This tale from Bi Shively has been published multiple times.
This one from the June 9, 1943 Harness Horse:
A Track Experts Advice
By L. G. Duffy
"The unfavorable track conditions this spring, a veritable chronic headache to the trainers, causing many to even chatter to themselves, could have been helped very materially had old style methods been used at numerous +racks," according to the nomad of the profession, Bion Shively. After relieving himself of the above statement, the wirey individual who has pitched his tent in practically every state and locality from Maine to the Philippines, not neglecting portions of Canada and Mexico, eased his manly form into a chair in the office at North Randall last Friday. Naturally all was 'attention at this possibility of learning something of moment from the droll, soft spoken, Shively, and he kept the open-mouthed throng in suspense while he dug into one pocket to take out his fancy cigar-holder, then into another to dig out one of his imitation cigars, unquestionably not made out of tobacco judging from the odor emitted as it sputtered and burned. "Years ago," he said, "when I was a much younger lad, before in fact, (I and General Funston run Aguinaldo out of his breech-cloth and finally corralled him, thus ending the Spanish-American War), I shipped my stable (one pacer) to Kennet, Mo., to race. A veritable deluge followed my arrival, and the next morning I made a wide detour, finally getting to a spot near the track and edged my way toward a group of veteran trainers, old timers of recognized ability whom I knew only by sight, and vainly fried to emulate ever since, two of them, Rupert Parker and Roy Owen, having helped me to improve. They were discussing what to do with the water which was up to the hub-board, when some tall, lanky individual with two six-shooters strapped around his midriff, drawled, 'We'll blarst it away with dynamite.' At this remark, easy-going Parker looked at the tall, lanky Southerner with evident pity, but Owen opened his face, then I moved out of range, however a sight of the well-worn handles on the man's guns probably caused a temporary paralysis of Roy's vocal chords, consequently no one disputed the sanity of the method advanced for the removal of the water, at least while I was within, ear-shot.
Soon afterward while I was mucking out the stall of my stem-winder. I heard several violent explosions, so instinctively ducked into a dark corner, assuming the ostrich-pose, at the same time hoping that neither of the fine old gentlemen. Parker or Owen, had peeved the gun-toter after my leaving that part of the scenery, and thereby caused him to unlimber on them. Later, in fear and trembling I peeked out of a crack in the stable and spotted old Rip seemingly able to move under his own power, then shortly afterwards I got more relief when I saw Owen busily engaged massaging a bum pin on one of his horses, so breathed a little freer and ventured into the open. Later a call went up, '2:30 pacers will start in half an hour,' and I said to myself, I'm sure glad that is not my mare's race as she never was much of a swimmer, and as for myself, I hate to see Saturday nights roll around, so you can appreciate how much I like water. I then approached the track and to my amazement, found it in splendid racing condition and was marveling to myself about same when along swaggered the two-gun man. Too late to duck him, I bravely held my ground (because my feet refused to respond to my desires), and as he reached a point by me, I timorously said, Mister, what became of that river coursing this race track, this morning? and, pointing to the centerfield he gruffly replied, 'In thar. As I said this mornin' we'd blarst and git rid of it, so I jist used a few sticks of dynamite, blowed a hole in the infield and drained the water into it.'
We have progressed amazingly in many ways since that time of which I speak, but blasting to get the water off of a race-track is still the quickest way to relieve the situation, and when Rupe Parker comes up from Lexington, Ky., he will verify my statements, and I'll bet on his remembering what happened at Kennet, Mo., as the smart scientists claim and I do not question them. that octogenarians can vividly recall occurrences of fifty years ,ago, though frequently forgetting incidents of fifty days ago.