Golf Beat: A Year in the Life of Persimmon Pines

By Larry Caringer

Ripped directly from the pages of The Persimmon Pines Times, here are a series of electrifying articles exposing the day-to-day drama of Golf in a small town.

From changes in the way weekend tee times are set to eliminating wildlife from area courses to building a massive golf complex on sacred Indian land, Staff Writer Brent Green, takes Golf journalism where few dare to tread.

Golf Beat is a collection of articles spanning one year in Traylor County which chronicle the passions and obsessions that lead to the sometimes cataclysmic consequences of getting involved in the Game.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781105640865

Book preview

into.

Golfers Decry Plans to Revise

Unfair Tee Time Arrangement

By Brent Green/Staff Writer

Traylor County Pro Tempore Councilperson-at-Large Vivian Festerhump has seen a ton of controversy lately. After Buck Rucklesbuck, the former eight-time Councilperson-at-Large was arrested for public indecency at the restroom at the Traylor County Spring Tractor Pull, it's just been downhill from there for me, she says.

Ms. Festerhump and I were sitting in the Golden Rule Cafe, having a cup of coffee. She took a quick drag on her Camel and explained: Right after I took over, we had that problem with the septic system at the Library. Some books are still drying out from that. A long pause to reflect. "The Old Man and the Sea swelled up to twice its size. Another pause. Another sip. After the Library mess, we had the County Jail fiasco."

For those who don't recall, two months ago, all 14 men and women in the Traylor County Jail were able to escape after Deputy Sheriff, Oscar LaMott forgot to lock up before going home for the evening. Festerhump shook her head. Lucky for us, the most serious offender in the lock-up at the time was Lucy Schmuckel, who was in for failure to pay multiple parking tickets. That problem was resolved when all the escapees returned to jail the next morning - after getting a good night's sleep in their own beds. Viv waved Rez Nuggetman, Owner of the Golden Rule, over for a fill up and lighted a new cigarette. Now this.

This, is the new plan by the Board of Directors at the County-owned Hooking Hills Golf Course to change the way Golfers get weekend tee times. Hooking Hills, a direct competitor with the City-owned Persimmon Pines Slippery Meadows, has utilized a racking system to schedule tee-off times. However, Hooking Hills Pro, Bix Wilstrup says he began to see a drop-off in his business after Slippery Meadows eliminated their racking system and began taking telephone reservations. So, he proposed a change - one he says would be more fair and less onerous to most Golfers. The Hooking Hills Board of Directors quickly approved the plan. But, that's when angry, longtime Men's Club members, Mickey Dogslaw and Elmer Pittswheel appealed to the entire County Commission to review the plan.

Vivian stared across Broad Street to the County Courthouse. 27 Lawyers later, we still got a legal mess on our hands. She crushed out her Camel, blew a cloud of smoke over my head and pointed at me. Don't quote me in your damned article. But, I'll tell you this: Golfers have got to be the most screwed up, backwards and self-centered idiots on the planet. Then, she stood and walked outside, coughing.

For the uninitiated, here's how the old (and still current) racking system worked (works): Basically, the racking system began with the simple democratic principle of first come, first served. Originally, you arrived at the course, placed your ball in a rack on the first tee, then teed-off in the order in which the balls were racked. That was back in the days when Golfers arrived just a few minutes before they intended to play. As more people began taking up The Game, it became important to arrive earlier and earlier to get into the rack for a prime tee time. These days at Hooking Hills, to get a weekend tee time, you must arrive at the Golf Course by the appointed time the night before you want to play. For a Saturday morning time, you must be in line by 8 p.m., Friday. Everyone in line by this time is allowed to draw a number from a hat. This number corresponds to the order of the line for the next morning. That's when the actual tee times will be made. After that, everyone in line arranges their car in order on the parking lot, according to their number. Then, they recline the seat and wait. This is because, anyone who has a number for the line - but leaves the premises - loses the right to snag a time. Several times during the night, Golf Course employee, Nat Ulyee walks by each car, shining a flashlight inside to make certain no one has slipped home.

Then, at dawn, the bent and twisted Golfers climb over gear shifts and stumble through the mist-shrouded parking lot to the Starter's Shack where they, once again, stand in line to watch as the numbers they've been assigned are drawn from a spinning Bingo Basket. Not until their number is called, do they get to name their tee time.

It's a simple enough arrangement. But, as I said, Wilstrup, the Hooking Hills Pro, thought he had a simpler plan: Let 'em call in on Wednesday for the following Saturday. That way, they know in advance when they're going to play. The Pro couldn't say any more for this story because, as he said, It's all up to the Courts to decide.

However, the two men who brought the lawsuit, Mickey Dogslaw and Elmer Pittswheel, weren't as reticent about speaking out.

I met them at their usual hangout, a table in the Grill Room at Hooking Hills. Both men are in their 60s with skin the color of tarnished copper cookware. I shook hands with them and sat down to a cold Budweiser. It was 9:30 a.m. I checked the clock on the wall. Elmer Pittswheel lifted his glass in a toast. We've been members of the Men's Club long enough to have a little pull with Squirrelly back in the kitchen! Salud! I watched the glass of beer disappear quickly down Pittswheel's stubbled throat. Mickey Dogslaw took the pause in the conversation to jump in.

Look, we're doin' this to protect traditions...to keep those things alive that make Golf so enjoyable and magical to those of us who honor The Game and it's heritage.

The racking system was good enough for us for the last 30 years. It oughta' be good enough for the rich Yuppies with their cellular phones - who want to destroy our way of life. Elmer seemed upset and a little distracted as he looked impatiently around for Squirrelly. But, Mickey nodded quickly. Exactly. And, we don't say that just because we hate Yuppies and don't own cell phones.

Couldn't you guys just call from home to get your tee times?

There was an icy pause - broken only by Squirrelly's arrival with the second round. Elmer took a long sip. Mickey leaned toward me. Haven't you heard anything we said? This is about tradition. Elmer nodded. We'll be damned if somebody's gonna have it easier than we did. Hell, I had to choose between dating women and racking. image-1.png

I tried to get the quote written down in my notebook as Mickey stood and looked out the Grill Room window at the first tee. That's a little harsh, Elmer. Truth is, you quit dating women when they all stopped saying ‘yes.’ He turned back to our table. Look, I'll be the first to admit that my first wife hated to see me leave on Friday nights. Mickey sat back - reliving those magical moments.

Elmer put down his glass. Your second wife loved them Friday nights! They both laughed.

Mickey nodded. I went to the Golf course. She was always happy. I just thought she was understanding.

Elmer chuckled. It took him five years to catch on that she was havin' her Boss over every Friday night.

I didn't catch on 'til I came home one Saturday afternoon and she wasn't there...and neither was most of the furniture - and my TV. More laughter.

Elmer looked up at me, earnestly. If we lose the racking system, them Yuppies will lose their chance for experiences like that! I couldn't argue with that. Mickey was deep into nostalgia.

My third wife was the only one who knew how to keep me home on a Friday night.

Elmer winked at me. She took his clubs to the Dump and had them crushed. He laughed.

Mickey didn't. It was because of her I got those new clubs with the bigger sweet spot. She really saved my game.

I looked up from my note pad. Are you still married to her? Mickey looked down at the two beers in front of him...grabbed a glass, chugged it, got up and walked away with Elmer close behind.

I took it as a no.

First in a Series...

A Trip to the Sacred Persimmon Spires

By: Brent Green/Staff Writer

Persimmon Spires at Poking Buffalo Lake...the name, alone, inspires visions of spectacular mountains and bucolic settings balanced along the shoreline of this pristine and sacred Chockasoutauk Indian site just 30 minutes west of Persimmon Pines via State Route 13. Of course, because it is a sacred site, few of us of European ancestry have been privileged to see the area; unless we took one of the $40 mule-ride tours of the area led by Chockasoutauk guides and only offered on weekends during the summer.

So, imagine this Reporter's surprise, a few days ago, when well-known area golfer and land developer T. Earl Gerbley contacted me to ask if I would like to accompany him on a trip to this sacrosanct natural wonderland. He said he wanted to show me something. Or, to quote him exactly: I want you to be the first to hear about some plans for a new golf course development that are gonna blow your socks off!

We made the drive out of town last Thursday afternoon in Gerbley's Mercedes. Our guide was Proudfoot Dibbledick, Chockasoutauk Indian and the Natural History Professor at Traylor County Community College. As we turned off Broadway, onto Route 13, the Developer put his right arm over the back of the passenger seat and slouched sideways - steering with only the first finger of his left hand. He looked in the rearview mirror to make eye contact. Of all the land I've had a hand in leveling and reshaping to my liking, I have never been more excited about a project than this one. We swerved slightly across the yellow line as Gerbley tousled the hair of Professor Dibbledick. And, this guy is the one who is making it possible. He went to bat for me with the Elders of the Chockasoutauk Nation at their annual tribal meeting over at their Casino in Looseneck Falls last month.

Dibbledick smiled sheepishly. My role in all this is fairly small. I simply presented the elders with the visions, philosophy, and spreadsheets Mr. Gerbley gave me. But, I'm glad to be onboard as an advisor to Mr. Gerbley. You know, so we can preserve the Chockasoutauk heritage as we provide public access to our reservation and an area our religion has always seen as off-limits to outsiders.

We slid back in our seats momentarily when Gerbley floored the Mercedes and blew the horn as we slipped over the double yellow, around a slow-moving pickup, just ahead of an oncoming coal truck. So Professor, I managed after catching my breath, tell me about Persimmon Spires.

Dibbledick paused a moment to collect his thoughts. Well, as a Natural History teacher, I can tell you that Persimmon Spires is a natural granite formation created over millennia by the forces of erosion, wind and water. Experts insist the three, perfectly sculpted rocky outcroppings look exactly like huge persimmons. So, it was probably this amazing resemblance to the very fruit which sustained my ancestors that caused them to conclude this was a holy place.

We drove in silence onto the reservation's gravel road. I asked how the lake got its name. The Developer was quick to answer. I know that one! When the Braves went out to hunt buffalo, they'd force 'em down the Chumtaw Crick toward the shore of the lake where the women would be waiting with spears.

Poking Buffalo Lake. I weighed each word carefully.

Gerbley chuckled. Indians knew how to get to the heart of it, didn't they? He stopped the car and flung open the door. We're there!

We got out of the Mercedes under the awe-inspiring spectacle of Persimmon Spires. I have lived here all my life. But, like most Persimmon Pineseans, had only seen the Spires in vacation brochures published by the Chamber of Commerce...never in person. They do in fact look like three perfectly sculpted 200 foot long persimmons - standing on end. Just beyond lies the unspoiled beauty of Poking Buffalo Lake. Proudfoot Dibbledick turned his palms skyward and seemed to offer a silent prayer to the long-dead spirits of his ancestors. Gerbley patted him on the back. We'll put pictures of Indian chiefs in the golf course club house...which we'll build right here.

Over the next 45 minutes, Gerbley walked us through his designers plan to improve the natural flow of the environment by imbedding architectural creations that will illuminate the landscape and create vistas heretofore unknown to those who, until recently, held sole title to this land.

The plans, while too huge to go into right, now are quite impressive. Thumbnail sketch: Three Championship golf courses - a marina with access to the Plunker River via private canal