by James Ross
“And I suppose you want me to front the money for your mistake in the meantime,” Dave continued sternly. Justin nodded. “You know, if your mother had raised you right from the start, then none of this might have happened.”
“Dave, stop it!” Tina shouted. “We did the best we could with what we had to deal with.” The memories of the early years of Eric and Justin were still fresh in her mind. Being a single parent to two young boys had not been the easiest thing in the world to pull off. Balancing finances and juggling schedules to get everyone to activities on time was at times a nightmare.
“Well, that’s where it all comes from,” Dave continued as if he was on a mission to correct all of the woes of the family with a conversation around the kitchen table.
“We were all a lot happier back then,” Justin said, his eyes glued firmly on the floor, “weren’t we, Mom?” Once again guilt enveloped Tina. “I don’t know why you didn’t marry Curt instead.” The reference to one of Tina’s old boyfriends was a continual sore subject with Dave and Justin knew it.
“Do you think that is going to solve your problems all the time?” Dave demanded. “Your mother loved me instead.”
“Cut it out, Dave!” Tina yelled. “Up until you, Curt was the only father figure that Justin ever had.”
“He’s a bum,” Dave ranted. “All he wants to do is play golf all day.”
“Then if he’s so worthless why do I want to spend my time with him instead of you?” Justin shot back.
“Because he would probably approve of what you did last night,” Dave retaliated. “Birds of a feather flock together. Haven’t you ever heard that?”
“Oh, enough is enough, Dave,” Tina scolded. “Even you know that Curt would be the first one to voice his disapproval of what happened.”
“Yeah, I’m just a kid,” Justin said. “I made a mistake. I’m sure you made one or two in your life too.”
Dave stared at his step-son and reflected on his own upbringing. He had grown up in a rough neighborhood and had to learn things the hard way. Dave was acutely aware that Justin had accumulated some scars from a dysfunctional childhood as well. He paused and pondered his next choice of words. “You know Justin, I remember that me and a couple of neighborhood kids got caught stealing records from the record shop. We’d go back in the back of the store and one of the guys would stuff a record up the back of my sweatshirt. We did that over and over and over again, until the store owner got wise to what we were doing. Then one day we got arrested for petty theft. My dad wasn’t too pleased at the time either.” Talking about that incident turned into an emotional moment for Dave. He reached out to Justin, pulled him to his side, and hugged him.
Justin started to cry. “More than anything else Dave, I feel like I let my mom down.” His eyes focused squarely into Dave’s eyes. “She’s worked so hard to bring us up the right way . . . . to teach us right from wrong. This is the last thing that I wanted to do.”
Tina reached for another Kleenex. She knew how attached Justin had gotten to Curt as he was growing up. He had been there since Justin was in diapers and that was long before Dave came along. “Hey, that gives me an idea,” Tina said suddenly upbeat. “Curt’s brother just got the golf course back. Maybe we can get Justin a job over there for the summer.”
“Oh, Mom, that would be so radical.”
“It’s worth a try. They need somebody to cut the grass,” Tina rationalized. “I’d rather have you over there for the summer than anywhere else.” Justin reached out and grabbed his mom’s arm. He pulled her toward him and clutched her around the waist. He knew that his mom would come to the rescue and save the day. Satisfied with her solution, Tina said, “Let me give him a call.”
CHAPTER FIVE
J Dub Schroeder was making the drive from home as he had made so many times in the past. It had been over ten years since he had been at Prairie Winds Golf Course as the head pro and minority partner. A messy, lengthy, and costly civil suit had ensued but when all was said and done, he had regained control of the business and ownership of all of the golf course property which was rightfully his.
The years had taken a small toll on him, but overall he had aged gracefully considering the difficult and time consuming ordeal that he had been through. His six foot two, lanky frame was still intact and his weight was under control. The boyish good looks had aged ten years but still retained their youthfulness. When he steered his car onto the parking lot, a wave of anxiety hit him. He was coming home again to where his career had started.
Nothing at Prairie Winds had really changed. The interim ownership group let the grounds deteriorate a little, but for the most part the clubhouse, cart barn, parking lot and surroundings had remained intact. As he parked his car he remembered the times that he had shared with Bogey, the old golf course dog that always greeted him upon his arrival. They shared many a gleeful morning when the sun was just rising and they were the only two living beings on site.
This morning would be different, however. Bogey was long gone. A decade had evaporated and he expected to see new faces at the course. As he trekked across the parking lot and to the front door, a feeling of satisfaction overwhelmed him. But nothing could prepare him for what came next.
“Welcome home!” The group shouted in unison. All the regular boys and Julie the office manager had been awaiting his arrival.
“It’s about time!” Paul shouted. He was an ex-military man that had given J Dub sound, solid advice during his civil suit against the prior ownership.
“What a ride that was,” J Dub said needing to sum up his ten-year absence. “We don’t have enough years left to go through something like that again.”
“With the integrity of your ownership group, we never will have to,” Elia said in his strong Middle Eastern accent.
“I can’t tell you guys how good it is to be back,” J Dub said nostalgically. “I missed this place and each and every one of you.”
“We want you to know that we supported you the best we could,” Fred bellowed. “None of us played too many rounds here when you were gone. The new guys didn’t know what they were doing.”
“I had heard that through the grapevine,” J Dub agreed. “If they didn’t know how to treat the repeat customers, then that’s their own fault.”
The years had not been too kind to Rollie. He was just about ready for his final resting spot. Smoking had fouled his lungs so badly that he was now on a portable oxygen tank. “Those assholes ran us out of here,” he grumbled in a gravelly voice.
BT agreed. “They were more interested in making a land deal than running a golf course operation.”
“I found out all about that over the last decade guys,” J Dub informed the group. “It’s a battle that I don’t want to revisit.”
“Is it finally over?” Paco asked, his Hispanic accent more pronounced than before.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” J Dub answered. He continued around the counter. “I’m sure that Julie did the best she could do considering the circumstances.”
“Heck, I didn’t have a choice,” Julie said in the upfront and frank manner that all of the guys had grown accustomed to. “I had to do things their way. My family needs this income.”
J Dub embraced Julie. “Sorry we couldn’t talk through all of the litigation. But I knew that you would give me all the support I needed behind the scenes.” He stood back now and grinned and winked at her. “You know that you’ll be rewarded.”
“J Dub, we go way back. You know that I’ll do anything in my power to help you out.”
“All of you know me. It’ll be a lot more relaxed around this place from now on. As far as I’m concerned this is everyone’s home away from home,” J Dub said.
And you’ve always made us feel that way,” Fred said. “That’s why we’re all here. I wouldn’t miss this homecoming for the world!” He raised his coffee cup in the air for a toast and grabbed another doughnut to add to his three hundred pound frame.
J Dub gr
inned from ear to ear as the warmth of camaraderie spread around the room. “In due time, I’ll explain to all of you the details of what really happened with the lawsuit. In fact, I could probably write a book about it someday. But we’ll save that for another time. Let’s enjoy this great moment.” J Dub worked his way around the clubhouse and shook hands and hugged all of his old buddies.
“It’s good to have you back, old friend,” Elia said as he hugged J Dub.
“We never lost touch, Elia. At least you cut my hair every now and then,” J Dub said with a smile as he rubbed his hand over his head.
Not only was Elia a regular golfer in the group, he also cut most of the guys’ hair. “Do you have any special plans for the place?”
“Julie and I are going to try our best to get the operation back to where it was,” J Dub answered. “But in the meantime I’m going to have a lot of favors to repay.”
“Do you have a year’s supply of doughnuts for all of us?” Fred mumbled. His cheeks were stuffed and cream was oozing out the corner of his mouth.
J Dub chuckled at the sight. “No, Fred. Not that. I’m going to introduce you to a special friend of mine in a little bit. He’s due in here any minute. And I want all of you to take real good care of him.”
“What do you have? Some sports star or celebrity coming over?” Rollie queried.
“No, Rollie. It’s nothing like that. You’ll find out shortly.”
“We’re going to have a little surprise for you, too,” BT offered. “We’ve got a few more guys that have joined the group.”
“They’ll start straggling in,” Paul added. “We’ve got some characters around here that like to play.”
“You guys have never disappointed me. You seem to bring them out of the woodwork,” J Dub said with a laugh. “Can any of them shoot a good round?”
“We’re not in here to find hackers,” Fred howled as he choked down the last bite.
“Then I don’t know if you guys will welcome this guy to the group. I don’t think that he plays too well,” J Dub offered. “But do your best to make him feel at home.”
With that, the door to the clubhouse inched open. Standing in the doorway was a tiny, almost miniature, middle-aged black man. Even with shoes on, his height couldn’t reach five foot six inches. He was dressed in black pants and wore white socks inside his worn out black shoes. The diminutive figure had on a white dress shirt that was bracketed by a set of black suspenders. At the top of his collar was a red bowtie, and on top of his closely cropped hair, a burgundy beret.
Inside now, he stood there wide-eyed and unshaven in front of the group of strangers. The new surroundings seemed to intimidate him. His shy demeanor suggested that he was a very polite and soft-spoken man.
“Where did you find this player, J Dub?” Fred yelled from the back of the room.
“Are you sure he’s not a caddy?” Rollie followed.
J Dub’s older brother Curt stepped inside the front door. “Hey guys, I’d like for you to meet a friend of ours. This is Tyrone Munroe . . . all the way from New Orleans, Louisiana.”
“I’d like for all of you guys to welcome Tyrone to Prairie Winds,” J Dub butted in. “He’s going to make this place his second home.”
“What in the world has gotten into you J Dub?” BT asked from the back. “Have you turned to drugs or something?”
J Dub sniggered. “BT, you know better than that. Not in the least bit. I made a deal with the pastor of my church. During the civil suit ordeal we went through a ton of stress. I told him that if we were to ever get the golf course back I would owe him a favor. That’s what I was referring to a little while ago.”
“Tyrone was displaced in the Hurricane Katrina disaster,” Curt chimed in. “He lost everything. His house and family and all of his possessions were wiped out.”
“So the church came to the rescue,” J Dub added.
“And provided housing for Tyrone,” interrupted Curt.
“Mister Curt, you can just call me Tye,” shot back a strong, deep voice with a southern drawl. A toothy smile lit up the pro shop.
Fred couldn’t resist referencing the red tie that Tye was sporting. “With what you’re wearing why don’t we make that BowTye?” he shouted out from his roosting spot at the back table.
“Yeah, that’s a good one,” Elia agreed. “I like that.”
Paul, who was a model of distinction and always dressed to the nines, got up and walked over to the front door. He towered above the smaller figure. “Welcome to Prairie Winds, BowTye. We’re glad to have you.”
“We knew that you guys would be cool,” Curt said with a smile.
“The church set him up with housing not far from here in East St. Louis,” J Dub continued.
“And we told them that we would help find him employment,” Curt added.
“Now what is your name, Sir?” BowTye asked as Paul gripped his hand.
“My name is Paul.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mister Paul.”
“Likewise,” Paul stated with a welcoming tone. “You don’t mind if we use that new nickname, do you?” He reached forward to straighten out the red bowtie.
A smile crinkled Tyrone’s face. “Well, I don’t know if I’ve ever had a nickname before.”
“If you’re going to hang out here, then you’ve got to have one,” Paul said. “So BowTye it is.”
Curt gave Paul a wink. “Listen up guys. BowTye isn’t a golfer.”
“But he’s going to be around a lot helping us with the little odd jobs,” J Dub explained. “We’ll have him down in the maintenance shed and out on the course.”
“And I’m especially good at shinin’ shoes. Would you like to be my first Mister Paul?” BowTye politely asked.
“How could I possible turn down an invitation like that?” Paul said slightly amazed. He sat down and took off his golf shoes. “I’d gladly let you clean my shoes, BowTye.”
The mood in the clubhouse remained jovial. One by one the boys came up and shook BowTye’s hand.
Behind the counter Julie stood amused and in awe of what was taking place. She turned to her boss. “J Dub, you are something else. In one morning you’ve created more warm and fuzzies around here than we’ve had in a decade.”
CHAPTER SIX
The boys continued their morning chat at the back table while the coffee pot worked overtime to give most of them a second or third cup. The box of doughnuts seemed to have Fred’s name on it. What wasn’t in the box was plastered on his chin or nesting in the creases of his lips.
“It looks like we have enough guys for a couple of groups this morning,” Curt said. “Let’s go out in two foursomes.”
“Half of us are already loaded in the carts,” BT reported.
“Give me a second to put on my shoes and I’ll meet you guys on the first tee,” Paul added.
Prairie Winds was a fun public golf course to play. The landing areas for the drives were generous so even the most erratic shots stayed in play. Normally any ball that strayed off one of the zoysia fairways didn’t come into too much harm from the bluegrass rough that always seemed to be cropped fairly low. However, if a ball found a group of trees or some of the water on the course, the strokes could add up in a hurry.
The guys threw balls on the first tee to see who was paired with whom. Curt, Paul, Elia, and Fred formed one group. BT, Paco, Rollie, and a recent addition to the group named Andrew formed the second group.
Andrew was a friend of Fred’s who was semi-retired. He had made his bucks in steel sales and had gotten to know Fred by way of the auto plant. When his cash had been rolling in, he invested in a start-up company on the stock market and made a fortune. “Would you hurry up?” Paco yelled out to the parking lot. “You know we have a standard tee time.”
“I ate as fast as I could,” Andrew shouted back.
“Did it take too long to cook the pork chops this morning?” BT asked.
All the guys chuckled. Andrew was a mess. So
me of the world called him Andy, and the others called him Drew. However the guys at Prairie Winds had nicknamed him Pork Chop after going on a weekend golf outing with him. On one of their early morning tee time excursions he made the guys stop and negotiate a u-turn through the median of the interstate after seeing a sign advertising pork chops and eggs for $3.99.
“The diner was packed this morning,” Pork Chop shouted back as he waddled over to the first tee. His shoes were untied and a ketchup splatter was front and center on his wrinkled golf shirt. A ball cap sat atop his disheveled hair. “Ethel was running way behind.”
“One of these days you’ll have to put the pork chops on the back burner and honor your tee time,” Rollie pointed out emphatically. “Come on!” He had unhooked the oxygen tank that helped him breathe and was anxious to get the round underway.
As he dug into his bag for a ball, Pork Chop made an attempt to stick up for himself. “I made it, didn’t I?”
“Where did you get that shirt?” Elia inquired.
“My one-color shirt had eleven food stains on it,” Pork Chop explained. “At least you can’t see them on this one.”
“Isn’t that a paisley print?” Rollie asked. “That was popular thirty years ago.”
“Who cares?” Pork Chop shot back. “It works for me.”
“It barely covers your belly,” Paco said. In fact, Pork Chop’s belly resembled a Buddha. The shirt wasn’t long enough to be tucked in so the breeze tickled the bare skin above his belt buckle.
“The heck with it,” Pork Chop declared. “I’m here to play golf, not win a fashion contest.” He laughed it all off.
“What’s the game today guys?” Curt asked. He hadn’t had an opportunity to play too much with the boys in several years.
“We’ll all throw five bucks in the pot for a skin game,” Paul answered.
“Every greenie is a skin too,” Fred piped in. “I’ve got to have some chance of getting my money back.” Fred didn’t hit the ball that far, but he was as accurate with his irons as any guy that golfed at Prairie Winds.