Chapter 47

The reporter started with, “How do you feel with having a score the same as Dick Mayer who won the open played on this course last year, and beating Cary Middlecoff’s score?”

This was all news to me.

“I feel good about having a nice round of golf on this excellent course. The club and the Ohio State High School Athletic Association should be complimented on putting on such a fine tournament.”

This local reporter was an amateur compared with the Hollywood sharks that interviewed John Wayne and Elvis Presley.

“Do you care to comment on how much better you did here today than Jack Nicklaus did last year? The young sensation from Columbus didn’t even make the cut with an eighty.”

“No I don’t care to comment, no course is the same from day to day, much less year to year.”

“Well, Rick what will you do tomorrow?”

“Is that a trick question? I will play golf tomorrow.”

The reporter grimaced and I was sure he would have liked to smack me.”

Coach had to cover his mouth with his hand.

I never saw what that reporter wrote, but my guess is that he wasn’t a fan.

Coach told me I had handled the interview well until that last question. I might want to tone it down.

It was now four-thirty in the afternoon and I had nothing to eat since early morning. The hot dog stand had closed so it looked like I was stuck till dinner which wouldn’t be till six o’clock. I was rescued by Judy King. She happened to be near the press tent when I came out.

I asked her if there was any place I could get something to eat. She went into the clubhouse and ordered a cheeseburger and fries to go, along with a Coke. She came out and sat with me at a picnic table while we waited for it to be ready. Judy played golf though her school didn’t have a girl’s golf team.

She wanted to know about my round today, shot by shot. Rather than bore her to death with that, I gave the high lights and what I thought of each hole. Actually, that helped, it was like lessons learned from the day. She really liked my story about Arnold Palmer and the shadows on the golf green.

I actually pulled my notebook and started taking notes on the course. Judy asked me if I referred to it at each hole. I laughed and told her.

“Actually I never look at it; it just helps my memory if I write it down. What you just helped me discover was that it also helps if I talk about the round and what went right and wrong.”

“What went wrong today?” Rick.

“The sand trap on fifteen caught me, or I caught it.”

“What have you learned?”

“Not to play on a course that has sand traps,” I said with a straight face.

“But, but oh you rat.”

I was saved by the waitress bringing out my sandwich. Judy had signed for it, but I gave a fifty-cent tip. I know a big spender, but I wanted to show off a little.

“Will you be able to eat dinner after eating this?”

“Sure that is not for at least an hour from now.”

“If I ate like that I would be like the Goodyear Blimp.”

“Well, obviously you don’t, because you look very good to me.”

“Oh, you say the nicest things.”

“Yes, he does,” said a voice over my shoulder, “I’m sorry to break this up but we have to get back to the zoo.”

It was Coach.

On the way back to camp Coach did remark, “She is an attractive young lady, it’s a shame she lives so far away.”

“Yes, it is,” I replied.

As a team, we sat down and talked about our experiences for the day. Coach made his own notes. I had my notebook out and made some entries based on what I heard. The other guys had their books out, but nothing was being written.

I made eye contact once with Coach after we had both written down that the green on the fifth hole had seemed slower to all of us. The other guys just sat there chatting whenever Coach wasn’t involving them in the recap.

Coach just gave a sad little smile and said quietly, “You can lead a horse to water.”

Our dining hall had spaghetti for dinner. The National Guard guys congratulated me on my day’s score. After dinner I walked up near the clubhouse, unfortunately, there was no one to talk to, in other words, Judy wasn’t there.

I retired to our tent for the evening and started reading. It was about a man who was an ivory transporter down the Congo River. It was one of the more futile stories that I had ever read.

The Europeans were as brutal as the natives in central Africa. The whole story was a sad commentary on mankind. My sleep was restless that night, I’m certain it was the story.