Saving a Golf Course

By Barbara Palmgren

Barbara and Lornie Palmgren, a retired married couple, live on a golf course in the Florida Panhandle. Faced with the possibility of losing the course to a developer, they and other residents are determined to fight to see it doesn’t happen. Many challenges arise as they work with others to save the course and their way of life for the good of the small community on Choctawhatchee Bay.

Golf courses are closing nationwide with an aging generation of retirees, maintenance costs, and expense and length of time associated with playing an 18- hole round of golf. There are those who believe that golf will be a game for future generations and it is up to the ones who have played the game the longest to provide the game for a future generation. Organizations like “The First Tee” encourage children to learn to play golf, sponsoring competitions and providing clothes, clubs and balls to offset expenses for low-income families. The golf course in this story is a proud part of this outreach program.

This story is based on actual events that occurred in a small Florida community. All incidents and dialogue are products of the author’s recollections and inspired by generous people who were key to the success of this venture. Names of main characters have been changed at their request to respect the privacy of those individuals.

This story also serves as an example that change can begin with one motivated person. In this case, a group of courageous people begin this crusade and see it through to the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664111127

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Barbara Palmgren.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/29/2021

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CONTENTS

Special Thanks

Dedication

MY INTRODUCTION TO GOLF

Without Intention

Reality Sets In

Shot Down in Bolivia

The Gate Guy

THE TRAVESTY BEGINS

Questions and Answers

The Game Plan

A Long, Hot Summer

The Lawyer

BUYING THE GOLF COURSE

The Real Problem

How to Buy a Golf Course

Parties

Bonnie and George

The Hard Part

The Friends You Make

A Stumbling Block

A Happy Ending and New Challenges

SHALIMARSHACK

The Joy of Port-a-Potty Use

A Creative Approach

Rusty and Jo

Michael

Kenny’s Angels and Sassy

Shalimarshack

CHALLENGES ARISE

The Unexpected

Happily Ever After

Special Birthday

A Sad Happy Hour

Epilogue

Bibliography (chronological order)

Special Thanks

T o Lornie Palmgren, my courageous and inspirational husband; to my friends at Shalimar Pointe Golf Course; to all investors who saved the course; to my family for their love and support; to my writers’ critique group (James, Chris, Mary, Melita and Lynn); to Pat Moran and Sandra Wenner Yeaman who reviewed and edited my final submission.

Dedication

T o Pat Kelly, my dear friend, who achieved fourteen holes-in-ones during her lifetime.

My Introduction To Golf

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Hole number 3

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Heron - Our golf symbol

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Natural beauty of golf course

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Without Intention

I had no intention of falling in love with the stupid game. So unpredictable. I stared at the white ball on the wooden peg, wondering why people spent so much money for a game where, ultimately, there were few winners. I was definitely not even in the loser category.

It began in the late 1990s. I fell in love with Lornie Palmgren, a man who played the game of golf. I realized how caring he was because he spent time with his parents. He even golfed with his mother, Carol, every Thursday afternoon. Carol, in her late seventies, easily played nine holes. She and husband, Fred, lived in the Shalimar Pointe community of Okaloosa County, Florida. Sadly, Fred confined to a wheelchair, could no longer play, but in a shiny golf cart with clubs securely latched on the back, mother and son ventured forth once a week.

Lornie, a retired United States Air Force officer, lived near me, close to the Shalimar Yacht Basin. We were both water enthusiasts. My joy was waterskiing in the early morning on a calm bay. Lornie’s thrill was racing a large a sailboat moored behind his townhome directly across from the Fort Walton Beach Yacht Club.

I worked as a guidance counselor, also coordinating a special academic program that demanded much attention and time. My grown children and grandchildren lived in other parts of the country so summers meant trips to see them. Any extra time was spent on the tennis courts. I loved tennis.

When my children were young, our family lived in Ohio. My late husband and I learned to play tennis at a local community center in Sylvania, Ohio. The new center had a large Olympic-size pool and eight tennis courts. Lessons were reasonably priced. Our children could swim in the pool supervised by life guards and we would get much needed exercise. It was a logical decision that was never regretted. After a few years, we paid to play at an indoor tennis club in the winter to continue a game that had become our passion.

A few years after my husband’s untimely death, I moved to Florida. I continued participating in both singles and doubles tennis with local groups, also coaching the high school tennis team in southern Florida. I envisioned stroking my way into the golden years without falling on my face. Surely, I could focus on a fuzzy yellow ball while keeping my forehand under control. A noble goal, my hitting the ball where I aimed it, seldom met with success.

I’m not sure how fate put Lornie and I together because we were different in many ways. I was serious. He was a jokester. Lornie was retired, waking shortly before noon, and enjoying life to the fullest. I woke each week day to arrive at the high school guidance office by 6:45 a.m.

I shook my head when he stopped on a Saturday in his little sports car. He had a Bloody Mary in hand as I was working in the front yard.

You need to get a little more Vitamin C with breakfast, don’t you? he teased, waving a stalk of celery.

"How about I go in the house right now and bring you a to go cup of coffee?" I responded, wondering if he did this on a daily basis.

Yuk. Mud, mud, mud. You won’t catch me drinking that poison unless it has lots of milk and sugar.

And so went our banter back and forth. He asked me out a few times, but I declined because I believed we weren’t compatible. When his father’s troubles began, Lornie came to me for help. Because I was a guidance counselor, I was someone to listen and understand. There was so much he couldn’t control. Decisions for impending surgeries were frustrating, but had to be made.

My son and his family lived a few blocks from the Pensacola hospital where Fred would lose first one leg and then another. I had never met Lornie’s parents, but something compelled me to make a visit to Baptist Hospital as I left my son’s home.

Good morning. I stood in a hospital room with a few pink carnations in a small, tall vase. The woman at the bedside tearfully glanced up at me with a questioning look.

I’m Barbara, your son’s neighbor on Old Ferry Road. He told me about Fred’s surgery yesterday. My son and his wife live a few blocks from here. I wanted to stop and let you know that I am one of many people who are praying for your husband’s recovery.

She rose from her chair and walked toward me, holding out her small hand. I took that hand in mine. Tears flowed from our eyes. Fred, now awake, was wondering what was happening.

He coughed, speaking in a low voice, Who are you, again? Do we know you?

She’s Lawrence’s friend and neighbor from Shalimar. Look at the lovely flowers she brought. What did you say your name was again, dear? Carol wiped the tears away, beckoning me to sit beside her.

I spent the next hour with two beautiful people. When I left the hospital, I reasoned that if they were so perfect, they must have a wonderful son. Perhaps going on a first date wasn’t such a bad idea.

I fell in love with the parents before I fell in love with the son.

Months later, engaged to a wild and crazy guy, I looked for a sport we could share together. I took him to the city tennis court. I believed that couples who do things together while respecting each other’s individual pursuits, become happier people with a successful marriage.

Lornie told me he had played tennis a few times. Meeting me at the court with a racquet borrowed from a friend, he stretched and smiled with confidence. Encouraged, I popped open a new can of balls.

Go ahead and serve, I shouted, as I moved to my side of the court. Wham. His form was perfect. With his first service, he hit the coffin corner as he grinned from across the net. I couldn’t