Will we of the old school ever forget the memorable match race between Lon Myers and the great Englishman, W. G. George? Who of us who reported the race, will ever forget the great ‘600’ between John B. Taylor, the famous Negro athlete of the University of Pennsylvania (and forerunner of the corps of Negro athletes who now dominate middle distance running in this country), and Harry Hillman, later coach of Dartmouth College. The stirring finishes of Mel Sheppard, Abel Kiviat, George Bonhag, Harvey Cohn, John Paul Jones, Ted Meredith, Arthur Duffy, John Drew, John Daly, Paul Pilgrim, Howard Valentine and John Joyce still set an oldtimer’s heart to pulsing faster. And the discus throwing of Martin Sheridan and Bob Edgren; the hammer throwing of Pat McDonald, Bill Coe, Ralph Rose, Bob Edgren, and Matt McGrath—And so many, yes, hundreds of other limber-legged, winged-footed, mighty sons of track and field who made the old Garden famous! For forty-four years the old Garden catered to all classes and all types, millionaire and stevedore, banker and clerk. But time in its march has covered many leagues. New York outgrew the old Garden and then a bigger, more modern, up-to-date structure took its place as a monument to Tex Rickard, who, in the last days of the old building, made the lovely statue of Lady Diana atop the Stanford White Tower proud of her surroundings. Before Tex Rickard took the helm, the old Garden was a haven for the crooks. Pickpockets flourished there, and the safety of the patrons at a bicycle race or a fight was entirely a matter of luck. Rickard changed all that by ousting the objectionable characters and making the Garden what it is today—an arena where men, women, and children may go without fear of being molested. I recall a six-day bicycle race in 1909. It was bitter cold and the rowdies, gangsters, and hoodlums of New York flocked to the arena to keep warm. They could then obtain a gallery seat for fifty cents and remain from the time the show opened until it closed—if they could last that long. Complaints were pouring into Police Headquarters as pickpockets plied their trade with impunity. Several overcoats were stolen, and certain patrons of the arena were waylaid and robbed in the basement. I was assigned to Police Headquarters for the evening and learned that Martin Sheridan, the best all-round athlete the police force ever had, would conduct a raiding party on the nimble-fingered gentry at the Garden starting at eleven o’clock. Sheridan was at the head of a Broadway pickpocket squad at the time, and he was to take with him six of the best detectives on the force.