Marty Strauss | Storyteller

My Five Holes of Golf

"Golf." Tommy responded, excitement showing in his voice. "My dad got golf clubs. And so does my brother. But not me."

"Well," Sammy said. "Time we got ourselves some clubs and go play. The course is just down the road and Mike can caddie."

Mike is my younger brother. I was nine. Almost ten, a half year younger than Sammy. Mike was seven. Brad, my older brother worked with my dad, a greens keeper. Neither played seriously. Just when time allowed and the fish weren’t biting or the house didn’t need painting. But both had collected a set of clubs from cast offs members gave them.

We grew up in Columbus, Georgia, home of the Southern Open. To us the course was nothing special. Just where dad and Brad worked. None of our friend’s parents nor us were members of the club. Dues were too high. Sometimes Brad and dad got a round in early in the morning or evening after the last club member played through. But only when they had a break in work and the greens were all caught up. On days off they might drive over to the neighboring town and play the public course.

The next morning we assembled ourselves at the end of the block. I got some clubs I found out in the garage and brought it with me. Mike knew nothing of what we were up to. But was grateful to tag along with his older brother and friend.

"I got a driver. You have a putter and a nine iron." Sammy took inventory of our clubs collected from his and my family’s garage. "Here’s a five and seven iron. And three balls."

"We don’t have no bag." Mike complained. "How am I supposed to carry all that stuff with no bag?"

"You don’t need a bag for this little of stuff. We can help by carrying one club each and stuff the balls into our pockets. That leaves you three clubs to carry and one ball. Can you handle three clubs over your shoulder?" Sammy asked.

"I guess." Mike looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, stirring the dry dust in the road. "But a caddy suppose to have a bag and a score sheet. We don’t have a score sheet either. What am I suppose to do as a caddy with no bag or score sheet?"

"You tell us what club to use when. How to hit the ball and watch where it lands so we can find it easy." Sammy told Mike.

"See, you got plenty to do." I told Mike.

Mike smiled and joined in with us to walk the mile to the club. The fall morning air was cool. It made the walk easy. A week before the temperature was in the 80’s and humidity was nearly 100 percent. Today promised clear skies and only 60 percent chance of thundershowers. A few clouds threaten off in the distance. We counted on them to keep the other players away so we could get our turn.

We got to the course just after seven in them morning. We were early but still there were others already on the T and getting ready to play. All of us were nervous being there with adults and not really knowing what to do.

"Now stand here and be quiet while these others T off and clear out. Then we take our turn." Sammy instructed both of us.

We sat under the Maple tree nearly thirty minutes waiting for the adults to clear out. When the last group was out of sight we threw down our balls and looked out across the fairway for anyone that might be in the way. Sammy took the driver from Mike and gave him the putter to hold onto. He pulled the ball out of his right pants pocket and threw it down on the ground. It rolled a few feet in the short grass. We didn’t have no T’s, so he straddled up to where the ball lay and took aim with his club. A mound of grass flew up in front and landed about two feet away. The ball flew out about ten feet, bounced and rolled maybe another fifteen feet at most. Not nearly as impressive as those before us.

"Your turn." Sammy looked at me as he walked back under the shade of the Maple tree.

I followed Sammy’s example and threw my ball down on the ground. Swung back the driver I took from him and let fly. My ball maybe went twenty feet in the air before going off to the right and hit a nearby tree trunk, where it bounced back onto the fairway and lay just a little beyond his ball.

We walked out to our balls and hit them further down the fairway. It took nearly twenty hits each to reach the first green. We saw a group of about eight or ten people in back of us waiting where we started.

"What they waiting for?" Mike asked, pointing back to the Maple tree.

"For us to finish this hole." Sammy told him.

"Sure glad we didn’t have to wait that long." Mike told him. "These clubs is heavy and I need to set them down a while."

"You do that while Tommy and me putt our balls into the hole."

I took the putter and aimed the ball toward the hole. It cut right and rolled off the green. My next hit sent it back onto the green past the hole onto the other side of the green.

"You’re hitting it too hard. Here, let me show you." Sammy grabbed the putter from me and walked over to his ball.

Sammy stood in the middle of the green slightly to the left of the hole. He carefully struck the ball. It skipped in the air and bounced off to the right into the sand trap off the green.

"Now what," I asked?

"I got to get it out of the trap and into the hole." Sammy stomped over to the ball.

"This is going to be hard seeing as we got no club to do this with. Mind if I just throw it out of the trap? I see my father do that more than once."

"Go ahead. I think it best we get off before those people get angry and ask us to move out of the way." I pointed to the growing crowd under the Maple tree.

A while later both of us got our balls into the hole. We picked them up and moved off the green. As we retreated down the fairway to the second hole we watched the first golfer drive their ball toward us. It dropped just off the green and rolled toward the cup.

"Wish I could do that." I said, watching the second player line up his ball and swing back the club. It arched way up in the air and came down toward me, landing within twenty feet of me.

"They been practicing." Sammy said.

"How many times we hit the ball before getting it in the hold?" Sammy asked Mike.

"I don’t know, can’t count that high," Mike laughed.

"Well how high can you count?" Sammy asked.

"Ten, sometimes twelve if I try real hard." Mike told him. "And I knows you hit the ball more than that."

"Okay then, here are the rules. We hit the ball ten times and that is all." Sammy told us both. "After that we move onto the next hole."

Even with the limit on the times we hit the ball we stepped aside at the third hole to let three groups of four play ahead of us. Most of the adults smiled at us, giving some hints on how to hold the club. A few grumbled asking about our parents. We pointed toward our home, that way not really lying by making them think they were a hole ahead of us.

It was mid morning when we reached the fifth hole. Sammy was ahead, but none of us knew by how much. Mike lost count about the second hole, saying he couldn’t add that many numbers together. Even with pencil and paper. We just mutually decided he knew more about the game than Mike, or me so he must be ahead.

"Who’s that coming toward us," I pointed at a cart by passing others on the course.

"Don’t know." Sammy answered.

"He sure in a hurry for something. Maybe we should wait and let him pass us before we play another hole." I suggested.

"He’s not stopping at any of the holes, as I see. Just coming down the path on that cart." Sammy observed.

A minute later the man on the cart pulled up along side of us. I recognized him. It was Mr. Stewart, the Club House Manager, my dad’s boss. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as he climbed out of the cart and walked over toward us.

"Tommy, Mike, morning to you." Mr. Stewart addressed us.

"Good morning." We all said.

"I don’t remember seeing Brad or your father come in this morning. Day off, I believe." He put his hand under his chin to pretend to think.

"Guess so," I said, looking down at the ground wondering where this was going, but sort of knowing the end already.

"So, how you boys get down here from home?" He asked.

"Walked." Sammy told him.

"Long ways to walk. Either of you boys tell your parents where you was off to this morning?" He asked us all.

"No sir." I answered.

"Didn’t think so. Well, here’s the problem. I got several impatient players waiting behind you to play today. And you been at it here for near three hours as far I can determine, and only on the fifth hole. That leaves another thirteen holes. I don’t think you going to finish by lunch, let alone dark. And these others can’t wait that long." He explained to us.

"We just let them play on ahead then." Sammy answered.

"Won’t do." Mr. Stewart told him. "See, I don’t see where you paid any fees to play on this course. And we got to have those fees to pay your dad and brother." He looked at Mike and me.

"Well then, we just pay the fees." Sammy answered.

"That’s a nice offer. But I don’t suppose you three got ten dollars do you?" He asked.

That was that. Our game ended on account of not having ten dollars. We picked up our clubs and walked off through the woods between the sixth and fifth hole. Cut across the ninth and took a break by the pond there. We fetched some balls out of the pond to sell back to the clubhouse. Then made our way back home along the riverbank.

I never did play golf again. Sammy played through college and Mike he still has the putter from that day, he never played either. Sometimes I try to figure out our score by playing that game in my memory. All I keep coming up with is both of us broke a hundred at ten hits each and five holes.



					My Five Holes of Golf "Golf." Tommy responded, excitement showing in his voice. "My dad got golf clubs. And so does my brother. But not me." "Well," Sammy said. "Time we got ourselves some clubs and go play. The course is just down the road and Mike can caddie." Mike is my younger brother. I was nine. Almost ten, a half year younger than Sammy. Mike was seven. Brad, my older brother worked with my dad, a greens keeper. Neither played seriously. Just when time allowed and the fish weren’t biting or the house didn’t need painting. But both had collected a set of clubs from cast offs members gave them. We grew up in Columbus, Georgia, home of the Southern Open. To us the course was nothing special. Just where dad and Brad worked. None of our friend’s parents nor us were members of the club. Dues were too high. Sometimes Brad and dad got a round in early in the morning or evening after the last club member played through. But only when they had a break in work and the greens were all caught up. On days off they might drive over to the neighboring town and play the public course. The next morning we assembled ourselves at the end of the block. I got some clubs I found out in the garage and brought it with me. Mike knew nothing of what we were up to. But was grateful to tag along with his older brother and friend. "I got a driver. You have a putter and a nine iron." Sammy took inventory of our clubs collected from his and my family’s garage. "Here’s a five and seven iron. And three balls." "We don’t have no bag." Mike complained. "How am I supposed to carry all that stuff with no bag?" "You don’t need a bag for this little of stuff. We can help by carrying one club each and stuff the balls into our pockets. That leaves you three clubs to carry and one ball. Can you handle three clubs over your shoulder?" Sammy asked. "I guess." Mike looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, stirring the dry dust in the road. "But a caddy suppose to have a bag and a score sheet. We don’t have a score sheet either. What am I suppose to do as a caddy with no bag or score sheet?" "You tell us what club to use when. How to hit the ball and watch where it lands so we can find it easy." Sammy told Mike. "See, you got plenty to do." I told Mike. Mike smiled and joined in with us to walk the mile to the club. The fall morning air was cool. It made the walk easy. A week before the temperature was in the 80’s and humidity was nearly 100 percent. Today promised clear skies and only 60 percent chance of thundershowers. A few clouds threaten off in the distance. We counted on them to keep the other players away so we could get our turn. We got to the course just after seven in them morning. We were early but still there were others already on the T and getting ready to play. All of us were nervous being there with adults and not really knowing what to do. "Now stand here and be quiet while these others T off and clear out. Then we take our turn." Sammy instructed both of us. We sat under the Maple tree nearly thirty minutes waiting for the adults to clear out. When the last group was out of sight we threw down our balls and looked out across the fairway for anyone that might be in the way. Sammy took the driver from Mike and gave him the putter to hold onto. He pulled the ball out of his right pants pocket and threw it down on the ground. It rolled a few feet in the short grass. We didn’t have no T’s, so he straddled up to where the ball lay and took aim with his club. A mound of grass flew up in front and landed about two feet away. The ball flew out about ten feet, bounced and rolled maybe another fifteen feet at most. Not nearly as impressive as those before us. "Your turn." Sammy looked at me as he walked back under the shade of the Maple tree. I followed Sammy’s example and threw my ball down on the ground. Swung back the driver I took from him and let fly. My ball maybe went twenty feet in the air before going off to the right and hit a nearby tree trunk, where it bounced back onto the fairway and lay just a little beyond his ball. We walked out to our balls and hit them further down the fairway. It took nearly twenty hits each to reach the first green. We saw a group of about eight or ten people in back of us waiting where we started. "What they waiting for?" Mike asked, pointing back to the Maple tree. "For us to finish this hole." Sammy told him. "Sure glad we didn’t have to wait that long." Mike told him. "These clubs is heavy and I need to set them down a while." "You do that while Tommy and me putt our balls into the hole." I took the putter and aimed the ball toward the hole. It cut right and rolled off the green. My next hit sent it back onto the green past the hole onto the other side of the green. "You’re hitting it too hard. Here, let me show you." Sammy grabbed the putter from me and walked over to his ball. Sammy stood in the middle of the green slightly to the left of the hole. He carefully struck the ball. It skipped in the air and bounced off to the right into the sand trap off the green. "Now what," I asked? "I got to get it out of the trap and into the hole." Sammy stomped over to the ball. "This is going to be hard seeing as we got no club to do this with. Mind if I just throw it out of the trap? I see my father do that more than once." "Go ahead. I think it best we get off before those people get angry and ask us to move out of the way." I pointed to the growing crowd under the Maple tree. A while later both of us got our balls into the hole. We picked them up and moved off the green. As we retreated down the fairway to the second hole we watched the first golfer drive their ball toward us. It dropped just off the green and rolled toward the cup. "Wish I could do that." I said, watching the second player line up his ball and swing back the club. It arched way up in the air and came down toward me, landing within twenty feet of me. "They been practicing." Sammy said. "How many times we hit the ball before getting it in the hold?" Sammy asked Mike. "I don’t know, can’t count that high," Mike laughed. "Well how high can you count?" Sammy asked. "Ten, sometimes twelve if I try real hard." Mike told him. "And I knows you hit the ball more than that." "Okay then, here are the rules. We hit the ball ten times and that is all." Sammy told us both. "After that we move onto the next hole." Even with the limit on the times we hit the ball we stepped aside at the third hole to let three groups of four play ahead of us. Most of the adults smiled at us, giving some hints on how to hold the club. A few grumbled asking about our parents. We pointed toward our home, that way not really lying by making them think they were a hole ahead of us. It was mid morning when we reached the fifth hole. Sammy was ahead, but none of us knew by how much. Mike lost count about the second hole, saying he couldn’t add that many numbers together. Even with pencil and paper. We just mutually decided he knew more about the game than Mike, or me so he must be ahead. "Who’s that coming toward us," I pointed at a cart by passing others on the course. "Don’t know." Sammy answered. "He sure in a hurry for something. Maybe we should wait and let him pass us before we play another hole." I suggested. "He’s not stopping at any of the holes, as I see. Just coming down the path on that cart." Sammy observed. A minute later the man on the cart pulled up along side of us. I recognized him. It was Mr. Stewart, the Club House Manager, my dad’s boss. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as he climbed out of the cart and walked over toward us. "Tommy, Mike, morning to you." Mr. Stewart addressed us. "Good morning." We all said. "I don’t remember seeing Brad or your father come in this morning. Day off, I believe." He put his hand under his chin to pretend to think. "Guess so," I said, looking down at the ground wondering where this was going, but sort of knowing the end already. "So, how you boys get down here from home?" He asked. "Walked." Sammy told him. "Long ways to walk. Either of you boys tell your parents where you was off to this morning?" He asked us all. "No sir." I answered. "Didn’t think so. Well, here’s the problem. I got several impatient players waiting behind you to play today. And you been at it here for near three hours as far I can determine, and only on the fifth hole. That leaves another thirteen holes. I don’t think you going to finish by lunch, let alone dark. And these others can’t wait that long." He explained to us. "We just let them play on ahead then." Sammy answered. "Won’t do." Mr. Stewart told him. "See, I don’t see where you paid any fees to play on this course. And we got to have those fees to pay your dad and brother." He looked at Mike and me. "Well then, we just pay the fees." Sammy answered. "That’s a nice offer. But I don’t suppose you three got ten dollars do you?" He asked. That was that. Our game ended on account of not having ten dollars. We picked up our clubs and walked off through the woods between the sixth and fifth hole. Cut across the ninth and took a break by the pond there. We fetched some balls out of the pond to sell back to the clubhouse. Then made our way back home along the riverbank. I never did play golf again. Sammy played through college and Mike he still has the putter from that day, he never played either. Sometimes I try to figure out our score by playing that game in my memory. All I keep coming up with is both of us broke a hundred at ten hits each and five holes.