The walking death of pari-mutuel racing in Tennessee, Part 9

by Frank Cotolo

Part 1 is here.

Part 2 is here.

Part 3 is here.

Part 4 is here.

Part 5 is here.

Part 6 is here.

Part 7 is here.

Part 8 is here.

Memphis is a landmark city in Tennessee mostly due to its 20th century cultural importance. It became the “Birthplace of Rock N Roll” even before Alan Freed invented the phrase. It was at Sun Records’ rank recording studio where the likes of Johnny Cash and Jerry Lee Lewis and a score of others lined up behind Elvis Presley to bombard the world with a new genre that forever broke all barriers of race and the music industry.

There in Shelby County — the westernmost and most populated county in Tennessee — is Graceland; 120 acres adorned with Elvis’ memorabilia pressed into a mansion and museum and a Four-Diamond resort hotel. Millions of visitors trek to Graceland from all over the United States and do so easily because Graceland rests in the part of Tennessee bordered by Arkansas and Mississippi.

“What better place in the state for any kind of racetrack?” said the state racing commissioner.”

“Mr. Conrad,” I said, “it is a great spot. Already attracting tourists and the populations of two huge states. But mechanical horses?”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “We can’t just start restart a racehorse industry quickly. But while we do, we can introduce the pari-mutuel part to new and seasoned folks. Heck, it’s more than a two-hour ride to Hot Springs in Arkansas.”

“Oaklawn Park, you mean?”

“Yeah. Not much traffic heading down there with us up here.”

“But mechanical horses?”

“We’ll work with what we got and try to get more going.”

In the following weeks Mr. Conrad told me there was progress at the Memphis mechanical racetrack. He remained optimistic. I wanted to visit the site but a trip across the state did not fit into my schedule. I reminded myself over and over not to spend too much time on the pari-mutuel scoop. It was taking time away from my high-paying job and profile in the Opry empire. I had strong evidence I was not on their political team concerning the issue and pursuing it would only have a negative effect on me.

I did not hear from Mr. Conrad for a few weeks but I did get a call from one of my horse racing connections in Pennsylvania (let’s call him Robbie).

“A big British company is showing interest in that pari-mutuel law you were following,” Robbie said.

“I doubt if your source has a better connection than I do,” I said.

“I don’t know his connection down there but I know his connection overseas. And he swears there’s a lot of money ready to be spent to back it.”

“Listen. I do not believe the forces against building pari-mutuel racetracks are going to come through.”

“Who said anything about building racetracks?” Robbie knew my history with horse racing in Britain from my reports in various industry magazines. “I’m talking about the financial boom from betting revenue from tracks outside of Tennessee. Forget about those mechanical horses you told me about.”

I thought I knew what he was getting at and said, “Stop there. This state is not about to set up a Bookie Community like the Brits have. That would be like condoning an underground network of the bad and the ugly without the good.”

“Stupid. You don’t know anything about where you live, do you?”

“Maybe too much.”

“Look at a map of Tennessee.”

Robbie made me feel stupid. I deserved it because when I took out my trusty multi-folded Rand-McNally map of the United States I was witness to a conspicuous reality.

Tennessee is in the shape of a parallelogram — “a quadrilateral whose opposite sides are both parallel and equal in length.” This particular parallelogram-sized state is so wide that it hosts the borders of eight other American states.

On the southern borders are Mississippi to the south and Missouri and Arkansas to the west. To the north sits Kentucky and to the northeast is Virgina and to the direct east North Carolina and South Carolina. And to the south there are Georgia and Alabama.

The populations of those neighboring states equaled over 347 million. My eyeballs bulged. I called Robbie back.

“You figured it out?” he said.

“You bet I did.”

The off-track betting (OTB) probabilities were mind-blowing. Even if no one in the state of Tennessee placed a bet there were enough betting bodies that could cross the borders of neighboring states and wager at an OTB network in the Volunteer State.

Robbie said, “Most of the border states are hungry for the kind of money OTBs can share. Maybe Tennessee doesn’t even have to have a home track. I haven’t read their law.”

“Imagine that,” I said. “Such a business does not have to compete with the tourist money at Graceland. Or the racing in Arkansas or Kentucky.”