‘Sport of kings’ flourished in Texas during depression

by Bartee Hailie

In April 1934, a year after pari-mutuel horse racing became legal, Texas’ fourth track opened in San Antonio under the name of Alamo Downs. Horse races and wagers on the outcome were common in the Lone Star State as far back as the middle of the nineteenth century. Before the Civil War, fans flocked to the Hill Country hamlet of Harkeyville to place their bets. When the American love affair with the thoroughbred blossomed in the 1880’s, new courses sprang up at Dallas and Brownwood. Following the example of many other states, Texas exempted horse racing from the anti-gambling statutes in 1905. For four frenzied years, race tracks drew big crowds until scandals back east soured the public on the popular pastime. With the sole exception of Kentucky, which had the foresight to adopt the French system known as the pari-mutuel, crooked bookies were permitted to set odds and accept wagers. The shady characters regularly cheated bettors and fixed races. The inevitable result was an anti-bookie backlash that swelled into a national outcry for the abolition of horse racing. From New York to Texas, the ponies were put out to pasture. Of the 300 tracks that existed a generation earlier, less than 25 survived the purge.By 1930, however, lawmakers were taking a second look. The memory of past scandals had dimmed over the years, and state governments caught in the Depression squeeze were frantically searching for new sources of taxes. Hard times made the money from racetrack revenue suddenly seem not so dirty, and in 1933 alone eight states resumed racing. Texas legislators faced the same financial crisis but feared the consequences of a recorded vote in favor of the nasty nags. To avoid risking their political necks, a round-about approach had to be found. Some clever fellows in the joint House-Senate conference committee came up with an ingenious solution. On the closing day of the 1933 legislative session, they presented the state budget for the next two years. Tacked onto the end of the appropriations bill, which could only be voted up or down, was an amendment legalizing parimutuel betting. After the screaming died down, outraged opponents conceded defeat. Under the circumstances, to veto the spending package was out of the question. They had been had. Their last hope was the governor, if she could be persuaded to convene a special session to cancel the controversial sleight-of-hand. But in the strong belief that  horse racing was as good a way as any to raise quick cash, Miriam Ferguson refused to act. Practically overnight four first-class tracks were constructed. By far the most impressive was Arlington Downs, located on the future site of a famous amusement park. The brainchild of multi-millionaire W.T. Waggoner, “The Saratoga of the Southwest” ranked among the finest facilities in the country. Another track was soon built on the fairgrounds in Dallas. To avoid competition with Waggoner’s $3 million layout, this more modest venture featured Texas-bred entries instead of thoroughbreds. Twenty-seven thousand Houstonians spent Thanksgiving 1933 at their own local track, Epson Downs, and wagered a staggering $113,000 that memorable opening day. At San Antonio construction of Alamo Downs was completed in time for the spring sprints the next April. Meanwhile, under church leadership the vocal opposition counterattacked. Newspapers published complaints from irate merchants that customers were throwing away their money at the track instead of buying goods and services. And the occasional suicide of a compulsive gambler always made the front page. Blasting horse racing as “a prairie fire of corruption,” attorney general Jimmy Allred of Wichita Falls won the 1934 Democratic nomination for governor. Once in office, though, his demand for a crackdown was ignored by the reform-deaf legislature. Though frustrated throughout his first term, Allred persisted in his second. Three different times he called for closing the tracks, but the question never came up for a vote. The governor then played his trump card by summoning the rebellious lawmakers to a special session. Knowing full well the folks back home were watching their every move, the politicians politely applauded the crusader’s emotional appeal and obligingly sent the ponies packing. The last pari-mutuel horse race was run in Texas in the autumn of 1937. Like prohibition and women’s suffrage before it, the hot-potato issue regularly appeared on the ballot. After nearly half a century, the voters finally gave the taboo entertainment their stamp of approval. That was 28 years ago, and the horses as well as the greyhounds have been running ever since. Race tracks have become a part of the Lone Star landscape without, as the naysayers predicted, Texas going to hell in a handbasket. Bartee welcomes your comments and questions at haile@pdq.net or P.O. Box 152, Friendswood, TX 77549 and invites you to visit his web site at barteehaile.com.

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