Damon Runyon

Miami Herald/February 23, 1930

Damon Runyon, the Writer, Visits Damon Runyon, the World’s Champion Quarter Mile Greyhound Racer, Old Dog Through But Children Look Strong

A brace of fidgety spidery little racing greyhounds were being hand-schooled by Jack Fisher, the presiding judge at the Miami Beach dog track the other day.

They were mere puppies, a bit wobbly-legged and clumsy but eager and vivacious. Fisher would hold them while the phony rabbit was swung past them, then he would release them and let ’em run. Hand-schooling is preliminary to letting the dogs break from the starting box in real races.

“Them’s great pups,” remarked an old dog racing man who was watching the tutoring of the canine children. “Them pups will win money before long. Them pups is bred to run. But they ain’t no chance they’ll ever be as fast as their pappy.”

“Who is their pappy?” I Inquired casually.

“Their pappy is Damon Runyon,” he replied. “Yes sir, Damon. They never was no dog like Damon. He could run. They’re still shootin’ at that world’s record of his for a quarter — 25 seconds flat. He could fly. The pup on this side is son of Damon and the t’other is like father but they ain’t never gonna run like their pappy.”

“What become of ol’ Damon?” I inquired with interest, feeling a glow of pride over this laudation of the prowess of my distinguished namesake.

“He broke down,” said the man sadly. “He’s out at Hialeah now restin’ up and maybe he’ll come back to the races agin, but I dunno. Gittin’ old. They run him here at the Beach not long ago and sompin’ happened to his back but he kept dragging’ hisself after the dummy just the same until they run out and caught him. Man ol’ Damon was a dog!”

Broke down. eh? I mused. Gittin’ old. The news stuck a vague note of alarm in my soul. It wasn’t so long ago that Damon Runyon the race horse also broke down and can run no more. Well, he never ran much anyway. His child out of Baby Mine called — inappropriately, I hope — Spoiled Baby isn’t so hot. She doesn’t seem to grasp the idea that she bears an honored monicker.

But broke down. That’s bad, bad for the Damon Runyons. Ah well. That’s the general finish, isn’t It — dog, horse or man? I shook off my despondency and began taking almost paternal pride in the precocity displayed by son of Damon and like. Maybe even Spoiled Baby will amount to something eventually.

Then I went out to Hialeah to see and condole with the broken down ex-king of the quarter milers, Ol’ Damon himself. I don’t think he recognized me. A fawn-colored dog with a slight hitch to his gait, like an old man, and with graying whiskers, he looked at me out of sad eyes and snuffled at the cuffs of my trousers.

But my visit was brightened by the saga of Damon Runyon as sung to me by the men around him. As long as that mark of a quarter of a mile in 25 flat hangs up there, the name and fame of Damon Runyon will endure among the greyhound followers of the land. He was the undisputed monarch at that distance for several years, as fleet as the very wind, and as game as any human warrior that ever fared forth to battle.

A wise dog he was, too, at the height of his racing fame. He knew how to run and when to run and there was a day when his owner Otto Wolhauf refused $5000 for him with a laugh.

Damon Runyon raced In remarkable form over a period of about five years during which he won stake races all over the country and gathered in at least $20,000 for his owner. He hung up his world’s record for the quarter at Hialeah along about 1926, tow-roping home some of the greatest dogs in America.

His record at Hialeah was made on a track with two runs and therefore compares very favorably with horse time for the quarter mile. A dog’s weight has more or less to do with his racing and Damon Runyon at 63 pounds was unbeatable.

The explanation of Damon Runyon’s breaking down is that he sprained his back. Strange how those years always let you know in the back. They are trying to patch him up out at Hialeah because he can still beat a lot of the beetles racing today, but as the old dog man suggested he will probably never be the Damon Runyon of old. Well what Damon Runyon will?

Our solace must lie in like father, and son of Damon. Jack Fisher the presiding judge, thinks these pups will both win races. But even Jack Fisher cannot work himself up to such optimistic heights that will permit him to prophecy that they will ever be as good as their pappy.

I patted ol’ Damon on the head as I left him and remarked to him as I noticed the way he favored his sore back muscles: “Well ol’ feller, aren’t we all?”