The state of Maryland called Phillip "Pacey" Silbert a criminal and put him behind bars, and the thoroughbred (you should pardon the expression) racetrack people called him an undesirable and barred him from their premises.
So here we are, with the state emulating poor Pacey's profession -- he took three-digit numbers bets for a living, as does a certain Maryland Lottery -- while the struggling racetracks wish they knew how to hold on to their great old characters.
Pacey was past 80 when he died Monday, but he'd spent the last few years in a nursing home, recognizing no one and remembering nothing. Such a shame; such memories as Pacey's should be embraced, for he lived a life of glad times and flowing money, except when the cops were annoying him or the tracks stiffing him.
The cops said he ran a big-time numbers racket for several decades starting in the 1940s. Two million dollars a year, they said, not realizing that the time would come when the state itself would take in such wagering in a normal day.
In his time, the police tailed Pacey everywhere. Once, he decided to vacation in Florida. He walked outside his front door and approached one of the cops.
"How about giving me a lift to Penn Station?" he said.
"Sure," the cop said.
Later, when he discovered what had happened, the cop went back to Pacey in some displeasure.
"My lieutenant told me, where you go, I'm supposed to go. Why didn't you tell me you were going to Florida? I could have used two weeks there."
Pacey told the story over lunch one day. To him, it was symbolic. The cops knew it was a silly business, following the likes of him while real criminals were at large. Across the table sat his buddy, the affable Jesse Bondroff, who nodded his head at the memory.
"Whenever Pacey left town," Jesse said, "he left the business with me. So the police were following me around. I used to go into Druid Hill Park every day to lose them. This one cop said, 'Stay out of the park, will you?' I told him, 'Look, I'm gonna be doing the same thing every day. Why don't you go home, spend a little time with your wife, and fill out your report that I did the same thing today as I did yesterday. Nobody's gonna know.' So he did."
The two of them laughed. But you look through the old newspaper clippings today, years and years of them, and there's Pacey and there's Jesse, time after time, pursued by police and prosecutors and judges for nothing more than taking numbers bets.
And, in March 1972, they sent Pacey off to prison. For running a lottery operation. He got 12 years, and served three. When he came out, the tracks barred him as an undesirable. One day he called here.
"Come out to Pimlico," he said. "If I get kicked off, you could write about it. If not, we'll have a nice day."
At the track, he asked me to pick a horse and said he'd put a few bucks down.
"Of Counsel's running," I said. "You might need a counselor."
Of Counsel went off at 7-to-1. Pacey put down $50. Of Counsel won easily.
"Pick another," said Pacey.
"Mike's Delight," I said for the obvious reason.
Mike's Delight went off at 5-to-1. Another $50 bet. Mike's Delight won.
"Pick another," said Pacey.
"If we win," I said, "I'm changing professions."
Before Pacey could place the bet, a security officer intercepted him and asked him to vacate the track. He left quietly, but remained embittered.
He was a criminal only because the bluenoses called him one. He was a gentleman, and he knew how to have a laugh, even at his own expense. Once, Pacey was knocked down by a hit-and-run driver and rushed to the hospital. It didn't look good. Jesse Bondroff walked quietly into Pacey's room and stood there for a moment.
"Jess," said Pacey, "I'm dying."
"I got $20 to lay on a horse," Jesse said. "You ain't dying and leaving me with a $20 bet in my hand."
Pacey lay there for a moment, barely breathing.
"All right," he finally whispered. "Gimme the money. But I hope the horse comes in and I die before you can collect."
Now they're both gone: Jesse Bondroff a few years back, and Pacey Silbert three days ago. If they were criminals, what does that make the state of Maryland?