You've read about horse racing but now let's talk about the poor people's outlet - the numbers racket. Every neighborhood had its numbers writer who usually hung out at the local bar. He would employ runners to carry the "slips" at the end of the day. You bet your lucky three digit number - your birthday or perhaps your address. There were memory books that would attach a number to any dream you could think of. There were no ping pong balls popping up - the number was arrived at by a mathematical calculation using the payoff prices at the local race track. If you were in the know - and if you knew which track and which races they would use then you could figure the number for the day and be waiting for your payoff. They didn't dare welsh and you could bet as low as ten cents. Yes, there was Bingo at the church but that was weekly - the numbers gave you action daily. The jingle of the day went like this:
"Now I lay me down to slumber - pray to God I hit the number - If I die before I wake - put a dime on 308." Hallelujah!
tjs
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