Mingled among all the sounds in the paddock – the clop-clop-clop of the horses, the crunch of sulky wheels along the gravel, the announcements for the next race – is the whistling.

Step carefully around the cigarette butts, muddy puddles, and occasional manure pile and follow the sound – one long blast, then four or five shorter blasts, then another long whistle and the shorter whistles.

Walk around the state steward’s office and room where the state veterinarian works, around the stall where the post numbers are stored. That’s where you’ll find Bruce Hastey. He whistles while he works.

Hastey doesn’t have the most glamorous job at the track, but he knows his responsibilities are important. According to his job description, which he carries on a piece of paper in his truck, Hastey works in support of the management, state steward, judges, the veterinarians and the veterinary technicians.

“And a person in my position has to have the respect of the horsemen,” he added. “They know I’m gonna do the job for the state and for them.”

Bruce Hastey collects urine.

The whistling is a key part of the job, helping to coax horses to provide test samples.

No, it’s not glamorous. But it’s just one of the dozens of jobs that have to be done to make Bangor Raceway go. A University of Maine study commissioned by the Maine Harness Racing Promotion Board and released last November found that the harness racing industry contributes almost $18 million to Maine workers and supports an estimated 1,671 full-time, part-time, and seasonal jobs.

From the grandstands to the paddock, the races wouldn’t be possible without the track maintenance workers, the judges, the grooms, the trainers, owners and drivers, the blacksmiths, the veterinarians and state stewards and security, the cashiers and the guy who pours your beer.

Everyone has a job to do.

Testing and treating

In actuality, Bruce Hastey doesn’t just collect urine, and that’s a simplification of his job.

He’s right that he has to have the respect of the horsemen – bad test results can mean a fine for trainers or owners. And Hastey is in charge of the samples. He also keeps track of supplies.

After every race, the winning horse and another horse drawn at random are led into one of two testing stalls which are just big enough for a horse and one or two people. Hastey lines the stalls with dry hay, which apparently encourages the horses to urinate. He also whistles.

“When a young horse or filly is born and they start getting a little age to them, you see them urinating in the stall, you whistle,” Hastey explained. “That kind of gets them used to it so that one means the other, and they’re related.”

Hastey works with veterinarian Neil Watson and state employees like Tom Thornton, who runs the machine that tests for high bicarbonate levels in the horse’s blood. They’re looking for high levels of baking soda, which offsets lactic acid in the horse’s muscles.

Watson and Thornton work in one of the track’s only air-conditioned rooms. Watson is a Corinna resident who was in private practice for almost 50 years in Dexter and New Brunswick.

Early in the evening, Watson – “Doc” to most folks – can be found in the special stalls along one side of the paddock. He administers Lasix, a drug which helps horses that have a tendency to bleed in their lungs. Lasix lowers the blood pressure and dries out the horses (there is a lot of urination in the Lasix stalls, too).

With a quick plunge of the syringe, Watson injects the clear liquid into either the horse’s jugular vein or neck muscle, or sometimes splits up the dosage in both places. It depends on what you’re looking for – the vein for faster results, the muscle for prolonged results.

“Where do you want it?” Watson asked a trainer one night.

“We tried the vein last time,” the trainer answered with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Let’s try the muscle this time.”

That winning feeling

There’s a steady bustle of activity all night in the paddock, but things seem to stand still near the end of a race. Owners line the rail to watch the horses and drivers come down the stretch, and even those who are busy washing a horse or getting a sulky hooked up might lift up on the balls of their feet to watch the finish.

Richard and Helen Belisle of Saco know they have a promising pacer in Dragon Fly Lady, a 3-year-old chestnut filly. When she crossed the finish line first in the fifth race on a recent Friday evening, the husband and wife cheered with a friend, got some pats on the back, and crossed the dirt track to go down to the winner’s circle.

Once there, track photographer Tom Smith took a picture of the happy couple, along with the horse and driver David Ingraham, as Smith does for all the winners.

“It’s an adrenaline [lift] that you just have to experience,” Helen Belisle said.

“When you raise them from a baby and then they do well out here, it’s like your kid,” said Richard Belisle. “There’s no greater thrill.”

Drivers feel the same way.

“It’s a wicked, wicked rush to know you’re going to win a race or be close,” said 20-year-old driver Jason Bartlett of Windsor, who graduated from Erskine Academy two years ago. “I played basketball in the Bangor Auditorium for the Eastern Maine championship. I think this is more of a rush than having thousands of people scream.”

That’s one of the reasons that owners don’t always bet. The thrill of the win – or just being in the money – is enough.

It’s enough for 60-year-old Bangor businessman Bill Varney, who bought a pacer named Western Comet five years ago but has been active with horses all his life. He drives occasionally and won his race July 21 at Scarborough Downs.

“I get more excited just watching the horse and seeing it win or having it do well,” Varney said. “It isn’t all about winning, either. I’ve gotten a lot of enjoyment out of taking young horses and developing them and seeing them progress.”

Horses are high maintenance

On a recent Tuesday morning, the quiet of Bangor Raceway was broken only by planes landing at Bangor International Airport. A groom jogged a horse around the half-mile dirt oval. A pot of macaroni bubbled behind Lil’s Lunch, the snack stand in the paddock.

Valerie Grondin walked two horses into her stable area after a brisk exercise session. Heath Campbell, her partner, followed with another horse.

Grondin and Campbell are employed by Varney, and the three were the top team at Bangor this year. Grondin is a trainer who does some driving, Campbell is a driver who does some training.

Horses are high-maintenance animals, and trainers, grooms, and drivers work from sunrise to sunset and later on race days and nights to take care of them.

The days often start at 6 or 7 a.m. and can go past midnight.

“Muck the stalls out in the morning, get the horses harnessed, bathe them, put them away, jog the horses, train a couple during the day, paddock them at night,” said Jonathan Swain, ticking off his responsibilities as a groom for driver John Davidson.

“It’s basically the general upkeep of the horse,” added the 23-year-old Saint John, New Brunswick, native. “It can be a long process some days.”

On race days the sulky (the one-man, two-wheel carriage the driver sits in behind the horse) has to be ready. Horses have to be warmed up. And there’s travel time to consider.

Once the horse is harnessed to the sulky, the driver takes over, helping to lead the horse to the track and climbing into the carriage.

No one seems to mind the work. Not if you love the horses, anyway.

“This is what I would do if I was working anyway, for a hobby,” Grondin said. “It’s my job plus my hobby. The harder you work the more money you make.”

Under the grandstand

Doris “Dolly” Sevison of Madison finished up a cup of coffee and an order of chicken wings with just a few minutes to spare. It’s about 6:50 p.m. on a Friday night, the calm time before Sevison’s job kicks in.

The grandstand employees see a whole other side of things. They get to know the fans and, aside from the drivers, may be the most visible representatives of the track.

Sevison, 74, has been a cashier all over the state for 21 years. She remembers the days when bettors wagered at one window and picked up winnings at another.

“The [old] way, we just cashed,” said Sevison, who was sitting with 21-year cashier Cathy Ellis of Parkman. “After everybody got their tickets cashed, we’d wait 15 minutes for another race while the men down below were selling for 15 minutes. It could be boring if you let it. I like this much better. It’s much more interesting.”

Tom Smith pulls double duty. He’s the track photographer and his company, MTM Smith Inc., prints the track programs. Announcers Wayne Harvey and Bill Ellis are familiar voices, if not faces.

For much of the day, Derek Damon is stuck in the beer garden, the only spot where beer is allowed. He stands behind the counter and mans the taps.

“If there’s a lot of people around, I’ll usually go out and watch a couple of the races,” said the 20-year-old Bangor resident. His mother, Cherie Damon, manages Paul’s Express Lounge, the concession stand.

“You have your usuals, but you have tourists who come in, too,” he said. “Generally you see a lot of the same faces around.”

Families work together

Donna Dickison has done lots of jobs at different tracks. This summer she watched over the gate into the Bangor Raceway paddock. You are NOT gonna get past Donna without a paddock pass.

“I’ve cooked, I’ve done numbers, I’ve paddocked a million times,” said Dickison, a Lewiston native and the wife of driver Don Dickison. “I’ve done this two years. When I go to the next track, there’s two guys with a kitchen and they hire me to work there.”

For the husbands and wives, sons and daughters who come to the track because Dad is a driver or Mom is a trainer, there’s always a job to do.

Roger Smith Sr. is a state harness racing steward. His son Roger Smith Jr. is a starting judge who rides in the starting-gate car. Craig Ryder, 15, helps groom the horses owned by his mom.

Olive Henderson and her husband Willard issue the small pads that have the post numbers on them before the races. After the race Olive washes the numbers in a bucket of soapy water and hangs them up to dry. Willard checks under the lips of each horse for a tattoo with the horse’s identification number to make sure the horse in the race is the one listed in the program.

The Dickisons’ daughter Darci, 20, works the finish-line video. Their son Daniel, 18, helps out with the simulcasting and video production. They all live in a trailer parked in a lot behind the grandstand, where most of the Canadian drivers and trainers live during the summer.

“They’re really good about trying to find something,” Donna said. “They look after you. If you’re good to the track, the track’s good to you.”

Fair moves in, horses move out

Late in the meet every year, workers arrive to install the Ferris wheel for the Bangor State Fair.

It’s a sure sign. The fair moves in, the horsemen move out.

That realization brings on some sadness for those in the paddock. They like Bangor Raceway, they say. The people are nice and familiar, the stables are well-kept, there’s always something to do in town.

Some horses will remain through the fall, but much of the industry moves up to Presque Isle or down to Windsor for the fair season (there’s no racing at Bass Park during the Bangor State Fair).

Jonathan Swain isn’t moving on this year with John Davidson. The driver isn’t taking as many horses on the road, which eliminates a groom position. The day Bangor closes, Swain drives his camper back to Saint John. Davidson will be back in New Brunswick this winter, but until then Swain has to find a job.

“Wherever I’m working, it don’t matter, or even what I’m making,” he said on a recent Saturday night as the colored lights of the Ferris wheel blinked behind him. “I’ll quit my job to work with the horses. I’d rather do that, even if I’m making less money. You’re better off working at something that you like.”