The Waterbury Democrat., 1935-03-11
In New York
By PAUL HARRISON


 New York = Madison Square Garden is ablaze with light. during the squirrel-cage derby. Redolent with the odors of hot dogs, stale beer and cigar smoke. Filled with the dissonances of jazz music. shouts of the crowd and changing of the timekeepers' bell.
 On the oval, sharply-banked track, grown men with reasonably intelligent faces straddle bicycles and, bending low and awkwardly over the handle-bars, diligently 7 pedal on their long journey to no- where. Around they sweep, and around again. Ten laps make a mile, 270 miles make a fair days riding, and 1700 miles make a six day bicycle race.
 The thousands of cash custom- CTS around the gleaming saucer watch intently. Thousands of heads utions of the field of riders. Time passes unnoticed; riders relieve other riders; a band plays and is applauded; a soprano sings and is hooted. But the glazed-eyed spec tators sit transfixed moving their heads in silly little circles. Here, if there is such a.thing anywhere, is mass hypnosis. The hours men spend, staring, staring, staring, are 7 like the minutes of dream--for- gotten afterward but for vague framework of memory.
 Ladies Night-Out. sa
 Not all men, either. Thousands of women are bike race fans, know the names and records of the riders and scream shrill warn ings to their favorites when other riders begin surprise sprints with the intention of stealing lap. It Is a. rn., and in the boxes at the P tracks edge are evening-clad par- scores of chorus girls, here on, Y masse from the theaters on invita- ! ton of the big spenders. |,
 Some of the riders, pedaling leisurely between sprints, wave and smile at the showgirls, and the lat ter wave back.
 Wise Child.
 Directly behind me sit . we'll dressed blonde and a sleepy child of about 5. Mama" she asks, "is papa riding now?" Not yet, dar- 2 ling.
 Mama, I'm awful sleepy" We'll go to the hotel, darling, just as soon as the sprints are over. "Did papa hurt himself when he fell this afternoon, mama?" No dar- ling; see, there's papa now. He's just got little bandage on his knee. You can wave at him when he comes around. "Mama, I'm so slee-e-eepy. se
 All the riders wear bandages or black eyes or cruelty scraped fore arms-mementoes of the "jams," those bursts of sprinting which pile up vehicles and men and send them skidding through the splint- CTS. old "Iron Man" Reggie Mo- Namara, who has had 21 broken bones in his IA races, is a senti- mental favorite with the fans. But Letourner and Giorgetti. the red- jerseyed Frenchman. and Italian, are the favorites to win. The lat ter teams wage is $1,0O0 daily, which gives you an idea of the : commercial aspects of the crack pot carnival.
 ThralldOm.
 After the sprints, in which an :, Italian breaks collarbone and another skids ten feet on his nose, there is a great hustle of home going among the customers. Yet about half of them remain. A domestic brawl is staged in front of me. sI wanna get outa this placem insists the woman bitterly, and loudly enough to be heard a. cross the Garden. Let's so home, or go get a drink. or go any place. You promised you'd g0!"
 But the man is a bike race fan. ' "Justa minute, honey; justa min- ute." He's hypnotized, like the others. His head moves in a pat tern of motion with the circling riders. His wife sheds few vex- atious tears. Never taking his eyes from the track, he pats her hand. then feels in pocket for . fresh cigaret. to pay a 40-cent admission to the week. Lots of down-and cutters did just that, happy to have . warm place to doze, entertainment at all hours, and plenty of pros porous. tipsy folks to panhandle for dimes, to buy hot dogs. Now, though, all spectators are elected between the hours of 6 and 1880 a. m.
 Among those who must be elected in the morning are four young men occupying a box. They wear full evening dress, with top hats tilted at ridiculous angles. A. | few hours ago they were bolster ously drunk. Now they arc silent and attentive, mesmerized by the mad. naonogOnous whirL