Lawrence, John

LAWRENCE

Posted By: Mary H. Cochrane, Volunteer
Date: 7/1/2019 at 19:21:22

JOHN LAWRENCE

To mention John Lawrence is to revive memories of the period when Lamoni was stricken with a severe case of horse-race fever that really threatened to become chronic. The tract of land that is now George Foreman Park had been leased by an enthusiastic group of Lamoni horsemen who had formed a horsemen's association whose purpose was to promote periodic meets where horse racing was the fundamental source of entertainment, and who envisioned this community as a future horse-racing center of the country and George Foreman Park a future Churchill Downs.

This plot already contained a small race track, one that, I think, had been used primarily for bicycle races, but this was not adequate to the needs of the expanding demands; and soon surveyors were at work laying out a new track, who in turn, were followed by a crew of men and horses with scoops and graders, and who in a very short time completed the grading and fencing of the new half-mile track. When finally completed this was considered one of the finest race tracks in this section of the state.

Horse barns were constructed which extended across the south end of the lot, and high board fences extended for some distance along both the east and west sides of the track, built for the purpose of obstructing the view of anyone who might endeavor to watch the races without obtaining admission at the gate. An amphitheater stood on the west side of the track about mid-way between the north and south turns, with the judges' stand directly opposite, on the quarter-stretch.

All of these improvements had taken no little amount of time and the progress of the construction program had been watched with interest, both by the association intent upon promoting this sport of kings and also by an excited populace who waited eagerly for the grand opening event. This opening had been widely advertised and some of the best racing animals in this part of the country had been booked. As the opening date approached, men who made horse racing a business began arriving in Lamoni, bringing with them some of the speediest specimens of horseflesh possible to obtain. The horses were stabled in the new barns, and for the most part the trainers spent a large portion of their time, day and night, with the horses; and thus the newly constructed race track became a scene of highly animated activity as the trainers put the horses through their paces in daily training preparatory to the big event.

At length the long-awaited day arrived, and with it all the excitement and suspense that accompanies activities of that kind. As the time for the first race approached, and amid the blare of band music and the confusion of concession barkers, the contesting drivers, dressed in their highly colored costumes and seated precariously upon their bicycle-wheeled sulkies, were driving around the track to give their animals their final warm-up and the spectators the opportunity of viewing their high-spirited steeds. It was really a magnificent sight, which gave promise of something extraordinary in the entertainment of the day.

At this time, however, another contestant appeared upon the scene. Surely he could not claim professional standing in the horse-racing field, for his appearance provided a marked contrast to anything that so far had appeared upon the track. Immediately all eyes were turned in the direction of the newcomer, a man of rather heavy build, who was dressed in ordinary working garb and perched upon an old-fashioned high-wheeled cart, to which was hitched a small dark brown mare, whose appearance was no more impressive than that of her driver. In fact, she looked very much like a common farm animal, and the whole outfit seemed completely out of place among the elaborate equipment and high-spirited steeds now in readiness for the starter's bell.

“Who is that fellow and what's he doing here?” queried a voice in the crowd. “Surely they're not going to allow him to enter this race.”

“He says he's a farmer from up around Terre Haute,” said another spectator, at which remark quite a jeer arose from the crowd; and as the newcomer and his steed passed the stand many were the cries of derision that greeted them. The driver of this odd-looking outfit was evidently a good-natured sort of fellow, for instead of showing resentment over this type of reception he smiled pleasantly at the crowd and waved his old soft hat in a friendly salute, while the little mare, dwarfed in size by the extreme height of the wheels of the rattle-trap old cart trailing behind her, jogged along as though she were making a routine trip on the farm.

As the horses took their positions for the start of the race there was a new interest among the spectators, for in addition to the concern over picking a winner, there were all kinds of speculations as to where the farmer and his nag would place. On this point they were not kept long in doubt, for as the horses came down the track and the starter sounded the bell which was the signal to go, the little dark mare showed something in speed that no one dreamed she possessed. In a twinkling she assumed the lead and a moment later she gained the coveted inside position, and from that moment there was no question as to which horse would prove the winner.

As they reached the final stretch the other drivers tried desperately to reduce the distance between their racers and the little mare, but this only result in several breaking gait and losing rather than gaining, while the little mare trotted leisurely under the wire several lengths ahead of her nearest rival. Of course the crowd thundered its approval and the big, good-natured driver, as he passed the spectators, stood up in his cart, dropped the lines, and with a broad, mischievous grin and a wave of his battered old hat shouted: “Hurrah for Terre Haute!”

This was Lamoni's introduction to John Lawrence, and I know of no man who ever leaped into popularity here so suddenly and so sensationally; and the interested thing about it all was the fact that as long as John Lawrence remained a resident of Lamoni he retained that popularity. He did make a pretense at farming and, as I remember, owned a couple of farms in this locality, but at heart he was just one thing – a horseman; and from the moment of his initial appearance on the Lamoni track he became one of the permanent fixtures there, making it his headquarters as long as the track operated.

He was a congenial, happy-go-lucky sort of man, who had eliminated the word “stranger” from his vocabulary; he knew everyone and everyone knew him – from the smallest youngster to the dignitaries of the town. But horses were his hobby. He had followed the tracks most of his life, and he knew every horse of any prominence in the country and knew his pedigree by heart.

But to know John Lawrence as most people in Lamoni knew him at that time was to think of him as just one of a team, and that is the way I will always remember him. Yes, the other member of the team was Jessie, the little dark brown mare, for whenever you saw one of them, you knew instinctively that the other was close by. Jessie was really a blueblood in the realm of racing and her breeding was of the finest. She was so well trained that she could have gone onto the track without a drive and have run a better race than most horses with an expert driver behind them. She had life and spirit to equal the best, but she never became excited or unmanageable on the track. She was as gentle as a kitten and she loved to be rubbed and petted. Had she been a human, there is no telling how many hearts she might have broken; for I know many a youngster who made it a special point to save a piece of candy from his meager allowance so that he could slip it to her as he passed her stall.

John Lawrence was not a long-time resident of Lamoni, but in the time he lived here he made many friends who still like to think of him, and recall those days when he and little Jessie were the toast of the track – when they were a sensational team in Lamoni's passing parade.