Bicycle Racing and the Salt Palace: Two Letters

Utah Historical Quarterly

Vol. 51, 1982, No. 2

Bicycle Racing and the Salt Palace: Two Letters

EDITED BY OLIVE W. BURT

THE ORIGINAL SALT PALACE, AT Ninth South between State and Main streets, was completed in 1898. It had taken three years and sixty thousand dollars to bring to reality this glittering architectural dream.

Cloyd F. Woolley, a Denver advertising executive, died in 1956. Nine years earlier he had written the following two letters to me, his sister, reminiscing about the early days of Utah bicycle racing and the construction of the Salt Palace.

In 1893, when Cloyd was three years old, the family moved to Ann Arbor where our father attended the University of Michigan. Upon his graduation in 1897, the family returned to Salt Lake City and rented a small house at 767 South State Street, a little over a block from the Salt Palace site.

Cloyd spent a great deal of time at the track which was located in the northwest corner of the park. He did odd jobs and ran errands for the racers, and during the events he sold "volley vons," a deep-fried dough covered with powdered sugar, that were popular among the spectators.

The nation was in the midst of a bicycle craze that reached its peak in 1896. Although the rage lasted less than five years its effect on the country was profound, and it had a lasting influence on my brother, as can be seen from the following letters.

Obvious spelling errors have been corrected and extraneous personal material has been deleted from the text.

July 4

Dear Sis,

Florence tells me you are writing a story in which the old Salt Palace plays a part. Laugh, if you will, but deep inside of me there is a lingering conviction that the Salt Palace was mine. Built expressly for me. It always seemed that way. And for a long time I have wanted to tell someone about it. You are the victim.

Of course Mr. Shefski — the old sports writer — has from time to time appeared in print with inferences that he was the moving spirit behind the venture. This could be true. But, as a kid of 8 or thereabouts, watching the thing being built, I did not even know that Mr. Shefski existed — at least not in the same firmament as my Salt Palace.

I don't suppose my memories will be of any use to you. I am doing this for my own fun anyway. Rather, it's a kind of compulsion.

We were living then in the little house just above 8th South on State Street. 767, I believe the address was There came a 4th of July — or maybe it was the 24th — when the whole neighborhood was excited about a bicycle race at Calder's Park, later called Wandamere. The track at Galder's was just a dirt, or clay, track. Perfectly circular, as I recall. It was a quarter-mile track. Therefore the curvature was not great. It did not need to be "banked" steeply. The slope, possibly 15 degrees:, was uniform all the way around. No great speed was possible on such a track. The great excitement arose from the fact that John Lawson, "The Terrible Swede" was going to race. He was said to be the champion bicycle rider of Sweden and probably the fastest man in the world. We later learned that his brother Ivor was much faster — and even the youngest brother, Gus, could beat him hands down. But John was the first to come to our notice. He won the race at Calder's Park — and the whole town promptly went bicycle racing mad. And our neighborhood naturally registered the most violent fever of all because, wonder of wonders, the great man lived right there in the 3rd ward. He had just recently come from Sweden and was staying with a Swedish (or Scandinavian) family on the north side of 8th South between State and 2nd East — just around the corner from our place. Funny I can't recall their name. It was a frame house. We used to deliver milk there. Later, when we had the store, they always traded with us — and always paid their bills, which is sufficient entitlement to immortality in my opinion. . . . Why can't I recall their name? Everyone else along the block I can recite. Rasmussens, Binglys, Burkes, Surteses, Morks, Weilers — no, I can't remember who lived on the corner of Second East. That little low adobe place, with Tommy Curtis' home just north of it. No matter. The next thing I remember was John Lawson giving exhibitions in Ward Meeting Houses. I believe he gave these exhibitions in many Wards — but that is just an impression. I do know I saw him as part of a program in the 3rd Ward Meeting House. Maybe you saw him too. In case you did not, here's what he did. He rode a bicycle on a roller platform. Same principle as a tread mill. He could sprint furiously in one place. Big dials, attached to the rollers, registered his speed for all to see. His! attempt, as I recall, was to register a speed of a mile a minute and I believe he accomplished this (according to the dial) but would not swear to it. In any event, these exhibitions quite naturally fed the bicycle racing fever. Looking back, I can now realize that it was a truly remarkable promotion. Consider. Only two towns in the United States, I believe, ever became dyed-in-the-wool bicycle racing towns. One was Salt Lake and the other was Newark, New Jersey. The six-day bicycle races in Madison Square Garden came much later. And they were promoted and managed by an ex-Salt Lake bike sprinter — one of the 5 or 6 of the fastest — Johnny Chapman. I think he came from Australia along with Al Goulet (a very fast man) and big, lanky Vaughn. Many's the quarter he gave me for running errands.

A lot of property below 9th South and on both sides of State Street belonged to the Heath brothers. They lived over on West Temple, I believe. I knew the kids of both families and have been in both homes but do not recall the exact location. West Temple or 1st West, somewhere below 9th South. For years the Heaths had run the ice-skating rink. This was about midway between 9th and 10th South ... on the East side of State. Baby creek where we used [to] swim or, rather splash', was the north boundary of the rink. We used to sneak in. There were guards to prevent this but they were hardly an obstacle.

The Heaths owned also die ground where the Salt Palace was built. I remember when they put up the high board fence all around. Then the Palace began going up — a very rough board structure — siding full of knots and cracks. On these they nailed slabs of salt. It was supposed to be beautiful. Then, one day, I noticed another structure. This, I knew at once was the new bicycle track everyone had been talking about. The skeleton of struts and beams was then about completed. They were beginning to lay the track itself. I went over and peered thru the open spaces. One of the Heaths and John Lawson were inside the track. Lawson was pointing out how some part of the structure should be built. I saw him around there often thereafter and got the lasting impression that he was the guiding genius. Later I got a job carrying water for the workmen and heard their chatter. This was to be the fastest track in the world — modeled after the best tracks in Europe on which John Lawson had raced. That is what they said.

The people and the newspapers always referred to this as a "saucer" track. Actually, of course, it was shaped like a platter in-so-far as it was longer one way than the other. It was an eighth [of a] mile track. On the narrower ends the curvature was great and the track slanted steeply — probably 45 degrees. Lots of the kids could not ride fast enough to stick on the steep curves. The longer sides were flatter — not more, I'd say, then 15 or 20 degrees. One of the flatter parts was called the home stretch. The other, the back stretch. Ordinary sprint or straight distance races always started and ended on the home stretch. A big black line across the track marked the starting point which was also the finish. The track itself was built of boards about an inch thick and maybe three inches wide. These were laid on their edges. This made the track about three inches thick and, for some reason which always seemed to be more or less occult, this thickness was supposed to make the track "faster." About a foot and a half or two feet up from the bottom of the track a broad black line was painted all the way around the track. Below this line the boards were narrower than the boards above the line. The "why" of this I tried in vain to find out. Everyone said, again, that the narrower boards made that portion of the track "faster." This portion of the track was called the "pole." The boards were of hard wood. None-the-less whenever a rider fell he picked up a lot of splinters. It was a hazardous business. Quite a few were killed. Where the two flatter parts of the track merged into the steeper ends was an especially dangerous portion. Riders developed great skill in manipulating their bikes while traveling at high speed. Hardy Downing, for example, could make the rear wheel of his bike flip up the track a good foot or more to keep another rider from coming around him. He was by no means in the; class of several others as far as speed was concerned. But he was so expert in tricks of the kind I have mentioned that the fastest riders like Ivor Lawson, Al Goulet and others used to "team" with him. His job was to get just behind his team-mate and keep dangerous rivals from passing. Lots of good clean fun. His nick-name was "Heady Hardy" and it was well earned. Not often winning a race himself he yet made big winnings because the faster men he teamed with split the purse with him.

They had a great variety of races. In the most ordinary race they all lined up together at the starting line. A trainer held them erect on their bikes. At the sound of the starting gun the trainer shoved. The race might be for a quarter mile, half mile — any distance up to 50 miles. Some men who were good at short races were not so good at longer ones. I do not recall ever seeing John Lawson beat in a 50 mile race — or in an unlimited pursuit race. The unlimited pursuit was always, I believe, between just two men. One started on the home stretch and the other on the back stretch. The one who could finally catch and pass the other was [the] winner. Then they had what they called an "Australian Pursuit" race. In this, riders were placed to start every 10 or 15 yards around the track. Any man who got passed by another had to drop out. Finally, of course, there would be only two left — and then only one.

There was another thing about this racing that none of the riders could ever explain to my complete understanding. This was in the so-called French style match race. In the ordinary sprint race each rider started out and rode his race to get ahead of the others — oh, perhaps not to lead all the way, of course. Just as in a foot race, the successful runner "rates" himself according to his ability. Same with horses. Never-the-less, as a rule, it is considered quite a point to be ahead, provided the contestant is not over-extending himeslf. But in the French style race every effort was made to get behind the other fellow so that he could not watch you carefully and know when you were going to sprint. The whole idea was to take the other man completely by surprise with a sudden, unexpected burst of speed. This kind of race was run always just between two men — a match race. I have seen the two jockey for the hind position, riding so slow they would wobble and almost fall off the track. Then, suddenly, one; would shoot ahead, the other tearing after him. It was in this kind of race that Frank Kreamer beat Ivor Lawson — something that most Salt Lake, fans thought about as possible as water running uphill. Frank Kreamer was the great sprint star from the Newark, N. J., track. All thru the east they billed him as World's Champion. This we in Salt Lake considered a base usurpation. Didn't everyone know that Ivor Lawson was Champion of the World? But Frank Kreamer came there and beat him. It was just likq the sun falling out of the sky. What I started to say that I could never get thru my head was why it paid to get behind the other guy. Gosh, if you're ahead, you're ahead. The other fellow has just got that much more distance to go. But no, the smartest heads in the game preferred to French style — and they always jockeyed to get behind. . . .

July 14

Dear Sis,

You know, you half convince me that my memories of the Salt Palace may be of use to you. But the fact is, of course, I am only looking for an excuse to go on....

There is another kind of bicycle racing that I must tell you about. It was called "Pace Following." The general idea is that if another man runs or rides in front of you and you can follow him closely enough, you can make better time than if you had to break the wind for yourself. That is, always provided that he is a fast time-maker. Well, motorcycles could certainly go faster than bike riders. This, recall, was the very earliest days of motorcycles. The first of this implement we saw was a "tandem" motorcycle. Two men rode it. The front man had only to steer. The rear man did all the operating of gadgets that speeded up or slowed down. So we had "motor-paced" races. The rear man on the tandem motorcycle wore an over-sized jacket, well padded out, in order to break more wind. Now, of course, one essential was that the "pace follower" should ride as close as possible to the "pace-maker" in order to take greatest advantage of the wind-breaking. To accomplish this closest possible following, two important mechanical contrivances came into being. First, in order that the foot-pedaling rider behind the motorcycle should not rub his front wheel against the motorcycle's rear wheel and so engender a nasty "spill," there was a free-turning roller, held by a bracket, just behind the rear tire of the motorcycle — clear of the rear tire by less than one inch. The "follower" — foot-pedaling his bike — rode with his front wheel in constant (as possible) contact with this roller. Second, to throw the "pacefollower" as far forward as possible — and thus shield him from wind to the greatest possible degree, a special kind of bike was used. The front "forks" of an ordinary bike are curved forward, as you know. In "pace-following" bikes the front forks were straight. Again, the front wheel of the "pace-following" bike was made considerably less in diameter than the rear wheel. By these two contrivances, the foot-pedaling bicycle rider was able to follow his "pace-maker" so closely that it was nothing to see the "pace-follower" rest his head against the back of the "pace-maker." But consider, if you will, for a moment, the hazards of this operation. The man on the foot-pedaled bike seems to be sucked along at amazing speed — as indeed he is -— but he is riding basically blind. This took a special kind of nerve. Hardy Downing, as I recall, was acclaimed the best at this. Usually, they had only one rider on the track in such a test. He rode against time — to see how much faster he could make a mile or a quarter mile or ten miles under these conditions. Occasionally, however, they would put two men in a race of this sort. The motorcycle tandems would "pace" them until a certain distance from the end of the race. Maybe one "lap" from the end — maybe two — but at the specified time the "pace-follower" must leave his protected position behind the "pace-maker" and go out on his own, to the finish line. You see the variety of fare they served?

Well, Hardy Downing — in addition to his riding as "team-mate," of which I have told you — was supposed to be the best of the. "pace-followers." I think he held a number of records against time — and in competition he was terrific. Only one rider arose to challenge him in this specialty. And this rider, strangely enough, was the only neighborhood boy who ever made the grade into the big time circles. He lived eater-cornered across the street from us when we had the store on Seventh South and State. His name was Harvey Wilcox. . . .

The fact is, if I am not mistaken, that the Salt Palace itself was several years in building. What does several mean? I had a discussion with Dad once about this and he maintained that 3 or more constituted several. I have come to adopt his view and I use the word in that sense. At any rate, I recall that they put up the shell of the building and partially coated it with salt slabs — and then, for a season or two or three, the completion of the palace itself was, so to speak tabled. Meanwhile, for income, the bicycle track was built and races were held and money flowed in. I do know that races were in full swing and crowds lining up to pay admissions while the Palace, itself, was an empty hulk inside. Even, the rear part of the structure was not yet covered with salt slabs. I remember seeing vistors (maybe tourists of the day) getting permission to look inside the "Palace" and, peeking around them, all I could see was an unfinished inner structure. Very crude. Very bare. But the "Salt Palace" as a resort — as a going proposition—was already and for a long time (as it seemed to me) in full swing.. ..

I think the track was finished first. The "Palace," itself, then stood as an empty hulk for some time. Meantime, behind the "Palace" — that is, south of the palace — they had a "Mid-way," as they called it. This was purely and simply an imported carnival. "Bosco" the snake-eater. "Coco," the Wild Girl. "Major" Tom Thumb, the midget. "The Wild Man from Borneo" — with pictures of where he was captured. (He was really a very nice little guy who always gave a nickel extra.) But the feature, of course, was "The Streets of Cairo."

For this promotion, greasy-faced men, fierce and foreign-looking, paraded ins baggy pants with wind instruments, resembling clarinets, on which they blew in strident tones the "Hootchy-Kootchy." Anyone could infer — and did so infer — that if you followed these foreigners into the enclosure you would see sights heretofore denied to western eyes. Of course it was a bilk. Languid ladies, almost invariably obese, lolled about on cushions. There was a dance or two of the type that you can imagine but not get excited about. The funny thing was, I ran errands for these ladies. To me, it was just like sawing a board. And yet, and yet — in some vague way I had a notion what it was all about.

They, also had, on the "Midway" the first motion pictures I ever saw. This was a separate building — "Shanty" — rather. The fight between Bob Fitzsimmons and Jim Corbett at Reno, Nevada. The time the "Solar-Plexus" punch was born. Gee. I bet I saw that fight fifty or sixty times. Well, you could not see much. The films were so streaked with flittering that you thought you were in a rain-storm. The point is that with my "Volly-Von" tray — and, later, with my basket of "Peanuts, Chewing-gum and Candy," I was privileged to walk into any of these places. But that is not quite correct. For other boys, selling the same things, were not allowed. I guess it was because I wore glasses and looked like a bug and at the same time knew what everyone was thinking. They could see this on my mug and it amused them. Maybe.. . .

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