171: Old Sport Campana (1836-1906) – Part Four

By Davy Crockett By 1884, “Old Sport” Peter Napoleon Campana (1836-1906), had gained national fame. He was being called "the clown of the walking matches." While he was never competitive enough to win a six-day race, event managers knew that he was a huge draw to bring spectators into a race. They paid him a salary to be in their races. At age 52, some called him "The living skeleton." Campana acted the part of a decrepit old man and said, “I am 62 years old and I haven’t got a tooth in my head and only a few hairs on it, but I’m here for sport, and don’t you forget it.” 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 six of the book. To read the entire story of Old Sport, get my new book on Amazon. Another Retirement After May 1884, the number of six-day races declined. Those held until 1886 were more of a minor nature, and no races were held in Campana’s favorite venue, Madison Square Garden. It was written, “Walking matches no longer fire the public heart to the violence of a volcano”. The lull was mostly caused by a long financial recession until mid-1885, which contributed to tightening money. Campana did not compete in another six-day race for nearly three years. He tried to enter the first major six-day roller skating race held in March 1885, in Madison Square Garden. “One of the familiar sights was the appearance of Old Sport Campana, the ancient rival of O’Leary, still wearing the peaked cap, red shirt and bandanna neckerchief, that made him the object of curiosity in days gone by.” He believed he could win the race, but the managers refused to let him enter, knowing about his clowning reputation. Campana’s Fame Campana was now recognized nearly everywhere he went. One day, he showed up in Boston. “A number of people followed the ‘old hero’ about town with no particular object in view, other than to see him. Finally, he went into one of the drug stores and purchased sixteen ounces of the tincture of Jamaica ginger, which he drank at once, on a bet. Everyone expected to see him drop dead, but ‘Sport’ is not one of the dying kind. It took considerable water and a good deal of profanity to cool his mouth off.” Later in the month, Campana was in New York City, examining a bunch of bananas in the warehouse of a Greenwich dealer. Going by, was a well-dressed man, with three friends who went into Smith & McNell’s hotel. Campana yelled out, “There goes John L. Sullivan and Patsy Sheppard (boxers).” That started a mob of nearly 500 men going to the windows of the hotel trying to get a glimpse of the famous athletes. Campana Seriously Injured At his hometown of Bridgeport, Connecticut, one day in June 1885, Campana was at a baseball game, cheering for Princeton instead of Bridgeport. He went too far, became abusive, and refused to leave. “The old man doesn’t like the Bridgeport team worth a cent, and he kept on with his voice regardless of consequences. His brother, Policeman Alex Campana, was asked to quiet Sport and he did so, after a short parley with him, by whacking him three times on the head with his club. The pedestrian then walked off like a little lamb, bleeding. Some of the bystanders expressed indignation that the special officer clubbed his brother, but the majority thought that he got what he deserved.” He ended up in the hospital for weeks, sick, in critical condition, and without money or friends. In August 1885, after six weeks, he was discharged, became a ward of the city, and was expected to die at any moment. A month later, he had recovered and seemed to be like his old self. Campana the Peddler Campana succeeded in peddling a new product. He said, “There’s no place like the New Milford fair. I went up there without a cent.