerations. It remained open after midnight, so my usual routine was to lock up and head straight for the place to unwind and have a late night snack. As I pulled into the driveway on a warm summer night in July that year, I noticed a fully loaded custom Cadillac among the four cars in the lot. Strolling through the door, I approached the counter with the usual, “Evening, Elmer! I’ll have the turkey on whole wheat, coffee and 10 dimes.” Yes, Elmer’s had two side-by-side pinball machines that required a dime to play. Your meal and coffee were on the house if you registered above a certain total in any given game. Having downed my sandwich and, coffee cup in hand, I approached the machines, one of which was being played by a rather thin, well-groomed "youngster." I soon noticed he had not quite grasped the rudiments of the game, so when I volunteered some advice, he gladly accepted. We played on for another half-hour, by which time I decided to call it a night. Turning to say goodbye, I introduced myself and stuck out my hand. He didn’t take it, saying, “I’d rather not tell you who I am, but thanks for the tips and the coffee.” As I left the parking lot, I noticed the custom Cadillac was still there. To my great surprise, he sauntered into my center three weeks later with ball, bag and shoes. Walking up to me, he said, “It is you. I thought the name sounded familiar.” My reputation as a bowling instructor had brought him to my door. He wanted lessons, but his concern was privacy. I told him I would do everything possible to hide his identity. On the lanes, my new student was irritable and impatient, yet athletically gifted and innately intelligent. You could tell he really enjoyed the game. He improved appreciably, but after the third workout, the cat was out of the bag. In that last session, upwards of 20 people had come into the center just to gawk. That night, he shook my hand and, from his manner, I knew he wouldn’t be back. I also knew that I had been privileged to know and converse with greatness. His first love was football, but at 5-foot-4 and 111 pounds, he discovered it wasn’t prudent to continue to play the game. A family friend led him to a job with a horse trainer in West 10 bowlers journal international JANUARY 2008 Bill Hartack was a fierce competitor whether on the back of one of his five winning Kentucky Derby mounts, or on the lanes. Hartack, shown here in a black and white photo circa 1959, was such a sports icon that he made the cover of the Feb. 10, 1958 issue of Time magazine. Virginia. That’s where the dynasty began. Yes, my young friend was a jockey, but that’s where the ordinary ends. Within three years, he became the nation’s best jockey. He led the list of winning mounts for four consecutive years, and was the first rider to win over $3 million. His career would include 4,272 wins. His five Kentucky Derby triumphs (riding Iron Liege, Venetian Way, Decidedly, Northern Dancer and Majestic Prince) were matched only by the great Eddie Arcaro. He also won the Preakness three times. Inducted into the National Racing Hall of Fame when he was just 26, many still refer to him as “the most competitive rider they ever witnessed.” His many achievements put him on the covers of Time and Sports Illustrated. Expressing his basic axiom about riding, he said, “The closest way to the wire is along the rail.” So that’s where he rode all his races. Bill Thayer, Arlington Park’s Senior V.P. of racing, says, “I’ve been around the game since the ‘40s and I’ve never seen a guy persevere on a horse like he did. If there wasn’t a hole there, he’d make a hole. He was a furious rider. He rode to win. When he got beat, he took it hard.” And that’s the way he bowled. Not one for rolling a big hook, he adhered to the principle: “The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.” And he was accurate. A 4-step bowler with a flat swing, I converted him to five steps, and got him into a little heavier ball. Initially, he was reluctant to make this change, but by the middle of the second session, he conceded its merit. He brought the same intense fervor and enthusiasm to his mental game that he exhibited on the race course. Some people accused him of being a “sore loser.” I recognized this attitude as the ultimate will to win. He welcomed the game’s challenge, and he loved to bowl. Jockey Bill Hartack, my young acquaintance, and one of American sports’ fiercest competitors, died recently in a Texas hunting lodge of a heart attack. He was 74. One of the last things he said to me — in what I considered a roundabout way of apologizing for not shaking my hand the first time we met — was, “When you become a celebrity, you don’t change; everybody else does.” He gave us all a great ride.
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