Tim Lacy

In my last efforts, I attempted to entertain you with a few stories from my golf excursions with my pop.  We shared the golf courses around the country from the time of my discharge from the military until his death in 2003.  When I was stationed in Japan, there were periods when we were confined to base because of alert status.  A form of entertainment could be found at the golf driving range.  It was free, and some of us would check out a driver and grab a bucket of balls and jump out of our shoes (tongue in cheek) trying to hit the longest ball.  When I returned home, the golf course was a place where Sam and I could spend a little bonding time.  A trip to a pawn shop provided me with a decent set of clubs and a few books of Top Value stamps provided us with balls.

My trips to the driving ranges hadn’t prepared me for the real deal, and to say I was pitiful is an understatement.  We went to Maryland University and pop got a courtesy entry to the course. My first shot set the tone for the day.  I teed up my ball and swung so hard I came just short of having an accident in my pants.  The contact was solid and I stood on tee and watched my ball disappear into the woods.  For the rest of the day I spent so much time among the trees I was starting to feel like Robin Hood.

Shortly after, I moved to Los Angeles.  There were plenty of courses, and you could get a tee time as late as nine at night.  My wife seemed interested, so we got her shoes, a glove and some lessons.

After dinner we would go to one of the par three courses and just relax with a game of golf.  On one trip, we found an Arrow golf ball which she treasured (more later).

When I left you, the family was at Hilton Head and you had just met my Uncle Dickey.  Every day the guys would play golf and the wives would shop. Although our golf resembled an episode of the Keystone Cops, we were dedicated and not to be deterred.  Pop and Mickey (cousin) would ride together and Dickey and I would share a cart.  Dickey’s identification of a “crockagator” was just a brief glimpse into his personality.  We were tooling along on this course about the size of Delaware when we came upon a tee next to a road. I hit my shot and started walking towards my ball.  Upon arriving I realized I still had my driver in my hand.  Turning towards where I thought Dickey and the cart would be, I spotted Dickey driving down the road towards a liquor store.  He returned with a couple of six packs and golf went downhill from there.  One positive thing emerged from this fiasco: While waiting for Dickey I decided to hit my ball to the green with the driver.  I hit it too hard and it flew over the green and hit the tee marker on the tee behind the green.  The ball bounced back and settled about six inches from the hole.  Dickey exclaimed, “Hell of a shot!”  The golf we displayed the rest of the day can only be described as “UGLY.”

Before I close I want to share more of the Arrow ball adventure.  My wife and my pop were cronies on the highest level.  We were playing on one of the short courses and I picked up a rain- soaked lost ball while walking.  On the next green I picked up the Arrow ball along with mine and pop’s.  Walking along, I dropped the rain soaked ball and knocked it away. Vernice asked me, “What was that?”  I replied, “It was that Arrow ball.”  Pop laughed at her reaction, and she turned on him asking, “What are you laughing at?”  It looked like we were about to revisit the gunfight at the OK Corral.

I am out of space. Next week, more golf.