In mid August Daws gave Albert thirty dollars and a bus ticket to Houlton. He wanted him in Houlton in plenty of time to learn as much as he could before the big race scheduled for September twenty first at Bass Trotting Park in Bangor.
Albert arrived in Houlton on a balmy (for northern Maine) Saturday afternoon. Ready for a good meal after a long bus ride, he asked the driver for directions to a diner.
“I like Blondie’s. It’s on Market Square, They serve good food at a fair price. The lookers he hires as waitresses add to the enjoyment of the meal.”
Albert thanked the driver and walked the short distance to Blondie’s. Houlton was a small town in a county at the top of Maine; way too far north for many black folks to call home. Albert noticed as he walked that some people looked at him sort of sideways, wondering who he was and what was he doing walking around market square in the middle of the afternoon. Some would look away, but most nodded a greeting. Most curious to Albert were the ones who said, “How’s it going Mr. Hill? Or another who nodded and said,” How goes it Mr. Bates?”Albert figured there was another black guy in town named Hill and another named Bates. He chuckled to himself thinking; ain’t it so; white folks think all black guys look alike.
There was a bit of whispering and gawking at the diner, but the driver was right; the waitresses were cute and friendly. Albert ordered a hot beef sandwich and some extra mashed Maine potatoes with gravy. Hungry, he polished the meal off in record time. He asked if they had any apple pie.
“Best in town” the tall blonde waitress said, “made it myself this morning.”
“Are you the Blondie in Blondie’s?” asked Albert.
“Nope, things just worked out that way. Blondie, Mr. Young, is a guy. He hired me because I could cook. I don’t think being tall and blonde hurt any. Want some pie? I’ll top it off with a scoop of ice cream from our local dairy.”
Albert accepted the offer, left a reasonable tip, said goodbye to the tall blonde and headed out the door to Pleasant Street. Taking his time to check out all the beautiful homes, he made his way up Pleasant Street to Charles Street and turned right at River Street. That put him in Community Park; also known as the Trotting Park.
This was not Albert’s first time in Houlton. He easily spotted the stables and made his way to the section marked Houlton Driving Club. The Gratten “complex” included six stalls all marked in the Gratten stable colors; green and white. The first stall doubled as the equipment and feed stall. A black guy sat on a bale of straw in front of the stall, He wasn’t true black, not bred black like Albert. This guy’s skin was more like cinnamon. His eyelids folded halfway down his eyeballs. He had a round head and a rounder belly. Sitting there with his eyes at half mast, no hat, and his fat belly resting on his belt, he reminded Albert of a Buddha sitting on a throne. His name was Jeb.
Albert said, “You remind me of a guy I traveled the circuit with when I was a few years younger. My travelling buddy was also called Jeb. He owned a big gelding named Mel Totman, I had one named Pat Chase. We travelled from town to town and county to county in a box car. We enjoyed racing our horses against the locals, and made enough money to make all the travel worthwhile.”
Jeb asked him, “Did you really ride in the box car?”
Albert said, “I love travelling in a box car with my horses. Ain’t nothin more satisfying than bedding down with a horse and inhaling the mingled fragrance of harness, oats, and fresh straw.” He failed to mention the aroma of fresh manure.
Jeb shook his head and said, “Never heard of that before, don’t sound too pleasant to me. Let’s get you settled in over at the groom shack “
Albert grinned, “I got all my settling in stuff right here in my sack. If you don’t mind, I’ll sleep right here by the stalls. You can think of me as a guard.”
“OK said Jeb, if you want to wash up there is a shower in the groom shack.”
“How much time we got before this big race,” asked Albert
“Bout a month. Boss said the free for all was in Bangor next month─ around the twenty first. Word is, they be four horses in it.”
“Is our horse ready?”
“Will be. He has two races before that. He should be in good shape if he don’t get hurt.”