Boston: the Canadian Story
By David Blaikie ©

The group of Canadians boarding the train at Boston on the morning of April 19, 1900, had no idea they were about to write an enduring chapter of Canadian sports history. They were a plain looking lot, obviously visitors and conscious of the fact. All were from Hamilton, Ontario, and most were seeing Boston for the first time. The city was still new and unfamiliar although they had been there several days and had been extended a cordial welcome by the Boston Athletic Association. Five of the group were athletes, small, wiry men with little to say. The rest were handlers, businessmen in overcoats and hats, their pockets stuffed with cash. The older men had paid the expenses of the younger to travel to Boston and now hoped to make back their money, and more, in well-placed bets. Eyes were cast about at the American competition, similarly in the care of well-heeled backers.

The occasion was Patriot's Day, a holiday in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and the running of the annual Boston Marathon. The train was bound for the starting point at Ashland, a small town twenty-five miles southwest. The Canadians were the first foreigners to enter the race since its start in 1897, a pleasing touch for the dawn of a new century. The atmosphere as the train puffed out of the city, steam whistle echoing across the landscape, was a mixture of tension and anticipation. Trainers hovered over the twenty-nine runners on board and backers milled about making bets. Cigar smoke wafted in the air. The Americans knew little about the visiting Canadians except for tales of their fleet-footedness at home. Much was made of an annual fall race at Hamilton where the field was reputed to be swift. Accordingly, Bostonians placed their bets prudently, most at even money.
The townfolk of Ashland, appreciative of their role in the marathon, greeted the train under dull grey skies. Rain, at times heavy, had fallen throughout the morning but the mood at the station was festive. The day was unseasonably warm for April despite the rain, comfortable for watching a footrace if not for running one. Already the temperature had climbed above seventy degrees Fahrenheit and was heading steadily for eighty, far above ideal marathon conditions.

The Canadians gathered with the Americans at the main Ashland hotel to prepare for the race and undergo the mandatory medical examinations required by the BAA. A doctor checked the heart and chest of each runner and pronounced him fit. The best of the Canadian runners were Jack Caffery and William Sherring. Each had won the annual race back home, a taxing nineteen-mile run around Hamilton Bay. They were accompanied by three others who had done well in the same race, Fred Hughson, Dennis Carroll and John N. Barnard.

The backers of the Canadian runners were confident if a little ill at ease among their well-to-do Boston hosts. Caffery, in particular, seemed ready for the race. He had gone over the course ahead of time and felt certain he could handle the challenge. Bet after bet was made on the outcome. The Americans, assuming they could not be caught unaware by newcomers who had never run a full marathon, put up their money freely.

Betting was common, unregulated and generally accepted in this free-wheeling sports era. Most of the money peeled off Yankee bankroll. this day was wagered on Lawrence Brignolia, an imposing runner from the Boston suburb of Cambridge. A blacksmith, Brignolia was the defending champion, having won the Boston Marathon of 1899 despite a fall, after which he spent three minutes perched on a curb regaining his senses. The heaviest Boston victor ever, he tipped the scales at one hundred and seventy pounds. What money the Americans were not betting on Brignolia they were placing on Dick Grant, a swift Harvard runner.

The start was set for noon and the BAA kept the runners waiting impatiently until the stroke of twelve. Horses shifted nervously in harness, sensing the excitement, and eager attendants on bicycles, assigned to each runner, jockeyed for starting positions of their own. The rain stopped a few minutes before the start and the clouds parted, a welcome occurrence for those riding in rigs but the hot sunshine a new worry for the racers. Nerves got the better of John Barnard and he dashed off before the signal, forcing the only recall in history of the Boston field.

The start was the ring of a gunshot that cracked the Ashland air. Again Barnard was off like a coiled fox, becoming for half a mile the first Canadian to lead the Boston Marathon. Bostonians were mildly surprised at the visitor's spunk. But what followed left them first jarred and then aghast.

Barnard was caught as expected but not by an American. Instead Caffery moved up on his shoulder and took over the pace while the rest of the Canadians settled in behind him. Scarcely a mile into the race not an American was left within striking distance. Brignolia and Grant wilted in the heat and quickly fell back. Dismayed American bettors surveyed the scene with panic. Oaths flew as they pulled alongside their charges and exhorted them to increase speed. For a time the sheer ferocity of the Canadian challenge gave the Americans hope. Surely the Canadians would be doomed by their recklessness and falter in the final miles.

It was not to be. Runners did fade that day, Canadians and Americans alike as the heat took its toll, but the question of a Canadian victory was never in doubt. So strong was the visitors' challenge that it was merely a question of which one would cross the line first.

Caffery led the field through the first ten miles in fifty-seven minutes, fast for the times, exceptional in the conditions, with none but his countrymen at his heels. The worth of the long training runs he had logged during the winter at Hamilton was evident. He ran with an odd but certain gait, the miles dropping effortlessly behind. Men like Webber Bessey, the manager of the Star Theatre in Hamilton, seen earlier flashing a large bundle of bills, looked on gleefully, bellowing encouragement. Bessey had made money before on these runners in Hamilton and now sensed he was in for the pay-off of his life.

An estimated twenty thousand spectators watched in clusters along the route as the Canadians made a shambles of the race. A stirring spectacle occurred at Wellesley College where a phalanx of young women lined the way and cheered the Canadians through. The leader wore a big visible shamrock on his shirt and no one had the faintest notion who he might be. Others followed, dressed in knee-length shorts and black running boots, sweat streaming from back and brow. Bicycles carriages and horses rumbled by in unison, disappearing as fast as they came.

Caffery, a member of the St. Patrick's Athletic Club in Hamilton was challenged near the halfway point by his old rival from races around Hamilton Bay, Billy Sherring, a runner from the Hamilton YMCA.

For a while it looked like Sherring would win. He pulled into a half-mile lead over Caffery at one point but the pace was one he could not hold. Caffery was better trained and had greater endurance. At sixteen miles Sherring faltered suddenly and fell to the road. Attendants rushed to his aid. Several minutes passed and Caffery appeared, pausing to offer help. Sherring got to his feet unsteadily and Caffery dashed away into the lead again. Sherring followed but the race was over. Crowds cheered as Caffery sped into Boston with not another runner in sight behind him. An ovation went up as he made the final turn and came in sight of the BAA Clubhouse on Exeter Street. So thick was the crowd he had difficulty getting through but his victory was one of seeming ease.

Once through the door of the clubhouse, an ornate structure featuring bowling alleys, tennis courts, boxing rooms, a barber shop, a restaurant and a wine and cigar department (4), Caffery took the elevator to the third floor. There he was asked a question that took him aback. Had he run through the finishing tape? Caffery had not even seen it. Waving him off, BAA of ficials refused to declare him the winner. Hurriedly, Caffery descended again to the street, making his way through noisy swarms to the official line. Only when he had returned and presented himself once more did the BAA accept him as the winner and stop the clock. It read two hours, 39 minutes, 44 2/5 seconds (2:39:44 2/5). Amazingly, it was a Boston record by more than two minutes. Caffery's trainers, Dick Robinson and Dan Donovan, protested that he had lost five minutes in the mix-up but the BAA was unyielding. His time was not adjusted.

Just over a minute later, at 2:41:00 2/5, a game Billy Sherring arrived in second place. Hughson followed in third at 2:49:08. It was a Canadian sweep, one never since equaled. The BAA and much of Boston was in a state of shock. The victors, realizing the dimensions of their win, whooped in triumph about the clubhouse. Caffery was awarded a large marble clock as first prize. Doctors declared his condition excellent and onlookers said he might have continued for miles. Sherring was disoriented but recovered after a bath. Hughson seemed as chipper as Caffery. The runners had little but praise for the BAA, the mix-up at the finish notwithstanding. Caffery rated the roads surprisingly good, the rain not having softened the footing as feared. All was not celebration, however.

Boston spectators were disappointed. A loss was one thing, a rout another. Brignolia dropped out a beaten man before the halfway mark and Grant hobbled home in eighth, his condition the worst of all who finished. For American bettors, smarting from their extensive losses, the pain was worse. The one-way flow of cash from their pockets to the Canadians' seemed a bitter pill to swallow along with their damaged pride. The settling of accounts is said to have produced "bad blood," (5) setting the stage for a cool reception when the Canadians returned the next year.

Wisely, the Canadians chose not to linger and let the bad feelings fester. Baths over, prizes and bets collected, they caught the train that night for Hamilton where the city was fairly bursting to welcome them.

The people of Hamilton had taken a lively interest in the race. The runners had gone off to Boston with considerable fanfare and telegraphed reports of the marathon as it developed were posted outside city newspaper offices, a custom of the day. Crowds gathered and scanned them eagerly. The success of the fall race around Hamilton Bay had raised hopes that the local runners would perform respectably in Boston but none in his wildest dreams foresaw such an outcome. When the dimensions of the sweep were confirmed the city went wild. Crowds spilled through the streets in a mood of chauvinistic nationalism. Shopkeepers closed their doors early and joined in the revelry. Flags were hoisted at City Hall and celebrants filled hotel bars to raise toasts in salute.

The gloating in the Hamilton Spectator the following day was unrestrained.

"Hamilton's runners won glory for themselves and brought honor to their native city by their grand performance in the marathon race, the greatest event of its kind on the continent, competed for as it was by the crack American amateur long distance runners," the newspaper wrote. "They swept everything before them and opened the eyes of the Americans who thought it was presumptuous of runners from Canada to imagine that they could carry off such a trophy. But the gallant runners from the northern zone showed they could bring as much glory to their country as the brave Canadians in the battlefield of South Africa. Even the most sanguine did not imagine that they would make such a sweep as they did, and leave nothing for the Americans to console themselves with.

"They captured all the honors in sight to the amazement of cultured Boston. Nothing was left to the Bostonians but the credit of being able to cook pork and beans to perfection, and the culture they prize so highly. The critics did not like the style and training of the Canadians but after this they will probably adopt it. The result of the race was a cruel disappointment to them.

"Hamilton is justly proud of Caffery, Sherring and Hughson. They had the pluck to go up against the cream of the American long distance runners and show them that the lads from Canada had speed, stamina and courage. They are not afraid to go to a foreign country and test their speed... and they deserve all the praise that can be bestowed upon them."

Caffery got little sleep during the train trip back to Hamilton, nor was he to rest on arrival. Well before the train pulled into the T.H. & B. Station (Toronto, Hamilton, Buffalo) on the cool clear night of April 20, 1900, crowds began to assemble. Women hustled small children through the streets to stake out vantage points early. Eager boys darted back and forth and boisterous men stood together in groups. A throng of five thousand jammed James Street by the time the train pulled in, bringing traffic to a virtual standstill.

"A mighty cheer went up and the fish horns, small and big, were tooted industriously," the Spectator reported. "The people stretched their necks to see the champion, but Jack is not of big proportions, and in the crush it was hard to get a look at him.

"The cheering kept up for some minutes. Caffery was escorted to a hack, in which were his faithful trainers, Dick Robinson and Dan Donovan; Mayor Teetzel and M. Cashman. The members of St. Patrick's athletic club were in hacks and a procession was formed. No band was on hand then but later the Sons of England band joined in. As the procession moved down James Street to the City Hall Roman candles were shot off and the people wildly cheered Caffery. There was an awful jam at the City Hall, the people having taken possession of the steps, and it was with difficulty that the principals in the affair got a place.

"Three cheers were given several times for the champions. Mayor Teetzel managed to make himself heard in spite of the noise. He said Jack Caffery had reason to be the proudest and most popular boy in the city. His grand victory would be the means of advertising Hamilton. The mayor said he wanted Jack to promise he would not run against him for mayor because the other fellow (meaning himself) would get left."

Caffery could think of little to say except thank-you, a shyness that would be evident again in future moments of triumph. The crowd roared its approval anyway. The band arrived and the parade reformed, heading for Caffery's home at the head of Wellington Street where he lived with his parents, and afterward on to the St. Patrick's club headquarters. More speeches followed, the revelry continuing late into the night. On display and much admired was Caffery's prize clock, valued at the princely sum of seventy-five dollars. (a) 

The occasion so inspired one admirer that he sat up late into the night, the sound of Irish songs still ringing in his ear, and penned a series of verses in tribute. They were published the following afternoon by the Hamilton Evening Times.

 

One man who would have enjoyed the occasion, no doubt matching Tommy Powers' generosity in setting them up for celebrants, was Webber Bessey. Bessey was conspicuous by his absence, not having returned from Boston with the others. Instead, flush with Yankee dollars after bawling himself hoarse along the marathon course, he took a side trip to New York. What pleasures he indulged in while visiting the great American metropolis are not known. A newspaper reporter spotted him a few days later as he stepped from the train on his return to Hamilton but wrote only that Bessey looked badly sunburned. 

Footnote

(a) A collection for a purse of gold was taken in the days following Caffery's return return from Boston, $300 being contributed in the opening day of subscriptions. A purse of about $700 was later presented to Caffery in a ceremony at the Hamilton Armory. 

Dedication
Author's Note
Introduction
Boston (1900)
Around the Bay
Jack Caffery (1901)
Tom Longboat (1907)
Fred Cameron (1910)
Ashland to Boston (1914)
Jimmy Duffy (1914)
Edouard Fabre (1915)