Chapter 7: A Whole New Ballgame

We walked into the office of Valley Investments precisely at ten on Monday morning, noticing that Norman Fears' secretary was still out on an errand. He appeared almost immediately.

"Good morning, Mr. Monahan. I'm pleased to see you are on time. I assume you have a proposal to put forward this morning?" he said, completely ignoring Catherine.

"Yes, as promised, I have a proposal," I confirmed as we sat in front of his desk.

I handed him a binder with several pages in it and he quickly opened it, flicking through pages, obviously looking for the number I was offering. When he found it his face darkened and I could see anger forming.

"This is unacceptable, Mr. Monahan. You've wasted my time and I'm not pleased," he bluffed.

"Well, if you review the material, you'll see my rationale for that offer, Mr. Fears. First of all, its only value is as either a golf course or farm land. You will find an independent appraisal of the property as potential farm land and it indicates a maximum price of forty-five-hundred per acre. That would equate to a little less than four hundred thousand for the eighty-eight acres. That is the maximum value and I'm prepared to offer that to you here and now."

"It's worth more than that as a golf club," he spat, now quite agitated.

"Perhaps, but not in the condition that Bending Willows is in right now. It's going to take several million dollars to put it into the shape it needs to be in to make it viable. My offer is unconditional and is in cash. You won't be taking any paper in exchange."

He looked up at that, clearly not having read the proposal in any detail yet. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin, probably trying to think of a way to save face. I didn't need to rub it in any more. It was his decision to make.

"I'd like some time to study this offer and discuss it with my partners. I have to tell you that it's very disappointing but I will at least do you the courtesy of looking it over carefully. I should be able to get back to you today," he said, with a crestfallen look. His little dreams had been shattered and he knew it.

"Fine. I can give you that. I have all my other components in place so a yes or a no from you will complete our discussions."

He stood, but again didn't offer his hand.

"Thank you for your patience, Mr. Fears. I'll look forward to hearing from you."

With that, we left the office.

"Did that go the way you expected?" Catherine asked.

"Not quite, but close enough. His mythical partners are probably one Mr. John Fortrand who will no doubt encourage him to accept my offer. Unbeknownst to Norman, I have sent Mr. Fortrand a copy of the real estate appraisal so he knows what we believe the disposal price is. That should speed up the process."

"You've thought of everything haven't you," she said seriously.

"I hope so," I sighed. "This has become important to me. Every day I'm thinking about what kind of golf course I want and how I will market it to the people of the Portland area. I've been making notes about buildings and contractors and golf course architects. I will have to make all kinds of decisions, even down to how we will mow the grass and tend the greens. I've got a whole lot more questions than I have answers."

"Well, for what it's worth, I hope he sells to you. I can see how much this means to you."

"That's worth a lot to me, Catherine. I want you to be as happy and as confident of the future of Bending Willows as I am."

"Do you think there is a place for Scotty in this plan?" she asked.

"There very well could be. Why don't we go out there and talk to him. Let's see how he feels about it."

Catherine agreed and we drove over to the old course, arriving just before eleven. There were only three cars in the parking lot when we arrived.

"Doesn't look like there'd be much of a wait to tee off," I joked.

Catherine just shook her head. She didn't see anything humorous in the situation at all. I think she was more concerned with her friend. I would keep that in mind when we talked.

When we found him, Scotty was dusting the pro shop inventory, such as it was. A few dozen golf balls, a handful of gloves, some used clubs and a couple of pairs of odd-sized shoes. Other than that the shelves were barren.

"Hi, Scotty," Catherine said as we entered the shop.

"Hello, Catherine. How are ye today, Lass?" he said in his thick brogue. "I see ye still have the Irish lad in tow."

"I'm fine, Scotty. I don't know if you heard but I won the Open yesterday," she said proudly.

"Aye, Lass, I heard. Congratulations. I suppose that means ye will be back on the tour soon." He didn't say it as if he was happy about that possibility.

"I don't think so," she said. "I have a new job ... executive assistant to the president of Bending Willows Golf Club. So I won't be able to just drop my duties and take off on tour."

The look on Scotty's face was priceless. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, especially not from Catherine.

"Is it true, Lad?" he asked, turning to me.

"It will be in a few hours. That's why we're here. We'd like to talk to you about the future of the course and where you might fit in with our new company. Can you spare some time for us?"

"Look about ye, Lad. Does it look like I'm buried in tasks?"

I nodded with a smile. For the next hour, I detailed some of my thinking and some of the questions I had about what made the most sense. It was there that Walter Ferguson showed his true worth. He knew the business and he knew what worked and what didn't and explained why. It wasn't just opinion, it was years of experience in both Scotland and here.

By the time our discussion had wound down, I knew he was ideal for our company. I wasn't sure what role he should play but I wanted that know-how and knew that it was worth quite a bit. If Scotty knew the business, he also knew where to find things and people who could do some of the tasks that needed to be done. But it was Catherine who came up with another gem as the conversation progressed.

We had been talking about golf course architecture and we were wondering where we could find someone who wasn't trying to create a super-course and could work with the landscape we had. When we went over the basic layout, it was good for the most part. There were no quirky holes or strange transitions between holes, save between the ninth green and tenth tee. Apparently there had been a large clubhouse at that location, but it was knocked down and never replaced. When we looked at the size of the area, a minor rearrangement of the existing holes would make a much better transition and would also lengthen a couple of short par fours.

All the while, Catherine was making notes, although I hadn't asked her to. I have a good memory and didn't think I would miss anything but she was already getting involved. When the issue of an architect came up, she had a suggestion.

"I met a young guy who had studied landscape architecture at Portland State. He was a bit of a golf nut and wanted to get into course design. He had his résumé out, but all the known architects had showed no interest. I wonder if he wouldn't be a good place to start. We can give him some guidance, let him know what we're trying to do and see what he can come up with. I'm sure he'd be a lot less costly than the big firms."

"That's a hell of an idea, Catherine," I said. "Do you know how to get in touch with him?"

"No ... but I can probably find him through the college. I can look after that if you want."

"Great. As soon as we sign up with Norman you can contact him. He's certainly worth a try."

"These are grand plans, Laddie," Scotty said with narrowed eyes. "It's nay too far for ye now, is it?"

"No, Scotty. I've got access to all the funds I'll need, I'm sure. It's really a matter of spending wisely and getting the best result for our efforts."

He nodded his agreement. "Wise words, Lad. I'll be happy to gie ye my hand. There's nay more I'd like than seeing this place alive agin."

"I'm counting on that Scotty. As soon as the deed is transferred, I'll be hiring you as permanent consultant and operating officer ... that is if you're willing."

"Aye ... that's a grand fancy title for an auld man, but I'd be pleased to be aboard," he said with a smile.

As we drove toward the city I asked Catherine, "So where should we go to await Mr. Fears' phone call. We could have lunch at someplace fairly quiet or pick up some deli items and find a park with a bench. What suits you?"

"I like the deli idea. It's a nice day and I know where we can find both a deli counter and a lovely little park. I'll show you the way."

Her directions were simple and ten minutes later we were in a modern medium-sized grocery store that had the biggest wine selection I had seen in a long time. On top of that the deli was just as complete. It was hard not to overindulge with all the great looking items. We finally settled for some German coleslaw, a couple of fresh baked buns, a small variety pack of cheeses with another small variety tray of sausage meats. Along with some ice tea, we had our lunch material, and headed for the park Catherine had chosen.

We talked as we ate, enjoying the warm sunshine and the quiet of the park.

"Sorry we had to leave Scotty behind but someone needed to look after the place. Does he live there?"

"Yes. That small trailer you can see off to the side of the pro shop is his home for now. He's got a power, water and septic hookup. That's where the old clubhouse was located."

"How long has he been there?" I asked.

"At least two years. His wife died several years ago. Cancer, I think. Anyway, he left his job in Dundee and came over here to live with his son. Then his son was transferred to Asia and Scotty was left alone again. He had his card so he's legal, but he needs a sponsor for his citizenship application. I've volunteered, but a good job and a special title might help pave the way," she smiled.

"Well, he's a hell of a resource for us. I know some people who specialize in immigration law and I can contact them and see what we can do. As long as he's here legally we should be all right. In the meantime, he needs a better place to live, not to mention a better place to work. Is that old pickup truck I saw his?"

She nodded.

"Well, there's another thing. We'll probably lease a new truck and get the course name on the side of it. As long as he takes care of it, it's his to use. It will make the name a little more prominent."

"What should we do about his living quarters?" she asked.

I was about to answer when my phone rang. I looked at the name and was a bit surprised.

"Is that Norman?" she asked.

"No ... it's John Fortrand. I better take this. Good afternoon, Mr. Fortrand. How are you today?"

"Fine, Mr. Monahan, but please, I think we know each other well enough for first names. Please call me John."