The comin’ of Hanlan to New York, his recent race with Lee, and his comin’ contest with Ross have made quite a stir in aquatic circles (as Hanlan’s friend Captain Boyton would say) in and around the metropolis. By the by, Hanlan’s career has been really quite an interestin’ one, in its “human nature” side, and illustrates some notable “points.”
His taste for the water was “born in him,” and he commenced to row almost before he commenced to walk. Before he was ten years old he had made an “outrigger” for himself–and such an outrigger. It consisted of a two-inch plank, rough hewn, sharpened at both ends, like the new style of cheroots, with a board stuck in it for a seat, while a most outlandish pair of arrangements answered the purposes of “outriggers.” On this really novel craft the boy did some really clever rowin’. “The child was,” in this as in most other cases, “the father of the man.” Yet Hanlan was never thought much of at first among his own folks. “No one is ever a prophet in his own country.” He was only regarded as a fair to middlin’ oarsman; and when, as a young man, he announced his intention to his Canadian friends and relatives to come on to Philadelphia and try his hand in the great Centennial boat race, his folks laughed at his impudence, and others, more kindly, tried to talk him out of it. But the young chap believed in himself, if nobody else did, and went on to the Quaker City, where Plaisted, of New York; Luther, of Pittsburgh; Brayley, of Halifax; Harry Coulter and others were in trainin’.
Hanlan went into trainin’ too, among the sneers of many and the indifference of all. But he won easily, was looked upon in Philadelphia as a prodigy, and when he returned to his native Canada he wasn’t laughed at any more. The very ones who had laughed at him were now ready to black his boots for him. He was made a sort of lion of, got a public testimonial and a torchlight procession in his honor, as if he was really a great man instead of only a lucky oarsman. But people always overdo everythin’ in this world. They either belittle or bebig a man too much.
Hanlan’s success got the better of him for a while. It proved too much for him and made him careless. In a boat race near Boston he inexcusably “fouled” Plaisted’s boat, runnin’ deliberately into it at the turnin’ stake. His conduct, or misconduct, on this occasion gave, and very justly, a great deal of offense, and the judges of the race very properly “ruled him out.” They even went so far as to recommend that he should never be allowed to race in public under the auspices of any reputable association any more–a recommendation which, if followed, would have wound up Hanlan’s career as quick as a broken arm. But luckily he had some friends more sensible than himself, who apologized for him and promised better behavior in the future, and the matter was allowed to drop; since which Hanlan has had the sound sense to behave himself pretty well.
After this fuss near Boston, Hanlan’s next race was with Wallace Ross. This Ross race has always been considered by Hanlan’s friends his principal one, in the way of decidin’ his own destiny and servin’ as a turning point in his career.
Up to that race Hanlan was a sort of an “uncertain quantity.” Nobody knew exactly whether to depend on him or not. He had done good work and bad work both, and was a kind of half-and-half, which is a very doubtful kind to bet on. He had some friends–but perhaps more were against him than for him–and in his trainin’ and preparations for his Ross race he was left to shift for himself as best he could. There was no fuss made over him at all.
Nowadays every care is taken of a champion oarsman just as there would be of a champion pugilist. His boat is seen to just so, and he is seen to just so, his food is chosen for him, and he is watched and tended like a pet lamb or a lap dog, only differently. But in this Ross race Hanlan had none of this extra fancy attention, not a bit of it. His boat wasn’t a very good one, and he had to attend to it himself, and if he wanted to eat some meat he had to go to the butcher and get it himself, and he had then to go to the kitchen and cook it himself. In short, no care was taken of him whatever, and, to make matters worse, he found, as the time for the race with Ross drew near, that the few friends he had believin’ and bettin’ on him were gradually goin’ against him, “hedgin’” as it is called, gladly giving $100 to $75 in favor of Ross. Under these circumstances it was pretty hard to keep up a stiff lip and to keep on believin’ in yourself, but it was just what Hanlan did. And he trained conscientiously, just as religiously as if the eyes of the whole world were on him and his salvation depended on his success. He did all this too, without any fuss; in fact he pretended not to care at all about people’s carelessness about him, and went about his work as pleasantly as if he was deservedly the most popular man in America. The consequence was, the day of the race found him in the most admirable condition, physical and mental. He felt so easy in mind, in fact, that they had to wake him out of a sound sleep into which he had fallen just before the time fixed for the race. They had to shake him awake to come down to the water. But when he got there he won the race, and won it easily.
To my notion it was the very coolness and indifference with which Hanlan was treated in trainin’ for this race that stirred him up with the determination to win it and kept him steady and industrious in his trainin’. Probably the very disrespect that was at first shown him was the makin’ of him. There has never been any disrespect shown him since, I notice.
Hanlan’s hardest race in the way of downright work, the race it really cost him the most trouble to win, was one which attracted comparatively little attention, and has now been almost forgotten. I mean the race for the championship of America with the once famous sculler, Evan Morris, of Pittsburg. This race was five miles with a turn, that is, two miles and a half with and two miles and a half against the current on the Allegheny River. Hanlan was in the better “form” on the day of the race, but Morris had the great advantage of knowin’ the river best, all its little outs and its fine points, its currents and eddies, and so on. But Morris made the common but commonly fatal mistake of startin’ out violently and usin’ himself up too soon. He did better than Hanlan on the way down the river, but was exhausted before he got half way up, and so Morris lost the race and Hanlan gained it. How often is it the same way in life on land.
Hanlan’s easiest and happiest time in his whole career was when he was matched for the second time against Wallace Ross, while trainin’ regularly and with plenty of time before him at the Clermont House, in New Brunswick, Canada. Here, at this period, he did more work with less effort than, perhaps, any rower ever did before, devoured more solid food than, perhaps any man had ever done before and slept sounder than nine hundred and ninety-nine men in a thousand ever have done. And as luck, good or bad, seldom goes singly, after all this easy time Hanlan won the race easier than ever before, for Ross accidentally rolled out of his boat, and so Hanlan had a walk over, or a paddle over.
Hanlan’s “shakiest” period was that in which he was mixed up in his races with Courtney. To this day some people will persist in assertin’ that the races between Hanlan and Courtney were “fixed,” were “put up jobs,” in which Courtney was to play for pay the part of the under dog.
Many of the circumstances attendin’ the promised race at Chautauqua lake between Courtney and Hanlan certainly looked suspicious and did a great deal towards lowerin’ the public idea of “aquatics” and reducin’ rowin’ matches to the level of the “hippodromin’” old trots. It is now generally held by the best sportin’ authorities that Courtney was “funkin’” and did not really intend to start in the race unless it was “fixed” for him to win, while Hanlan’s friends, knowin’ this and anxious to have the race come off any way, offered to “fix” things, without really, however, intendin’ to do anythin’ of the kind, thus meeting fraud by fraud, on the principle of fightin’ fire by fire.
By this arrangement there would be some victims indeed, but the victims would prove to be Courtney’s friends, not Hanlan’s.
On the day before the day appointed for the race one of Ward’s most intimate friends made a play or pay bet of $1,000 on Hanlon to $700 on Courtney. This was done without any fuss, and the man who took the bet for Courtney was a stranger, but it seems that the “stranger” was only bettin’ $200 of his own money, the other $500 bein’ put on for Brister, Courtney’s friend. Then the Courtney party got the true inwardness of the situation; they saw they were getting’ “the double cross,” as the sportin’ men call it.
A few hours later Courtney’s boats were “sawed.” Some say confidentially that both Courtney and Brister knew all about this “sawin’” in advance, others say equally confidentially, that they didn’t. But at any rate the affair was “shaky” and unfortunate for all parties concerned and for sport itself.
Perhaps the Trickett race caused more talk than any one other race Hanlan was engaged in. And it served to show in a strikin’ manner how “experts” are often “taken in,” and how sportin’ men are “done for.” Trickett was by far the best oarsman in Australia, his friends and backers thought him the greatest in the world, and nothin’ would do, but that Hanlon must race him and so give him the chance to win one more victory.
Not only were the backers of Trickett confident of their man before they had ever set eyes on Hanlan, but even after Hanlon had commenced his trainin’ they were more confident than ever. For a month they watched Hanlan row, for a month they saw the man daily, and noted him, and yet all this time they grew more and more enthusiastic for Trickett–all this time they backed Trickett more heavily. And the Trickett fever spread not only all over England, but all America. New York had an attack of Trickett bad. Thousands of dollars were staked in America on the Australian. Everybody could give good reasons, and plenty of ‘em, why Trickett must win. Everybody on Broadway, the Bowery or anywhere else was prepared to demonstrate to a mathematical certainty that really Hanlan, though a good fellow, hadn’t the ghost of a chance.
And yet when the race at last took place everybody was surprised and almost everybody was disappointed, and a good many were ruined, for Hanlan won, and won with ease, and Trickett was, vulgarly but expressively speakin’, “nowhere.” I doubt if ever anythin’ like so much money changed hands on a boat race as on this Hanlan-Trickett race. Hanlan’s few backers were almost delirious with delight and Trickett’s backers were busted. The Thompson brothers, who had staked all they were worth on him, lost everythin’. It was a Waterloo for Trickett. The knowing ones were all at fault on this famous contest; the experts were all victims.
Altogether Hanlan’s career abounds in lessons, not only in rowing’, but other things.
[Editor’s notes: Hanlan’s career was at its peak when this column was written. His life was made into a feature film in 1986, The Boy in Blue. It starred Nicholas Cage–the bad Nicholas Cage. Canadians wondered why a Canadian had not been cast; and also someone who would have been closer to Hanlan’s diminutive size, which made his accomplishments all the more impressive.]
