For Mike Sergio and long-time buddies Jimmy Gorham and Bob Foley, regular trips to the greyhound race track in their hometown of Raynham, Massachusetts have been a decades-long tradition. Now that all three of them are retired, they come a couple of times weekly, and not just to place a bet or two.
Sergio admits the visits are a way of bonding with his friends, as they spend the day shooting the breeze, throwing down money for bets, and then “divide up whatever money is left” over lunch. “When we have money left,” Foley interjects with a quick laugh, adding wistfully, “It’s entertainment.”
Greyhound racing has been a favorite form of amusement in Massachusetts for seventy-five years, but sadly, not for much longer. The last race card ran at Raynham Park December 26, while the state’s other dog track, Wonderland in Revere, had already ceased operations in the fall.
The closing of these two tracks may signal the end of greyhound racing anywhere in New England, as financial and legal problems take their toll on the area’s remaining dog tracks.
Alleging mistreatment of the racing greyhounds, animal rights activists had waged a successful campaign that led to Massachusetts voters approving a ban on dog racing to begin on January 1, 2010. Maine and Vermont have also outlawed racing. Rhode Island’s only track, Twin River, is looking to end dog racing as part of its bankruptcy reorganization. Financial problems also forced New Hampshire’s two tracks to end live racing earlier this year while Connecticut’s last greyhound track closed its doors in 2006.
Mike Curran still remembers his first trip to the track at Wonderland with his older sister more than thirty years ago, since it started his love affair with greyhound racing. Now 53, Curran is a trainer and kennel owner who often spends 14 hours a day with the dogs, taking care of them and getting them in condition to run. Now Curran declares, with some bitterness, that the closures have ruined his life.
“[Greyhound racing] is all I’ve ever known, since I was twenty,” Curran said. “Now I’ve got to move.” Curran is just one of hundreds of displaced dog track employees who will have to find new work once racing ends. He might head to Florida, he says, one of the few places where greyhound racing is still going strong.
“It’s heartbreaking,” he says, while stroking a greyhound he holds on a leash. The muscular animal is gazing towards the track in seeming anticipation of the race he’s about to run, unaware that, in Massachusetts at least, it may well be one of his last.
Raynham will still remain open – albeit with a much-reduced staff – but only for simulcasting, or betting on dog and horse races from all over the country, which patrons can view on closed-circuit TVs. But Raynham’s politically-connected owner, George Carney, is hatching a grand plan for a $165 million entertainment complex, featuring slots, retail stores and restaurants. But these plans hinge on the state Legislature allowing expanded gaming, a far cry from a sure thing in Massachusetts.
Veteran general manager Gary Temple waxes nostalgic about the glory days of greyhound racing, when tens of thousands of people flocked to the track and there were multi-million dollar handles. Temple said wistfully that the price of placing a bet is the only thing in America that hasn’t been hit by inflation, pointing out that the cost of a bet in 1937 was $2, the same as it costs today. Name something that has stayed at the same price, he asks.
Still, Temple conceded that dog racing was on the way out even before the vote that outlawed it, citing competition from casinos in Connecticut as a major factor.
On a recent fall afternoon at Raynham, you can see only a few hundred patrons, mainly older men, enjoying one of the last race cards of the day. Its pleasant out, but you can find only a few patrons at the outdoor grandstands. Most of them are in the clubhouse, or sitting at the bar, while others watch the simulcast races.
The public address system blares out the start of the ninth race, calling the greyhounds to come to the track. Unlike horse racing, the muzzled greyhounds barely make a sound as they run the oval at speeds reaching 35 mph in pursuit of the lure, a plastic foam rabbit attached to a moving pole that stays just a few paces ahead of the pack. The angular bodies of the dogs lean to the side in seeming defiance of gravity.
Racer No. 2, a greyhound named Carzal, wins by a couple of strides. The dogs are led into a large room to clean up their paws and have the dirt washed from their eyes. A state racing inspector is also here to check the winner’s urine, to ensure that the dog has not been doped.
What will happen to the greyhounds when the track finally closes down?
Curran says that many of the dogs will run at other tracks, while others will be adopted or sent back to the farm as breeding stock. All of them will be taken care of, he assures, bristling at the mere suggestion that any greyhound was ever abused.
Sergio, Gorham and Foley say they’ll continue to meet at Raynham even after the end of live racing, to shoot the breeze, have lunch and place a few bets. They just won’t do it as often.
Neither will retired carpet installer Clifton Pierce, who usually comes to the track with $20 to place on around six races. “This is my enjoyment,” Pierce said, “not that I win.”
Sergio admits the visits are a way of bonding with his friends, as they spend the day shooting the breeze, throwing down money for bets, and then “divide up whatever money is left” over lunch. “When we have money left,” Foley interjects with a quick laugh, adding wistfully, “It’s entertainment.”
Greyhound racing has been a favorite form of amusement in Massachusetts for seventy-five years, but sadly, not for much longer. The last race card ran at Raynham Park December 26, while the state’s other dog track, Wonderland in Revere, had already ceased operations in the fall.
The closing of these two tracks may signal the end of greyhound racing anywhere in New England, as financial and legal problems take their toll on the area’s remaining dog tracks.
Impact of Animal Rights Activists
Alleging mistreatment of the racing greyhounds, animal rights activists had waged a successful campaign that led to Massachusetts voters approving a ban on dog racing to begin on January 1, 2010. Maine and Vermont have also outlawed racing. Rhode Island’s only track, Twin River, is looking to end dog racing as part of its bankruptcy reorganization. Financial problems also forced New Hampshire’s two tracks to end live racing earlier this year while Connecticut’s last greyhound track closed its doors in 2006.
Mike Curran still remembers his first trip to the track at Wonderland with his older sister more than thirty years ago, since it started his love affair with greyhound racing. Now 53, Curran is a trainer and kennel owner who often spends 14 hours a day with the dogs, taking care of them and getting them in condition to run. Now Curran declares, with some bitterness, that the closures have ruined his life.
“[Greyhound racing] is all I’ve ever known, since I was twenty,” Curran said. “Now I’ve got to move.” Curran is just one of hundreds of displaced dog track employees who will have to find new work once racing ends. He might head to Florida, he says, one of the few places where greyhound racing is still going strong.
“It’s heartbreaking,” he says, while stroking a greyhound he holds on a leash. The muscular animal is gazing towards the track in seeming anticipation of the race he’s about to run, unaware that, in Massachusetts at least, it may well be one of his last.
Raynham will still remain open – albeit with a much-reduced staff – but only for simulcasting, or betting on dog and horse races from all over the country, which patrons can view on closed-circuit TVs. But Raynham’s politically-connected owner, George Carney, is hatching a grand plan for a $165 million entertainment complex, featuring slots, retail stores and restaurants. But these plans hinge on the state Legislature allowing expanded gaming, a far cry from a sure thing in Massachusetts.
Veteran general manager Gary Temple waxes nostalgic about the glory days of greyhound racing, when tens of thousands of people flocked to the track and there were multi-million dollar handles. Temple said wistfully that the price of placing a bet is the only thing in America that hasn’t been hit by inflation, pointing out that the cost of a bet in 1937 was $2, the same as it costs today. Name something that has stayed at the same price, he asks.
Still, Temple conceded that dog racing was on the way out even before the vote that outlawed it, citing competition from casinos in Connecticut as a major factor.
On a recent fall afternoon at Raynham, you can see only a few hundred patrons, mainly older men, enjoying one of the last race cards of the day. Its pleasant out, but you can find only a few patrons at the outdoor grandstands. Most of them are in the clubhouse, or sitting at the bar, while others watch the simulcast races.
The public address system blares out the start of the ninth race, calling the greyhounds to come to the track. Unlike horse racing, the muzzled greyhounds barely make a sound as they run the oval at speeds reaching 35 mph in pursuit of the lure, a plastic foam rabbit attached to a moving pole that stays just a few paces ahead of the pack. The angular bodies of the dogs lean to the side in seeming defiance of gravity.
Racer No. 2, a greyhound named Carzal, wins by a couple of strides. The dogs are led into a large room to clean up their paws and have the dirt washed from their eyes. A state racing inspector is also here to check the winner’s urine, to ensure that the dog has not been doped.
What will happen to the greyhounds when the track finally closes down?
Curran says that many of the dogs will run at other tracks, while others will be adopted or sent back to the farm as breeding stock. All of them will be taken care of, he assures, bristling at the mere suggestion that any greyhound was ever abused.
Sergio, Gorham and Foley say they’ll continue to meet at Raynham even after the end of live racing, to shoot the breeze, have lunch and place a few bets. They just won’t do it as often.
Neither will retired carpet installer Clifton Pierce, who usually comes to the track with $20 to place on around six races. “This is my enjoyment,” Pierce said, “not that I win.”