Evening star., 1939-08-06
By MAX HILL,


SARATOGA SPRINGS, N. Y,
Aug 5.-One sultry August day when
everybody talks horses and not
much else two gentlemen of the old
school-remember, this was some 13
years ago-got to arguing about the
derby that would be run the next
spring down in Louisville.
One was that crusty old Kentucky
colonel, Edward Riley Bradley, who
once with acid softness told a Sen
ator trying to pry into his personal
affairs that he would gamble on
anything"
The other man? Well, his name
doesn't matter, but he held to his
opinions on horses as stoutly as
Bradley himself. They might have
been talking in the geranium-
banked clubhouse at the track, or
on the broad veranda of the United
States Hotel, or the Grand Union.
We couldn't find out, but it's odds
on that hot words passed as they got
around to backing up their opin-
Ions with cash.
Bradley's Biggest Bet.
Bubbllng Over was Bradley's
Derby horse that year and he want
ed to wager a half-million dollars
on man to-man basis. That must
have been bit steep, for the bet
finally was set at $425 900, with only
the stipulation that one or the other
of the horses must have an official
placing.
That eliminated the question of
eyesight and put it up to the judges.
Churchill Downs that May day
was a festive place as always, but
few in that tremendous throng could
have known about the fortune which
hinged on the fragile legs of these
two thoroughbreds parading to the
post as the band struck up My Old
Kentucky Home"
And it wasn't Bubbling Over all
the way, either, for the other horse
was out in front for time. At the
finish, though it was Bubbling Over
with the other horse somewhere
down the stretch.
That bet, they say, was the largest
the colonel ever won, or made, but
the money that was passed through
his hands in his lifetime would make
that seem like small change.
No Enemies Among Horsemen.
All in all, if there was any way
OF figuring out the total, he prob
ably has gambled for more money
than any man who ever lived-and
no one yet has heard him holler
uncle" and say the stakes were too
high.
1t must irk the colonel, now 70
and alllng, not to be here with the
racing clans that have gathered
from coast to coast for the month
of racing that transforms Saratoga
from a sleepy little upstate town
to teeming paradise for gamblers,
with Broadway as crowded at 4 am.
as it is at noon.
All through this story couple of
anonymous fellows described only
as old timers will thread their way
in and out. They know and they
love Col. Bradley-"he hasn't anv
enemies among the horse people. /"
they say-but they always have a
tiny inside fear that others won't
look upon his unashamed gambling
as they do.
One of them in particular seemed
to know a lot about the bleak-faced
old colonel, now secluded in his
New York hotel with rest and quiet
arbitrarily ordered by his physician.
Made His Own Fortune.
He was the man who told us of
Bradley's inherent shrewdness. of
his delight in backing his judgment,
such as the nights he would sit in
the brilliantly lighted sales ring in
amused silence as the elect of the
turf brought yearling colts and
fillies.
Ten thousand, twenty thousand,
even seventy thousand they pay for
these royalty bred youngsters.
The colonel always was willing to
wager the purchase price with them
that the colt or filly wouldn't win
as 2-year-old. He must have won
frequently, for he kept on making
those bets.
But, colonel, how can you do
such thing?"
Well" replied Bradley, "the fig
ures show that only one out of four
yearlings wins the next year"
He was poor boy, the son of
Irish parents and the fortune that
is his was made by himself. None
OF it was handed down silver platter
fashion.
1t might be that being a good
Judge of men has helped him out,
from the time he went West, there
to be a cowboy and Government
scout and gold miner.
Wintry Sort of Character.
There's been a story going the
rounds all these years that his Palm
Beach casino, which is the ultimate
in its eXclusiveness, he would hire
only single men, in the fear that
married men might talk with their
wives about winnings or losings.
"Shucks," sail another old-timer.
"Col. Bradley knows men better
than that. Why right down in the
grandstand now is one of his men,
and he has two children" His scorn
was evident.
The story that the colonel-a de-
vout Irish Catholic-Will hire only
members of that church to work
for him, doesn't seem in keeping
with his character, even though
he built a fine chapel on his Idle
Hour Farm, down in Kentucky.
For Nose Cossman, his betting
commissioner, is Jewish and likely
as not is his closest friend. Those
who work for Bradley call him
Bet Nose" and the colonel once
named a horse after him.
Even though he's wintry sort
OF character, Col. Bradley has a
deep affection for those he knows
but only studied indifference for