M y decision to go into business in l946 started the chain of events. I was 23 and no more of a business man than "Jack The Ripper" was a humanitarian. My commercial awareness was limited to having read that "under-capitalization" was the major reason new ventures failed. Knowing this, I had used a bit of foresight and was confident my savings of $132 would prove adequate.

Being a horse player, it seemed a good idea to combine my vocation with my avocation. I would teach racing fans – by mail – how to select winners. I assumed most followers of the sport would appreciate such information. The mail-order concept was valid but my qualifications were moot. My formal education was limited to less than a year of high school. I knew nothing of advertising, copy writing, record keeping, or any of the myriad matters about which a business man should be informed. None of this, however, deterred me.

The war had ended. The timing seemed right. I rented a small store on a side street in close proximity to the old Jamaica Race Track. The rent was $15 a month. After installing a second-hand desk, chair and beat-up typewriter I was in business.

I paid a sign painter to letter "Turf Advisory Service" on the store’s one window. The red lettering backed with a yellow panel, served to shield me and the stark interior of my "office" from scrutiny by curious neighbors living in this semi-residential area. Their curiosity aroused, and unable to satisfy it by ordinary means, the local citizenry saw to it that little time elapsed before I was visited by a duo representing themselves as telephone repairmen. As ruses go, this one wasn’t particularly clever inasmuch as I didn’t have a phone.

Puzzled by the bare interior, my uninvited guests dispensed with subterfuge; flashed their police badges, and demanded to know what I was up to. Inadvertently they revealed that their concern was to make certain I wasn’t starting a "bookie joint" without first having gotten an okay from higher up. I hadn’t realized until then the close relationship that existed between God and the police department.

Cheek burgeoned with tongue, I told them Turf Advisory Service was so named because my business was advising home owners how best to tend their lawns. I could tell my attempt at humor was not appreciated. One of the clues was the way the mean-looking cop took out his blackjack and fondled it.

Recognizing that a legitimate answer might be in order , and stuttering less than usual, I stated, "M-m-my intent is to provide racing enthusiasts with uplifting educational m-m-material designed to enable them to reap greater b-b-benefits from their chosen form of r-r-recreation."

Initially this met with blank stares, then suddenly the face of the more astute one lit up like an Olympic torch, "Oh," said he, "you mean you’re gonna be a tout?" This seemed a bit blunt, but I concurred. Concluding nothing illegal was involved my inquisitors shook my hand, wished me luck and departed.

Having thus been cleared with my neighbors via the police department I felt my next step should be to do something productive. Even without a Harvard Business School diploma I realized that to run a mail-order business two things were paramount: First, I needed something to sell, and secondly I needed someone to whom I could sell. Naively I assumed that to get things moving all I’d have to do would be devise a racing "system; " advertise it in an appropriate publication, and wait for the money to pour in. Part of my assumption was correct. I did a lot of waiting.

The newspaper chosen for my first advertising venture was the now defunct New York Sunday Enquirer which devoted considerable space to horse racing. A flamboyant individual, who employed the pen name "Colonel Stingo," was the racing editor, and wrote a featured column headed, "Yea, Verily."

The Colonel was a slim, mercurial man of medium height, and about 60 years of age. His white hair was combed back and cascaded down to his collar. He affected a small goatee; a string tie, and was the stereotypical image of an antebellum Southern Colonel. In striving to be the sporting world’s Walter Winchell ( a well-known columnist of the era), he was prone to inject original, but frequently obtuse phrases into his writings. This tended to make portions of his prose difficult to decipher. But, despite his idiosyncrasies he proved to be friend and a gentleman.

Having lots of gall, but little money for advertising I sought a means to enhance the impact of my ad. I arranged an appointment and imposed on the Colonel to give me a favorable mention in his column, preferably in conjunction with my ad. The Colonel’s write-up far and away exceeded my expectations. The free blurb was twice the length of my $14 display ad.

I was endeavoring to sell a race-playing "system" for one dollar. This seemed a modest price for a method of selecting that, as my headline stated, was GUARANTEED TO PRODUCE BIG WINNERS AND HUGE PROFITS. I was offering the horse player nirvana and all I got in return was 16 orders – despite editorial support. I was discouraged, but nonetheless grateful for the Colonel’s kindness and good intentions. Years later, in the early Fifties, as editor of a nationally distributed racing publication, I was provided the opportunity to repay the Colonel and help him attain celebrity status.

A. J. Liebling was a staff writer for The New Yorker magazine. One day he visited our office seeking a racing personality sufficiently colorful to warrant being featured in his magazine’s "Talk of the Town" columns. I regarded my cohorts and myself as a pretty drab bunch, and suggested Colonel Stingo as a likely candidate. Accepting the suggestion, and after interviewing the Colonel, Mr. Liebling apparently agreed with my assessment.

The result was a series of three articles titled, "Yea, Verily," based on the Colonel’s life. They initially appeared in the magazine’s "Profile" column, but the end product, derived from the series, was a well-received book written by Mr. Liebling titled, "The Honest Rainmaker." It pleased me to think I had contributed to its successful publication.

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