Tuesday's Caddie

by Jack Waddell

  When she arrived she went into the ladies' locker room and changed her shoes. When she came out she walked down to the pro shop and found her bag waiting at the stand there. She was a little early so she took her putter and a couple of balls and walked over to the practice green to hit some putts. Shortly another woman walked down the path to do the same thing. She was probably in her mid forties, well dressed and spritely. She walked onto the practice green and then they gave each other a glance. The other woman approached her.

  "Hello, my name is Margaret Graves. Are you playing today at three o'clock?"

  "Why yes, I am," Annie replied. I'm Anna Burke, but please call me Annie.

  Margaret chuckled. "And you can call me Meg. I'm so glad you could join me. Playing alone isn't always fun, especially behind a course full of old biddies playing foursomes like today. You must have called for a time late today as did I."

  It was Annie's turn to chuckle. "Yes I did. And isn't that the truth?"

  "Well, if you're ready, why don't we get started?" Meg asked.

  "I'm more than ready. Let's go then."

  The two women walked over to the starter’s kiosk off to the side of the clubhouse from which Fred the starter kept the first tee organized. Nobody really knew Fred’s last name, he’d been the starter since the course opened and, in his position, last names were superfluous. A little wiry old crotchety man, he always managed to exude just enough civility not to lose his job, but not before reminding members who was in charge.

  “Good afternoon, Fred,” Meg fairly sang out. “Mrs. Burke and I were late calling in for our time today so we may not be on the tee sheet, but we have a three o’clock time just the two of us. And we’d obviously like a caddie.”

  Fred, tired and winding down from what for him was the worst day of the week finding, matching, organizing, accommodating and sending out all the women members, looked up wearily from his newspaper. “That would be true, Mrs. Burke. Last minute calls are not always logged. You are not on the sheet. It is a most difficult process we deal with here, as you must know. Late calls are always a problem. But no matter, I will see to it promptly I assure you. Excuse me while I fetch you a caddie.”

  At the word “caddie” Annie suddenly couldn’t contain herself. She blurted out “I had a caddie last week. Mick was his name, I think.”

  As soon as she spoke, Annie regretted the outburst.

  Meg looked at her with some surprise. “He must have been a good caddie then, yes?”

  Forced to answer, Annie simply said, “Yes.”

  Meg turned back to Fred. “Well, Fred, see if this Mick person is available to carry our bags.”

  “Very good, Ma’am,” Fred responded as he slipped off his stool and walked laboriously over to the pro shop. He went in through the bag room door on the side, then turned left and went looking for Gino. He saw him sitting at his desk smoking and reading The Sporting News.

  “Gino… got a double outside. Mrs. Graves and Mrs. Burke. Say they want some ‘Mick’ to caddie for them.”

  Gino looked up, a bit surprised at the late call. “What? You’ve haven’t stopped with me yet? I’ll see if he’s here. But don’t promise them when you go back out. If he’s out in the yard I’ll send him, otherwise… what’s the difference? Why can’t you just tell them they’ll get what they get at this hour?”

  “Oh shut your yap.” And with that Fred returned to his booth walking slowly, silently past the two women. Once seated back on his stool he addressed Mrs. Graves. “Ma’am, your caddie will be right out. If this ‘Mick’ character is around he’ll be the one.”

  While Fred was gone on his mission, Annie and Meg got acquainted. Meg’s husband Robert owned a manufacturing company in Burbank. They lived in Toluca Lake. They had two daughters, one about to graduate from the University of Southern California, the other still in high school. Annie took an instant liking to Meg. She was bright, upbeat and obviously full of life.

  Still in conversation, Annie looked over Meg’s shoulder and saw Conor come through the gate and emerge from the caddie yard. It was a warm afternoon and he had left his jacket behind, folded on the bench. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was smiling. Annie stopped talking in mid-sentence.

  Seeing Annie’s gaze shift behind her, Meg turned her head around as Conor approached. “Oh, this must be our caddie now,” she said. Turning back to Annie she asked, “Is that your Mick?”

  “Yes,” Annie replied still looking at Conor. “That’s him.”

  “Splendid, then,” Meg said watching Annie.

  Conor came up to them. “Good day, ladies, Mrs. Burke, Mrs. Graves. ‘Tis a fine afternoon for golf you’ve chosen.”

  “So you’re Mick, is it?” Meg asked.

  “Yes Ma’am. 'Tis what I’m called here.”

  Recognizing his lilt Meg asked, “Well, Mick, I wonder if you’re the caddie I’ve heard my husband talk about? An Irishman and a very good golfer it’s said. Is that you?

  “Well, the Irish I can hardly deny, Ma’am. As far as the golf, one really shouldn’t be the judge of one’s own game. 'Tis never as good or as bad as one thinks. But it’s been since a lad I’ve been playing so all that can be said is that I’m experienced.”

  Meg laughed. “Fine then, ‘experienced’ Irish Mick. Let’s be on with it then.”

  Conor went to the rack and hefted the two bags to his shoulders. The three walked together to the first tee.

  * * *

  The round went swiftly until the ninth hole when they caught up with all the foursomes in front of them. While not as accomplished a golfer as Annie, Meg was more than competent and it made the two a quite convivial pairing. Meg was a talker and she and Annie held what amounted to a running conversation over the first eight holes touching on everything from shoe shopping to dining at the new Brown Derby.

  As they waited on the tee Meg turned to Conor and brought him into the conversation. "So how long have you been in this country, Mick? And what brought you here?"

  "It was about five years ago, Ma'am,” Conor replied, a little startled to be suddenly addressed. “And it was to seek my fortune I came."

  "Well, I can't imagine your fortune was to be made caddying," Meg went on. "You seem a bright young man. What had been your intention?"

  "I was a cook and I was to own my own restaurant. And until the crash I did. But you're sure to know how things have gone for so many. But I am happy to be doing something I love. To be walking a golf course with two ladies as lovely as yourselves is a fine job indeed."

  "Ha! And a charmer too," Meg laughed.

  Annie jumped in. "Tell me Mick, where in Ireland are you from? My mother is of Irish descent. Her family was from County Cork I think."

  "It was County Clare I was raised. Southwest coast. 'Tis a lovely place it is but never as warm as California. You're to be lucky as having a bit 'o the green running through you."

  "Well they do say 'luck if the Irish', don't they?" Meg interjected.

  "Aye, Ma'am, they do. But it sometimes takes a bit of patience waiting for it to appear." Conor said smiling. "And it would seem now may be one of those times as the group ahead looks to be clear."

  "Oh, right," Annie said turning to look down the fairway. "I guess I'm up?"

  "Right you are," Meg replied. "Let's see what we can do."

  * * *

  As he walked with the bags trailing the two women down the fairway, Conor could not keep his eyes off Annie. He thought to himself he'd never seen a woman whose every move was like a slow dance. There was something about her he could neither define nor deny that touched him in a way he had never been touched. Yes, she was married and, perhaps worse, a member. And so the reality was that she was untouchable, unreachable. Still a longing was building inside him that filled his heart in her presence. If all he could do was carry her golf bag, that's all he would do.

  Annie worked hard not to look at Conor. The scene at the starter's hut had been most awkward and she knew that Meg ha
d watched her closely as Conor approached them. She could not afford to make another mistake like that. Meg made it easier to keep her attention elsewhere with her chatter. But when Conor handed her a club or discussed her next shot, she found it impossible not to meet his bright blue eyes with her own. She worried what her eyes might be saying.

  * * *

  On the sixteenth hole Annie hit a rare bad tee shot pulling it left into a stand of eucalyptus trees. Meg hit a shorter drive down the left side. After hitting her second shot Meg followed along as Conor and Annie went to the ball in the woods.

  Annie was perhaps one hundred forty yards from the green but a tree about thirty yards ahead of her blocked her path. She stood behind the ball, hands on hips, surveying the situation. "Well," she said, "I suppose there's nothing left to do but to knock it back out to the fairway."

  "Well, Ma'am, there's a suggestion I might make if you're to be willing to give it a try," Conor offered. "'For 'tis more than a straight line to the hole you could be seeing."

  "Oh, I can't curve the ball, if that's what you mean," Annie responded.

  "Nay Ma'am, I think you can. Here, take your mashie, then go ahead and take your stance and aim just to the right of the tree." When she did, Conor approached her, crouched down and took the shaft in his hand. "Just relax your grip a bit. I'm to turn the shaft a little like this." With that he twisted the shaft slightly to his right so that the clubhead faced a little left in the direction of the green. Rising and backing away he added, "Now just make your swing. That club will tell the ball all it would be needing to know."

  Annie looked at Conor and nodded then looked down at the ball and prepared to swing. She took two slow little waggles then drew the club back and made her pass through the ball. She hit it flush. The ball came out low then rose quickly into the air curving in a sudden arc to the left as it did so. Conor quickly stepped out to the fairway where Meg was standing to watch the ball finish. It landed just short of the green, took two bounces, then rolled to the middle of the putting surface.

  "Oh My!" Meg shouted. "That was wonderful, Annie!"

  Conor looked back at Annie. "T'was a pearl of a shot there, Ma'am."

  Annie walked out to the fairway to see for herself. "That was so simple," she said to Conor. "Thank you for the lesson!"

  "No thanks be needed. You're to be the one who hit the shot.”

  "Tell me, Mick," Meg asked. "Is that how you hit such shots?"

  "No Ma'am, I do it a bit differently." Conor replied.

  "And how is that?" Annie asked.

  "Well, 'tis hard to explain. But all I really am to be doing is just think left."

  "'Think left'? What does that mean?" Meg asked a bit incredulous.

  "Just my way, Ma'am, 'tis simply how I learned."

  "Well, if you can't explain it you have to show us." Meg pressed on. "Take a ball from my bag and use one of my clubs. I want to see what 'think left' means!"

  "Oh I can't be doing that, Ma'am. It's against the rules, you know."

  "Nonsense. No one can see us here. And caddies are to do what they're told. Now show us." Meg demanded.

  "Please, Mick. We would very much like to see." Annie implored catching Conor's eyes with her own.

  Conor melted. "Very well, ladies. I will try." He laid the bags on the ground, took a ball from the pocket of Meg's bag and then slipped the niblick out. He walked back into the rough where Annie had been and dropped the ball on the ground. He stood behind the ball, took aim and then walked into his stance. Unlike Annie had done he addressed the ball with the clubface square to his stance aiming to the right of the tree. He waggled, glanced twice down his line and then he made his swing. Nothing about the swing looked unusual or like any effort had been made but the ball seemed to explode off the ground and into the air. Just like Annie's shot, the ball began to curve as it reached its highest point. Meg and Annie watched as it flew around the trees and toward the green. It landed and took two short hops before coming to rest three feet from the flagstick.

  "Oh my!" Annie burst in delight bringing her hands to her face and turning to Conor. "That was marvelous!"

  Meg gave Conor a long look as he walked out to the fairway to join them. "Well, Mick," she finally said. "I still don't know how you do that. But you did. You can very well play this game, can't you?"

  A bit abashed, Conor looked at Meg and gave a little smile. "Well, as I said, I've some experience. And 'tis a bit of Irish luck we had with that."

  "There was no luck in that," Meg said. "But maybe some of what you can do will rub off on us these last couple holes."

  Conor smiled wider. "Aye, Ma'am, would that be true. But you don't need any of me to play as well as you can." With that Conor replaced her club in the bag, hoisted both bags to his shoulders and the three walked on to finish their round.

  * * *

  After they putted out on the last green Meg walked up to Annie and took her right hand in both hers. "Annie," she said, "I can't begin to say how much I enjoyed playing with you today. You are just a delight. And I must say one of the best golfers among all the women here."

  "Oh, thank you. You are too kind," Annie replied. "And I likewise had a wonderful time. We really must do this again some time."

  "We shall. Do you think you would be free again this time next week? If so I'll sign us up right now," Meg said. "I'd so much rather be playing with you than that gaggle of gossiping geese playing ahead of us."

  Annie chuckled. "I know. And, yes, I certainly can do this again next week. Same time would be perfect. It would be my delight."

  "Done, then." Meg smiled and the two of them walked to the edge of the green where Conor stood with their bags.

  The two took their wallets from their bags and dug in them to pay their caddie.

  Meg went first. "Well, Mick, thank you for all your help today. You're as good a caddie as you are a golfer it would seem. We would both like to have you join us next week. Do you think that you can manage that? Same time?"

  "Thank you, Ma'am. 'Twas truly my pleasure. I can't always decide my carries, but I will do my best to be available for you and Mrs. Burke."

  "Splendid. You do that," Meg said handing Conor a dollar bill and then a quarter. Then, turning to Annie, she said, "Why don't you join me for a little tea before you leave?" At the word "tea" she raised her eyebrows to convey her real meaning.

  Annie understood and grinned, "Yes, that would be lovely. I'll be right there."

  As Meg walked off to the locker room, Annie turned to Conor and handed him a dollar bill. "Thank you," she said. Then she handed him another. "This is for last week. I'm sorry my husband neglected the gratuity. He doesn't know that much about golf. He won't be back."

  Conor brightened a bit at her words. "Thank you, Ma'am. The pleasure was all to be mine." With that he took her hand and pressed the dollar into her palm and folded her fingers around it. "I know 'twas not your intent. The promise of another afternoon with you is all the gratuity I need." Then he quickly added, "And of course, Mrs. Graves."

  Annie took her other hand and placed it atop his. "That's so very sweet," Annie smiled warmly. "All right then, I will see you next week." Their hands lingered for a moment longer as they looked at each other. Then they parted and she turned and began walking up to the locker room.

  She stopped once and glanced back and saw Conor still looking after her. Only when she had disappeared inside did Conor pick up the bags and carry them to the bag room. He hoped Gino was still around so he could talk to him about next Tuesday.

  (back to top)

  Chapter 8

  Robert

  Tuesday, April 29, 1930

  Meg Graves drove home excited to talk to her husband about her afternoon at the club. She'd made a friend, no less the wife of a Hollywood celebrity. They'd had a good time together. And she'd gotten a firsthand look at the caddie her husband had been talking about.

  The windows of her home glowed golden in the early evening darkness as she pull
ed into the long drive. She parked her car next to her husband's in front of the garage. As she got out she could hear his car's radiator still gurgling. He'd not arrived home much before her. That was good because she had stayed a little longer than she'd intended talking to Annie.

  Robert was sitting waiting for her in the study sipping his evening scotch. The maid had dinner warming but he would never think of eating before his wife came home. When she entered the room he put his drink down and rose to meet her. "Hello, Sweetheart," he said as he reached for her waist and pulled her close for a kiss. "What kept you out so late? I was beginning to worry a bit."

  "Oh, I'm sorry, dear. But I really did have just the most fabulous time today. I can't wait to tell you about it. You must be famished. I’ll tell you over dinner."

  "Let's do that then," he said. He retrieved his glass then took her hand as they walked together to the dining room.

  * * *

  Robert Graves was the epitome of a self-made man. Now forty-eight, he'd started out as a blacksmith's apprentice when he was thirteen years old in a small farming community in northern Illinois. By the time he was eighteen he'd taken a job as a machinist in a Chicago factory making parts for farm equipment. Smart and ambitious, he rose through the ranks from lead operator, to foreman, to supervisor, to director of operations. When the company decided to open a west coast location in Southern California, they selected him to head the undertaking. He was elated at the assignment and not just for his career. His oldest daughter Sylvia had severe asthma and the dry California climate would be just what she needed.

  By 1918 the factory was open and operational. But he found himself restless. The automobile and aviation industries were emerging and he saw a need for a specialty machine shop to fashion prototype parts out of new materials like aluminum. When he couldn't convince his company to branch out, he left and used his life savings and a second mortgage to open his own business. He had always been a risk taker. Despite having a wife and two young daughters at home, he knew this was what he should do.

  And he was right. California was beginning to boom. And his company boomed with it. By the mid-1920's he found himself a wealthy man. Wise enough to stay out of real estate and investment speculation, he rode atop the crest of the emerging aviation industry and began manufacturing not just prototype parts, but parts to be used in the production of aircraft. The machine shop became a factory.