The musings of Sean Paul Murphy: Editor, Producer, Screenwriter, Author. Or, Hollywood -- and beyond -- as seen from an odd little corner of northeast Baltimore, Maryland.
Here's another COVID free ZOOM edition of the Yippee-Ki-Yay Mother Podcast, a lively discussion of the movies that sometimes devolves into a group therapy session.
This week the kind hearted Mother Podcasters extended the holiday season by giving Podmaster Ralph a consolation prize and watching his entry in the Holiday Roulette, the 1989 film National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, written by John Hughes and directed by Jeremiah Chechik. The film was soundly defeated by the 1951version of A Christmas Carol. Still, it is Ralph's podcast....
My novel Chapel Street is now available! You can currently buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
Podmaster Danny Palow recently invited me on his podcast. I met Danny through a common friend named John Mazziott. John is the son of my old friend Mike Mazziott. Mike and I go way back. We were in a terrible cult together (Amway) and a terrible band (The Atomic Enema.)
On this episode Danny, and his other guests, Shane Insco and Austin Jones of the Nice Boys Podcast, discuss the Pureflix film called Beckman, starring David A.R. White and directed by Gabe Sabloff. In this "faith-based" action thriller, David channels both the Liam Neeson of the Taken series and the Keanu Reeves of John Wick series through his own unique acting instrument with the expected results.
Here's the trailer for Beckman:
It was kind of odd for me to be invited onto this particular episode since I had no involvement whatsoever with the production of the film. Nor had I seen it. Still, they felt I might have some insights to offer since I knew many of the people involved. People who know me might be surprised to hear that I actually praise David's acting -- in certain roles -- and wish the best to the other people involved in the film. Despite my hard-earned cynicism, I don't want everyone associated with PureFlix to fail....
Here's the podcast, which is available everywhere. Please subscribe!
Thanks for having me as a guest, Danny. And thanks for giving me the opportunity to plug my novelChapel Street. It tells the story of a young man straddling the line between sanity and madness while battling a demonic entity that has driven his family members to suicide for generations. It was inspired by an actual haunting my family experienced.
You can buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
Here's another COVID free ZOOM edition of the Yippee-Ki-Yay Mother Podcast, a lively discussion of the movies that sometimes devolves into a group therapy session.
This week we take a deep dive into the winner of last week's Holiday Roulette. Both Debbie and I and John "Belushi" Quattrucci brought versions of A Christmas Carol. Deb and I brought the 1938 version starring Reginald Owen, but John won because he brought the clearly superior incarnation of the classic Dickens story: 1951version starring Alistair Sim.
My novel Chapel Street is now available! You can currently buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
I am an avid genealogist. The past is very important to me. I spend a lot of time in cemeteries photographing tombstones to upload on the website FindAGrave.
I enjoy recognizing long dead people by putting memorials to them online. However, every once and a while something grabs me about a specific grave. It could be the name, or the dates or a ceramic photo. In those cases, I feel compelled to dig a little deeper. That's what this series of blogs is about: The tales behind those graves. Some of my subjects will be heroes. Some will be villains. Some will be victims. And some will linger in between, like most of us. However, don't be surprised if the tales are inherently tragic. These are grave tales. They all end in death.
I came across the grave of Bobbi Jo Eaddy in Gardens of Faith cemetery. Eternal Faith Cemetery in my novel Chapel Street is based on Gardens of Faith. I went there one afternoon to shoot photographs to illustrate one of my chapter reads of novel. I was immediately drawn to that happy smiling face in that sad place of death. I had to know more about her. However, before I could even research her, a couple of people recognized her in my chapter read video. They remembered her fondly and told me of her sad fate. I thought I should share it here.
The Baltimore Sun (Baltimore, Maryland), 29 April 1999:
CRASHES BRING RUSH HOURS TO HALT
Spate of accidents, one fatal, snarls commute at both ends
By Liz Atwood
Jackie Powder
SUN STAFF
On a day when clear skies and dry roads should have afforded drivers a safe and easy commute, more than a dozen accidents ensnared thousands of motorists yesterday, leaving one driver dead and creating a 10-mile backup in Interstate 95.
The accident affected both ends of the daily commute, with one deadly crash crushing a car between two trucks and snarling evening rush hour -- jamming some of the same motorists frustrated by the morning accident of I-95.
"It was definitely unusual," said Dave Buck, a spokesman for the State Highway Administration, who was caught in an accident on the Jones Falls Expressway going to work.
The problems that turned the typical morning rush hour headache into a full blown migraine began about 5:30 a.m. when the hydraulic flatbed of a tractor-trailer rose unexpectedly and crashed into an overhead sign on I-95 in Rosedale.
The fluke accident was the first of more than a dozen that snagged drivers on area roads. A rush-hour commute that normally takes an average of a half-hour in the Baltimore area took three times as long for many.
A fatal accident near White Marsh about 1:30 p.m. closed a portion of eastbound Pulaski Highway for more than four hours. Baltimore County police said a car was crushed between two trucks at Middle River Road and Pulaski Highway killing Bobbi Jo Eaddy, 18, of the 4000 block of Baker Lane in Parkville causing a vehicle fire.
I'm sorry but I have a real problem with the story above. The writers (or editor) chose to emphasis the snarled rush hours. Really? The emphasis should have been on the loss of life, not temporary commuter inconvenience. I doubt few if any of the commuters even remember that specific drive, but I bet Bobbi Jo's family still feels her loss everyday. Please. There was a way including all of the necessary story elements without burying the lead, as it were. That's worse than sloppy. It's insulting.
The Baltimore Sun (Baltimore, Maryland), 20 April 1999:
BOBBI JO EADDY, 18, KENWOOD HIGH STUDENT
Services for Bobbi Jo Eaddy, a senior at Kenwood High School, will be held at 5 p.m. tomorrow at Schimunek Funeral Home, 9705 Belair Road, Perry Hall.
Miss Eaddy died Tuesday afternoon of injuries she suffered in a traffic accident in White Marsh. The Perry Hall resident was 18.
At Kenwood High, she played cello in the school orchestra, was on the junior varsity basketball and volleyball teams, and worked with physically and mentally challenged students.
She is survived by her father and stepmother Randal Eaddy Jr. and Carri Ann Eaddy of Perry Hall; her mother and stepfather Lisa and Robert Loeffler II of Perry Hall; her paternal grandparents, Randal Eaddy St. and Sylvia Eaddy of Darlington, S.C.; her maternal grandparents, Calvin Fletcher Sr. of Perry Hall and Saundra Petrisillo of New Bern, N.C.; a stepbrother, Rob Kovalchek of Perry Hall; a stepsister. Gabrielle Loeffler of Edgewood; two half-brothers Casey Loeffler and Randy James Eaddy, both of Perry Hall; step-grandparents, Robert and Charlotte Loeffler of Baltimore and friends Lisa Krenzer and Jamie Hurcombe, both of Middle River.
Bobbi Jo's life and death wasn't as long or colorful or controversial as some of the other folks in this series, but I am certain her death had no less a profound affect on her family and friends. People still miss her and think of her. I am happy to honor her here.
Remember, there is a story behind every grave. You never know what you're missing when you walk past one...
My novel Chapel Street is now available! You can buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble. Chapel Street is the tale of a young man battling a demonic entity that has driven members of his family to suicide for generations. It was inspired by an actual haunting.
Here’s the autobiographical sketch I wrote in either the fourth or fifth grade at the now defunct St. Dominic Elementary School in Baltimore, Maryland. It was very hard, but I managed to maintain at least the spirit of the grammar, spelling and punctuation from the original. After all, if you’re going to take the trouble to call forth a witness from the past, you might as well let it speak in its own voice. Plus, I did get an “A.”
Not that the bar was set all that high in the fourth grade…. The teacher was probably just happy I typed this absurdist stream of consciousness.
Sean Murphy Presents
My Life
I was born, I think. I must have been. Everybody else was. I could get a few good jokes out of that but I won’t because I’ve got a few facts to tell so shutta your face and read. Getting back to me getting born, wait, I just checked the records. I was born. I would pass out cigars but I don’t smoke. This is no joke. I was born on CENSORED, in a hospital. If anyone was to ask me why I was born in a hospital, I would say I just wanted to be close to my mother. Skip that last joke, it was a million years old, speaking of a million years, did you hear theone about the dead cow? Well,never mind neither did I. Well, to put it bluntly I was born in Baltimore, Maryland. If you don’t know where Maryland is you must not be a verygood American. Now there are a fewthings which should be written about Maryland in the history books. The first thing is that Francis Scott Key wrote the Star Spangled Banner during the War of 1812, and the second thingis that I was born in the state. In 1776 the country of the United States declared itself independent,that has nothing to do with my story but I thought you would like to know.
After I was born after a while I was brought home, I asked for a room with a southern view, butI just couldn’t get my message through since I could only say Goo Goo Daa Daa and it’s pretty hard to understand that language without an interpreter. Now I think I will begin to talk about my family. My mother’s name is Mom and my father’s name is Dad. Since you won’t find them in the phone booth under those names, I guess I’m forced to tell you their real names. My father’s name is Douglas, E. Murphy (pretty classy, eeh.) and my mother’s name is Clara Murphy (well, it’s alright.) At the time I only had one brother who was born somewhere around ten months before me. (Lucky bum.) His name is Douglas E. Murphy II (alias Dougie Woggie Dune Buggy), and that was my family at the time. But I also had two grandmothers and two grandfathers and countless uncles and aunts. I know there are terrible rumors about me being the second son of a second son, well it’s true. Doug came before me and my father is only second to my Uncle Paul, who works in the armed forces. He’s always at far away places likeThailand and Germany, so I guess I can call him a distant relative.
Well I guess Ishould tell you a little about my brother Dougie. Well he was born on CENSORED. I got a few jokes about him but you know how it is disgracing your own flesh and blood. Well to tell you the truth, I’m not in the mood to tell the entire world what kind of fool he is, and I won’t do that because not sure what kind of a fool he is. But alas his birth was not one of the state’s great landmarks. Well, we all can’t be great.
All was peaceful and content. (Probably because I couldn’t read the newspaper.) But then came the birth of my sister Laura, alias the Bake who was born on Sept 27,1962. She was the first girl in the children’s section of the family, but if she was a boy she would be named Elvis the Pretzel. There are a few disgracing things about my sister that I will not mention at the time like the times she got baths in the kitchen sink. So remember if you ever ask Laura what she is she won’t tell you and neither will I.
You may wonder why I’m writing garbage like this, if you are it’s none of your business so shut up and keep reading. Now I would like to describe our house. Our house has three floors, well that’s not the end of my description. No, I’m just joking. Our house has three floors not including the basement. Well let’s start at the bottom. The basement has two rooms one room is a bathroom and the other room is a large room. But our dog lives down there and makes it all bathroom. We call the basement “The Big Latrine” and all the blame belongs to my dog Zeus. On our first floor (the main floor) we have a kitchen, a living room, a dining room which shouldn’t be called a dining room since we never eat in it. It think it should be called the room room but I will refer to it as the dining room and there is also a room in which there is a frequently used stair case which leads to the second floor. The reason it is used often is because it is the only way to get upstairs, unless you want to climb up the side of the wall. Now we can go upstairs, if you don’t want to, stop reading, but keep reading if you’re no coward.
Now we walk upstairs as you turn down the hall you can see at the time five doors. Behind one of the doors is a frequently used bathroom, it is used so often because we don’t feel like going down the basement. The other three doors are bedrooms. The last door leads to the attic. The attic is where toys, books, etc., are placed after they were used, broken, smashed, etc. So that’s my house.
We were just getting adjusted to Laurie when you’ll never guess what happened my brother Mark was born. His full name was and still is Mark Brendan Murphy who was born on Feb. 20, 1964. When Mark was a baby he always used to sleep with a blue blanket which he kept for a very long time. He kind of reminds you of Linus in Peanuts. When he wasn’t sleeping he was climbing, he used to climb anything including chairs, the refrigerator etc. Everyone in our family has a nickname, Laura’s is Bake, mine was and still is Rubbernose, and his is Mark, Mark the Aardvark.
When I finished the last paragraph, I let my mother read it. She liked it all but one thing, and that thing is that I hardly mentioned her name. So this paragraph is all about her. Her birthdate is, wait, I don’t think I should say that. But I will give you a clue about her age. She’s not as old as my grandmother (her mother), but she is younger than my other grandmother too, but to tell you the truth she is older than me. Will I guess I could tell you her name because it’s only Clara Murphy and I think I can give you her birthdate but the year might have to be censored out. She was born on Oct. CENSORED in the year of 19CENSORED. Well I guess I couldn’t put her Birthday in a trashy book like this. Well since I can’t give her birthday at least I can describe her. She’s tall (if you’re very short,) and wears glasses, probably because she can’t see right, because if you could see right what good would it do wearing glasses (it’s only logical.) Well I think I should tell you at least one more thing about her and that is that she have a beard.
Well it’s hard to remember but at one time I was a little kid (I still am small but I was younger), so at different times Dougie, Laura, Mark and I did all sorts of strange things. Like one time when Dougie and I were real young, we had a tall cabinet in our room. Well you see one day Dougie pulled out the drawers and started climbing up the side of the cabinet with me on the ground telling, “Go, Dougie, Go.” But as Dougie reached the top of the cabinet it started to fall, and it did fall. That is one of the incidents that happened when there were only four children in the Murphy house. Another one was one day my sister Laura was punished in her room. Let me explain, the back porch has a roof over it and window from her room faces it. Getting back to the story, Laura wanted to get out so she opened the window and crawled out the window. Meanwhile down the street lived one of my mother’s friends, and see saw her and started yelling, “Don’t jump, baby, don’t jump, baby,” but unfortunately Laura went back in the window. Well I guess I’ll end this chapter here so bye.
Now that I have already wrote a paragraph about my mother I guess you’re beginning to wonder about my father. My father’s name is Douglas Murphy and he was born on Oct. 2, 19CENSORED in Scranton Pa. How do you like that I had to censor out the year of my father’s birth too. Well I guess I have to give you a clue to his age, and that is that he’s older than me. He doesn’t wear a beard but does wear pieces of toilet paper when he cuts himself shaving. Also he is taller than my mother (give or take a few feet taller than my mother) and he plays a lot of sports. He’s what you call the breadwinner of the family, he works in a bakery and brings bread home every day. No, he really doesn’t work in a bakery actually he works in computers. Now I guess end my description of him, if you wonder why it’s because he’s at work so much I hardly see him.
So now since I got something else to write I think I’ll tell you about President Kennedy, he was born on May 29, 1917.1917 was a good year for Charlie Chaplin comedy. Because 1916-1917 were his peak years. Well getting back to Kennedy in 1963, he was shot in Dallas Texas. His act shocked the world. Speaking of another shock, on June 25, 1965, my sister Jeanne Murphy was born, but the shock was not worldwide. With the birth of Jeanne completed a saying which still exists today. “The Bees and a Bake make a rattlesnake,” another one of her nicknames is Jeanne Beanie Cathaleenie. You know I feel like disgracing her since she’s always disgracing me so I’ll just write a little about her. She cried a lot when she was a baby, and she liked playing with a peg board which she got over my grandmother’s one Christmas. The grandmother she got it from was my mother’s mother and we call her Little Grandmom (or Pocket-size Grandmom) and she liked to jump in a chair which was almost the same as a Jolly Jumper. Well I guess I’ll end this paragraph here so bye.
Hi again. It’s me. And I will talk about my, as I put it earlier, countless Uncles and Aunts. Now remember all of my distant uncles and aunts will not be mentioned. Some of Uncles and Aunts on my father’s side of the family are Uncle Paul, Uncle Richard, Uncle Brian and my Uncle Kevin (who we all call Wedgy) and some of my Aunts are Aunt Carol and Aunt Sharon. Some of the Uncles on my Mother’s side are Uncle Duke, Uncle Buzzie and Uncle Butchie and one aunt is Aunt Curl (Uncle Dukies’ wife). Well that puts an end to that paragraph. Short wasn’t it? I should say so.
Since I haven’t anything else to right about, I think I’ll write about our early times with each other. Boy it must have been weird back then imagine Dougie and I with crew cuts. Now I got a few stories to tell so shutta your face and read. Now this first incident is the best in the paragraph. I remember one time my sister Jean got a new swing set, and my sister Laura was so anxious to see it that she ran outside completely naked to see it. I wish I had a picture to show you. Wow. And I can also remember a red striped kid who used to live next door, now you maybe wondering about the red striped kid, well let me tell you the reason he was striped was because I whipped him across the face with a jump rope. No it wasn’t that bad and the scar of war faded away but you can’t win them all. And also about the same time a new skill was developed within the Murphy house, and that skill was being able to unlock the basement door with a coat hanger. Don’t knock it, it’s one of the seven lively arts. I don’t think I should end this paragraph here, but I will anyways.
At the time I wrote that essay, my family was living at 5507 Hamlet Avenue in Baltimore, Maryland. Here are some home movies from that period:
Here's a little video depiction of my siblings and myself and our ancestors.
Also be sure to check out my novel Chapel Street. It tells the story of a young man straddling the line between sanity and madness while battling a demonic entity that has driven his family members to suicide for generations. It was inspired by an actual haunting my family experienced.
You can buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
Here's another COVID free ZOOM edition of the Yippee-Ki-Yay Mother Podcast, a lively discussion of the movies that sometimes devolves into a group therapy session.
This week we decided to do a little something special. In this festive holiday episode, each "square" brought its favorite holiday film to the table to sell to the other Mother Podcasters. The winning film will be the subject of our podcast next week. Will it be one of two versions of Dickens' A Christmas Carol, a modern Christmas comedy classic or perhaps a recent Holiday horror? Watch and find out!
Here's the podcast on YouTube:
This week the Quattrucci brothers Cue It Up (again). Take a listen to the latest episode of our first official spin-off on the In The Red network.
My novel Chapel Street is now available! You can currently buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
I am an avid genealogist. The past is very important to me. I spend a lot of time in cemeteries photographing tombstones to upload on the website FindAGrave.
I enjoy recognizing long dead people by putting memorials to them online. However, every once and a while something grabs me about a specific grave. It could be the name, or the dates or a ceramic photo. In those cases, I feel compelled to dig a little deeper. That's what this series of blogs is about: The tales behind those graves. Some of my subjects will be heroes. Some will be villains. Some will be victims. And some will linger in between, like most of us. However, don't be surprised if the tales are inherently tragic. These are grave tales. They all end in death.
I found Philip T. "Pinky" Kandell in Ohr Knesseth Israel Anshe Sfard Cemetery. Usually I am drawn to a grave by a photo or a name. That wasn't the case this time. What made me want to dig deeper was his age. What killed Philip Kandell at the age of youthful age of thirty? Well, I found out and I also discovered he was a self-made man in the horse racing circuit and quite a character! His untimely demise was chronicled in papers all around the country.
The Boston Globe (Boston, Massachusetts), 25 October 1935:
MORE ROLLS THAN TOWN BAKER
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Pinky Kendell in the Dough -- Then in the Jam
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By Paul V. Craigue
"Pinky" Kandell has put together more rolls than the town baker of Pequaket, N.H. Horse racing is his bread and butter. He is in the dough one month and in a jam the next. Life is just a sandwich to "Pinky" and he isn't in the middle very often.
He accumulated a wad of $50,000 in less than a week last Winter, but went through it before the New England season was half over. He left broke, but not discouraged. Now is back with a fresh roll, to wind up the Fall campaign at Narragansett Park.
His string consists of three horses -- a good 2-year-old named Clarksdale, a 3-year-old named Marion and a mare named Hut. These three are responsible for the turn of "Pinky's" fortunes. Hut has been particularly kind to him. He didn't bet on her until she had run under his colors five times, and she didn't win. But she has now won two straight with her master aboard for a sizable profit each time.
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Up and Down the Ladder
Since "Pinky" quit the newspaper game to devote all of his time to the horses, five years ago, he has been up and down the financial ladder some dozen times. But he had never before hit the peak he struck in Florida last Winter, nor sunk to the depths he hit on the rebound.
He had just $5 and three horses when the climb started. Bye Bye Mary, Legionary and Grainger were to run on successive days and it was all for nothing. Bye Bye Mary came through at a goodly price, with "Pink's" last $5 on her nose. The purse money, along with the wager winnings, went back on Legionary's delicate nostrils. Another bonanza. Back went the entire roll on Grainger. Whoopee--$50 grand.
The fall wasn't as sudden, but it was just as complete. Nothing he did in New England turned out right. Things went from bad to worse and kept right on going. Finally, he just managed to get away with shipping money and enough to chase a purse on another track. Clarksdale won at Saratoga and that kept the stable in feed and betting money for a time.
"Pinky" was still on the ragged edge, but he had a good foothold and the nerve to keep plugging away until the turn came. The Maryland Fall season got under way and the depression was over. It wasn't long before "Pinky" was able to trot around in the style to which he had been accustomed and to reengage his old sidekick Mickey Reynolds as stable agent. "He handles everything but the money. I take care of that," says the Pimlico plunger.
The entire outfit has come on to 'Gansett and "Pinky" plans to add two or three more horses to his string before shipping to California for the Winter. Freight money has been set aside and this trip to Narragansett is little more than an excursion. "I love New England tracks and I wanted another crack at them before shipping South," "Pinky" explains. "We don't figure to make much here -- or lose anything."
The Laurel Lancer watched yesterday's fifth race from the press box. Walter O'Hara's Undulate got away on top and the Marlboro Mauler murmured: "He certainly looks like a winner." As they thundered into the final turn, with the O'Hara youngster still ahead, the Havre de Grace Hoofhound said: "Eddie's Brother's home if he can run in the stretch."
Eddie's Brother ran in the stretch and came home first. "My horse won," said "Pinky" coolly. The win pay-off was $11, and it's a safe bet that "Pinky" had a sizable bet on his chances. There was neither elation nor excitement in his voice. Five years of ups and downs have taught B'rer Kandell to accept Fate's gifts and her blows with equanimity.
The Boston Globe (Boston, Massachusetts), 5 December 1935:
PHILIP T. KANDELL, HORSEMAN, KILLED
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Campaigned at N.E. Tracks the Past Season
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Philip T. Kandell, known to the track followers as "Pinkey," was instantly killed in an automobile accident in New Mexico this morning. Details of the accident are rather meager, but it is known that Mr. Kendall was en route to Santa Anita, where he planned to campaign his stable this Winter.
The young and popular Baltimore horseman was well known in New England, having campaigned his horses at three New England tracks the past season. Hut, Clarksdale, Mario and Can Takit were some of the winners he saddled at New England tracks.
Mr. Kandell was 32 years old and started life as a newsboy in Baltimore. He frequented the nearby race tracks of Pimlico, Bowie, Laurel and Havre de Grace and was a familiar figure there for years.
He acquired his racing stable during the past two years, and was credited with running a $5 bill, which he picked up in the gutter in Miami, to a $50,000 bankroll in 1934.
The Deming Headlight (Deming, New Mexico), 6 December 1935:
WRECK WEDNESDAY KILLS RACE HORSE OWNER
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Phillip Kandell was killed Wednesday afternoon in an auto wreck about 30 miles west of Deming, near Wilna. He was riding in the car with a friend Mike Reynolds, who suffered minor injuries. Both were from Baltimore, Maryland, and were en route to California. Kandell owned a string of race horses that had been shipped to a California track.
Details of the accident were not available. Kandell died as a result of a badly crushed left side.
The body was shipped today to Baltimore.
The Times Union (Brooklyn, New York), 9 December 1935:
Racing Loses Colorful Character in Kandell
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By John H. Lewy
A car left the road near Deming, N.M., last week and a life became a statistic to be waved at surviving motorists. To many, P. Kandell, who had his last tickets torn up in that spill, was just a name on a racing program. Some were annoyed because they pronounced it with the accent on the second syllable and then wondered if the candle that split the racing jacket fore and aft had anything to do with the owner's name. It did.
To a lot of others, those really of the racetrack, Pinkey Kandell was a real guy. He laid it on the line and picked it up without flourish and often left it there without a squawk. Once he picked up $100,000 that way and it took him six months to leave it there, but that was unusual.
Pinkey Liked Action
How it was with Pinkey when he came out second best in the race of his life last week, I couldn't really say. He was well up there last spring, went bad during the summer and finally hit the half-milers for a scratch. He built this up, went sour again and a few weeks ago bounced out of Narragansett while the meeting was going full blast. "I'm going to Maryland," he announced as he blew through town. "I'll be back with a bundle." He was, too, and won races in New England, but that was a few weeks ago. Pinkey liked action.
When he came down, Pinkey had gasoline money anyway. He was on his way to California, no better or worse a spot to try one's fortune than another. Mike Reynolds was taking his horses out there, so Pinkey had feed money too. Whether he was otherwise in action isn't known as yet.
Jim Brady without a front. Pittsburgh Phil without a system. The Keenes without a farm. Alfred Vanderbilt without a crest. That was Pinkey Kandell. He bet like the famous plungers, only proportionally more. His system was like that of the unsung Lonnie Tryon. He picked a horse he liked and bet all he had. He knew horses and had a real feeling for them. Once this year he had six platers and was in heaven. He never won a stake race, because his horses weren't that kind, but he belonged to the nobility of turf. He made friends and liked to see them win. They all thought he was cuckoo at the mutual tracks because he never tried to steer anyone off his horses and most of the winners were favorites or second choices. Pinkey really felt better about his hat when the price was short.
Crack Hustler
Sometimes, particularly when on a winning streak, Piney must have dreamed of himself as the lord of vast acres, supplying his stables with thoroughbreds for racing as needed.
Pinkey, as a matter of fact, was one of the best hustlers in the business. This was probably because he didn't mind working, too. He did everything he could to make money, including work, and he never wanted enough to get along on. In other words, a small scratch didn't count. He had a real faculty for making money and he was by no means an old man when had a bankroll together and bought some horses.
Last spring he came to Jamaica with Bethlehemstar, the horse somebody there called "Beethel Master," and the steed and others were among the numerous winners sent out there by Trainer Pat Brady. He had Mario and Clarksdale then, too, and it was Clarksdale that put him back in action at one of the half-mile tracks this summer.
It's really a crime that Pinkey, of all people, had to become a statistic. He had to wind up with either a million or nothing. It would have been very good to see Pinkey with his million. He wasn't afraid of having nothing in the first place and in the second one of the many bankrolls he was forever putting together would have had to have been a big one. If it should turn out that he died a trifle short, that is no proof that gambling doesn't pay. Pinkey had a full life. He enjoyed his luck and didn't take it hard when it was bad. He knew he had nothing to worry about. He should have headed for Deming a little sooner and let the story come to a more satisfying conclusion.
Sadly, there was no local death notice so I learned nothing about his wife and kids. However, it is clear that he lived life to the fullest during his short time!
Remember, there is a story behind every grave. You never know what you're missing when you walk past one....
My novel Chapel Street is now available! You can buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble. Chapel Street is the tale of a young man battling a demonic entity that has driven members of his family to suicide for generations. It was inspired by an actual haunting.
