Saint Paulie and prison bells, Part 3
Jerry, Ricky Z, me, Gil the Thrill, Parlay Pauley
by Ray Ray Smith
Part 1 is here.
Part 2 is here.
I met with Parlay Paulie and Jerry at 9 a.m. just inside the glass door of the McDonald’s restaurant on Raimer Road. After a quick round of bumping knuckles, Jerry went to the counter and, without consulting anyone, ordered four large coffees and four pastries. He then asked the server to add a handful of sugar packets and creamer cups to the cardboard tray. He said we were dining in, stressing the word “dining.” He handed his card for swiping, and the server loaded a tray. I held open the door to the empty kids’ playroom, and we took the table closest to the door.
As we reached for the coffee cups, Ricky Z walked in. He stood in front of the table, still gangly, in his late 30s, with a black ponytail and a goatee like a French painter. Ricky lived with his widowed mother and had been “looking into a job” for at least 10 years.
Before he sat down, Ricky smiled, flashed a thumbs up, and said, “Glad to see none of you are dead.”
Jerry shot back, “Old horseplayers never die, we have a never-ending stretch run. By the way, before we go any further, I have a few announcements to make – Gil the Thrill is in Ireland on a trip with his wife, and Mikey T just got a hip replacement. They both said they will hopefully be here next time, so we can plan on a minimum of six members to start with.”
I said, “Maybe we should give our group a name? Something like, um, the Haymakers, or the Mane Men, you know, like a horse’s mane, not the state?”
This name discussion brought a chorus of groans.
“How about the Stablemates, or the Back Stretchers,” Jerry offered.
Ricky did a quick drumroll with his fingers on the tabletop, “I got it, and it’s perfect. He paused for dramatic effect, opened his hands, and slowly said, Neigh Sayers! Maybe we can get tattoos.”
The name brought a universal murmur of acceptance.
I asked, “Do we spell it n-a-y or n-e-i-g-h, and is the i before the e?
Parley Paulie raised his voice, “Enough chit chat. Spell it any way you want, we aren’t a corporation, we are a group of guys who enjoy racing. Currently, the Neigh Sayers are experiencing a little problem with timing. We’re late to the yearling dance. The fractional horse ownership shares are drying up, leaving us with slim pickings. I propose we pick a maximum amount and basic framework, and I make a motion that we assign Jerry to do the preliminary paperwork and see what he can do.”
I grabbed my head, “Proposal? Paperwork? Make a motion? What is this, Congress?”
Paulie said, “I hope not, they can’t pass gas. Now, my thinking is that we each sign up for four grand; four times six is twenty-four grand. We allocate half for the horse and keep the other half for monthly expenses. For the Neigh Sayers’ first yearling, Jerry will pick the horse because he’s familiar with the whole shebang. Next week at the meeting, he will review the yearling and the entire plan. Any objections?”
Ricky said, “Yeah, what if four grand is too high? Can I get in for less?”
Paulie answered, “Get in for whatever you can handle; the rest of us will fill in the holes. We get the horse, and we can work it out.”
Nobody said anything for a few seconds, then Jerry said, “I’ll text Gil and Mickey tonight. I’m 99.9 percent sure they are fine with this, so if you don’t get a text by midnight, it’s a go for owning part of a horse. The state program we race in, or the type of yearling we purchase, is to be determined.”
I chimed in, “Not to be a pain, but I always prefer trotters. Is there any way we can go that direction?”
Jerry, who was proving to be the alpha dog of the Neigh Sayers, took a folded sheet of paper and a pen from the pocket of his orange shirt with an explosion of white flowers. We watched him print his name, phone number, and email address on the paper. Then he said, “I hate using my phone for messaging, the frigging dinging and chirping of phones gets on my nerves, and my fingers are too fat for the little keypad. I suggest we use old-fashioned email. Just write down your email address, and let’s use old-school email to set up a group for the six of us. I’ll put together a few options on yearlings. If I can get a trotter, I will.”
Ricky gave another rapid-fire drumroll on the tabletop and said, “A week from today, we dine on Egg McMuffins and coffee, we plunk down $4,000, and we look deep into what we bought. I feel like an entrepreneur. Jeeesh, I hope we pick yearlings better than we pick perfectas.”
I joined a round of high fives, and Paulie said, “So, Ray Ray, I hear you got a dog and a prison pen pal?”
I sat up straight, “What the hell, have you been stalking me?”
Paulie smiled, tapped the side of his nose with his index finger, and said, “I got sources. What’s the deal?”
I sighed, “The dog is great, a small female, she sticks to me like a fuzzy, friendly barnacle.”
Jerry asked, “Is she a barker? I hate yappy dogs.”
“No, hardly ever, hasn’t peed inside yet.”
Ricky asked, “Prison?”
“The prison thing, so far, is to be determined. You wouldn’t believe the number of prisons in Florida.”
Jerry muttered, “Yeah, we have prisons from Key West to Georgia, and there isn’t a single harness racetrack. What the hell is this world coming to?”
I nodded, “It’s a volunteer program for inmates in the last year of their sentence. I had to attend orientations, fill out forms, get fingerprinted, and undergo a background check. I only met the guy yesterday. Truth be told, the first meeting did not go well. It was awkward. I hope the next session goes smoother. We’ll see.”
Ricky asked, “What exactly is the point?”
“According to the orientation, the goal of a volunteer mentor is to ease the person’s transition back into society by listening, helping set goals, being positive, and encouraging. They give volunteers links and reading material about the psychology and the attempts at manipulation by incarcerated people.”
Paulie said, “We need a psychologist. Buying a racehorse is crazy.”
Jerry muttered, “I’m guessing this yearling deal will be cheaper than the shrink I went to, and the results will be better.”
The first meeting of the Neigh Sayers got a little rowdy and lasted almost two excellent hours. For me, the best hours I’ve had in a long time. A window that was stuck shut was now open, and a fresh breeze came in.
