LEONARD MICHAELS
399
operator. But peculiar to Nachman's
mind
was its recognition of problems,
and its systematic attack on the unknown. Whether he liked it or not, his
mind had produced a system. It was a matter of statistics which were sup–
plied by the
Racing Form
and various tip sheets. The statistics were based
on different sorts of measurements, but Nachman didn't need a computer
to reconcile one set of statistics with another. He didn't even need pencil
and paper. His eyes took in the numbers, his mind adjusted the averages,
and the winner emerged-almos t always, it seemed, if he bothered to think
about it and do the calculations.
You could say, "Nachman, if you have a system and you don't use it,
you're betting agains t yourself." He would agree. But there would be no
pleasure, no drama, no excitement in the betting. The races would be just
a way to make money. Nachman cared little about money. His university
salary was more than he could use. He also made money when he travelled
and gave lectures. An unmarried man who lived alone, with no expensive
tastes, Nachman had enough money.
He went to the races and, unthinkingly, placed his bets like someone
without a system, giving himself only as much chance of winning as any–
one else. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost. This is how it should be,
he thought, and he cheered and shouted with everyone else, the regular
people. It was Nachman's deepest pleasure to feel like everyone else, regu–
lar, not like a freak, a mental monster, who, because of his mechanical gift
for numbers, could know the winners before almost every race.
It was
also
Nachman's pleasure to say hello to people who recognized
him as a regular at the track. He knew few of their names, but he recog–
nized their faces and they recognized him, which made him feel at home.
A black man named Horace sometimes called out to him. "Hey, Nachman,
how you doing?" or " Hey, Nachman, that's a snazzy tie." Once, Horace
bought Nachman a drink between races. There wasn't much to talk about,
but the company feeling was good. "Let me get the next one," said
Nachman. He found out that Horace was a deacon, and his church was in
Oakland. He invited Nachman to attend some Sunday, and Nachman said,
"I'd like that. Thank you." Soon afterwards they separated and were lost to
each other in the crowd.
When a race began, Nachman was thrilled by the sight of the horses
Iunging out of the gate, then flowing along the rail at the far turn, and then
the sight of them coming around the turn in his direction, a flurry of
churning legs, hooves pounding the track, jockeys bent low to the horse's
neck , whispering to them like lovers .
Since Nachman believed he could know which horse was likely to
win, it took a little bit from the thrill. If you told Nachman, "You could
enjoy the full thrill if you didn't let yourself read the
Racing Form
and ti p
