By Davy Crockett

After ten years of competing in ultra-distance races, Old Sport, Peter Napoleon Campana (1836-1906), age 52, had never gone west of the Mississippi River. That was all about to change in 1889. Frank W. Hall (1860-1923), of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, had managed some very successful six-day races. He decided to take the sport out to California. It had been about four years since the west coast had hosted a race. Hall hired Campana to be in the race and paid for this train ticket to California. He left on February 6, 1889, riding the Cincinnati Express. He arrived a week later with fellow runners Frank Hart (1856-1908) and George Cartwright (1848-1928). They created a stir among west coast sportsmen who wanted to get a glimpse of the famous runners.

 

New book! Old Sport Campana: Ultrarunning’s Most Popular and Amusing 19th Century Runner. As I researched for these podcast episodes, I realized that I had enough content for an entire amusing and interesting book. This episode previews chapter eight of the book. To read the entire story of Old Sport, get my new book on Amazon.

Mechanic's Pavillion

The workmen made finishing touches to the stands and booths at San Francisco’s Mechanics Pavilion the day before the race. Sixty scorers would be needed to keep the tallies of the men, thirty on the sheets and thirty on the dials. The runners took some practice runs on the track.

How would California react to Campana’s unusual behavior? Years earlier, they had nearly run Steve Brodie (1861-1901), the young newsboy pedestrian from New York City, out of town because of his poor behavior during a race that shocked women. The San Francisco Chronicle introduced Campana to its readers. “Old Sport Campana is as original a character as one could wish to meet with.”  He was quoted, “I don’t want sleep, but I must have music, and I can cover more distance when the band is playing ‘The Old Armchair’ than at any time. That’s my favorite tune, and Lord, it just makes me hustle around the track when I hear it. One time in New York, my shoestring got inside and was hurting me. I took the shoe off to fix it when the band started the tune, and up I went and traveled ten miles with one shoe on and the other off.”

The Old Armchair British folksong is about a man who inherited only an old chair from his grandmother and was mocked by his siblings, who got some cash. And how they titter'd! how they chaff'd! How my brother and sister laugh'd. But later, after the chair broke, he discovered it included more than £2,000. When my brother heard of this, the fellow I confess, went nearly mad with rage, and tore his hair. But I only laugh'd at him, then said unto him, Jem, don't you wish you had the old armchair?

The San Francisco Examiner added, “He is 61 years old (actually 52). Because of his many peculiarities, he has become the best-known man in his business. He never trains for a race, never eats meat and never sleeps while in a race, but remains on the track through the entire six days and nights. His sharp features and closely cropped beard give him a peculiar appearance.”

The Start

On Thursday, February 21, 1889, five hours before the start, hundreds of people waited outside the Pavilion, wanting to get in. “So great was the jam of a great crowd gathered at the entrance that the managers decided to throw open the doors two hours ahead of the advertised time. Then there was a frantic rush for the seats of vantage.”

At 9:50 p.m., Hall appeared on the track, leading a long string of runners coming from their tents. “Nearly all wore colored shirts and caps and had their numbers either on their chests or backs.” The Hall Belt race began at 9:58 p.m. About 13,000 people were on hand for the start of the 31 runners.

There was another running clown in the race, a man who went by “Oofty Goofty.” His real name was Leonard “Leon” Borchardt (1862-). In 1884,