True stories of old Houston and Houstonians: historical and personal sketches / by S. O. Young. Page: 243
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HOUSTON AND HOUSTONIANS 243
saloon on the southwest corner of Main Street and Congress
Avenue. Gregory was a good old sport and gambler, but at times
he was rather too emotional and allowed his enthusiasm to run
away with him, as the following shows:
It was toward the close of the racing week, and a big crowd
was out to witness the coming event, a race with half a dozen
good and well known horses entered, among them the famous
Scott Anderson. The horses got away in a bunch, but Scott Anderson
soon took the lead. As he pulled out from the bunch
Gregory began waving a handful of bills over his head, shouting:
"One hundred to twenty-five that Scott Anderson wins the race."
There were no takers, for Scott Anderson was plainly increasing
the distance between himself and his competitors, and no
one cared to throw away money by betting against him. "Two
hundred to twenty-five!" "Three hundred to twenty-five!" "Four
hundred to twenty-five!" shouted Gregory.
By this time Scott Anderson's lead was so great that even a
blind man could see that he had the race grabbed. But Gregory
was so anxious to get a bet that he raised his odds.
"Six hundred to twenty-five!" he shouted.
"That's a good bet if I lose it," said Rush Hutchins, who was
more entertained by Gregory's capers than he was by the race.
"Here Gregory, put up your money; I take your bet," he said.
Rush produced $25, which Gregory covered with $600, and the
whole was handed to a stakeholder. The money had scarcely
been placed when Scott Anderson stumbled and fell, injuring his
leg so badly that he was out of the race at once. Gregory was
too good a sport to kick. He accepted his loss gracefully and
If he ever kicked himself for allowing his enthusiasm to get away
with him, he did it privately, when no one was looking.
Now, the other races I remember had simliar results, but from
a different cause. These were races being held out beyond Westheimer's
place up on Buffalo Bayou. The city has extended away
out there, but in those days it was clear out in the country. A
man named Copping, who, with his brother, owned a saloon on
Main Street, was considerable of a sport. His name was Tom,
though I forget his brother's name. Tom was the proud owner
of a bony-looking gray horse, which he swore could outpace anything
that ever came from Pacerville. There was good reason
for his faith in his horse, for the old gray beat anything he went
against. Tom was not only willing but anxious to pit him against
anything that showed up. He would go against running horses,
pacing horses, trotting horses and, I have no doubt had such
things existed at that time, he would have pitted him against
automobiles and motorcycles. His faith in his old gray was unbounded.
One day there were some races out at Westheimer's
and Tom was there with his gray. He could not get a race
against his horse, so he gave an exhibition spin around the track.
The races were over and everybody was starting t otown. There
Here’s what’s next.
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Young, Samuel Oliver. True stories of old Houston and Houstonians: historical and personal sketches / by S. O. Young., book, 1913; Galveston, Texas. (texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth24646/m1/243/: accessed May 28, 2017), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, texashistory.unt.edu; .