Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1919-09-30
"rwly WILL NEVER DRIVE AGAIN."

L
again since his recent track accident
1t is like a voice from the tomb OF
tho racing game In this country 10
hear led. Geers mentioned. Geers
fiourished In those halcyon horse days
when John Splan, McHenry and other
names familiar to another generation
were household words in half the
| homes, In those old days when every
one took an interest in harness horse
racing and almost everybody that had
drug store or lumber yard or even
a paying barber shop, was paying
trainer to develop one Of the best pros
poets of the year." Why. Old Ed Geers
was a contemporary OF Budd Doble.
Perhaps you OF the younger and mo-
tor car generation do not know that
Budd DobIe marked" Goldsmith Maid
and half hundred others, but your
grandfather and his sons knew more
about Budd Doble than the present
day barber knows about Dempsey.
1t was a long time ago, a very long
time as the world has wagged since.
When Geers was mentioned lot Of
elderly men pricked UP their ears.
They began to recall Axtell and the
100000 a telegraph operator up at
independence, Iowa, sold him for;
races on the big kite track he built
with the money and how they and
others of their day pilgrimed 10 it as
Mohammedans to Mecca. From that
they fell to talking of the horses they
owned, Bonny Belle out of Lady of the
Lake by q son of Onward, or that
grandson of George Wilkes that the
druggist bought in Kentucky of Old
Col. Pepper. In short, tho old fell
lows revived and began to .''trot EN-
around the stove" as they used in the
old days when he was ignorant and
uncultured who couldn't talk glibly of
blood lines and performances. All,
they were q brave old bunch. Those
Of US who recall them as they wore
badges about the quarter stretch
could tell tales on those old boys, Of
class leaders, perhaps, who couldn't
resist the short end of a pool when
their favorite sold cheap in the field
and SO on and so forth. How they
staggered about the stables and spoke
Of their stables at home, Of stockings
that lacked only age and few turns
around the track to show below thirty.
how they argued over a dash of thoro-
bred three OF four crosses back, one
asserting the blood horse because the
strain gave courage and endurance,
the other condemning itebecause they
never forget the gait their grand
mothers took" No gasolene alley can
ever develop such arguments and such
heat Of offense and defence. An auto
mobile is a machine but horse was
a horse in those days.
And they had reason, those old boys
who bred horses and loved to see
them stretch themselves. After all has
been said or has been footed by the
horns of the gas machines there never
was and never will be any means Of
locomotion like clean imbed, high
bred horse He was more than a
a means to an end. He had the beau
ty of flesh and blood, the mental traits
and the fine courage of life. He knew
and loved you and laid his handsome
muzzle across your arm to let you
know it. There was a bond between a
man and his horse that was only less
strong than that between him and his
wife and children and his friends.
Any thing finer than a high bred horse,
harness or thorobred is hard to find.
When the automobile put the haT-
ness horse out Of business it lost us
something fine and good while it
gained US time and heightened life by
multiplying one hour by three. When
the harness horse stepped from beside
the pole or from between the thills in
his abdication as king of transporta-
ton he left the racing to a hobbled
bunch which was to become a mere
vehicle for sport, but in those old days
whereof those elders wot racing was
democratic. The bloodlines of winners
ran to the farms and the town stables
and the owner of "Old Luce" spoke
with pride when he showed her rela-
tionship to Roy Wilkes or some Of the
get Of Electioneer.
Men and sports and horses pass and
are not, but still remain those who re-
call with infinite pleasure the gather
ing Of noble horses driven by the
premier pilots Of the world; who re-
member old Judge Smith as he leaned
over the railing of the judges stand
to say, in his high treble: Mr.. Splan,
Mr.. SDlan, will you come down in
front or will you trail? Well, do one
of the two this time or step up here
and hand me 800. " @s
Yes; it was a great sport, with great
horses and good men and women to
look on and cheer them to the wire.
But, like Old Ed Geers, it will never
drive again .....
T.:.. II H.. T.~.nc