The Richard Jackson Saga: Book 11: Interesting Times

by Ed Nelson

  “UK forces were there.”

  “But we know that the US wouldn’t listen to Churchill or Atlee.”

  Then he let something slip.

  “I hear the Prime Minister tried to have his ambassador take charge. That you put him in his place.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “Both of you got rather loud, they heard it in Hong Kong.

  I doubted that, it meant they had a spy in the Palace. Now, why did he let me know that? To keep us honest. This was truly a puzzle.

  I went back to Mr. Norman's office. He must be getting tired of me walking through his door. He did sit up straight when I relayed my conversation. He agreed it was puzzling that I was made aware of a spy in our midst.

  Our best guess the spy was from the old regime and had reported back but they wanted to get rid of the spy, so they let it slip. MI 6 could do their dirty work for them.

  Months later I would learn that all the people near that office were investigated. What they learned was that one of the staff had sold the information to a reporter who had, in turn, sold it to the Chinese. It appeared that Hsian-Tsung wanted them to run in circles for a while. Now, why would he do that, unless it is to conceal someone or an ongoing operation? I hate the spy world.

  Chapter 5

  On Friday I had a do-nothing day. I went over to the boarding stable and took a long ride on the horse that my parents had got me. I had been on it so infrequently that I never bothered to name it.

  The kids from the orphanage sponsored by the Coram Foundation called him Big Red. Since I hardly ever gave him any exercise, we allowed them along with several other horse owners to ride our horses.

  I called ahead to make sure no children would be out today. Because he was ridden often by children, he had become very patient. He plodded along, not my idea of a ride. I think I will just deed him over; I will still pay his bills, vet, feed, and board but I took no real pleasure in the ride.

  I expect George was getting to be the same way at Jackson House.

  Another decision I made about things that weren’t doing me immediate good was that Ferrari I had won. All it did was sit in the garage in Oxford. Since I wasn’t going there anymore, I didn’t need the garage. I had meant to ship it to the US to torment Denny but never got around to it.

  After thinking about what to do with it I realized Valentine's day was nearing. I made a phone call to the dealer in London and arranged for it to be shipped to Switzerland. I hoped it would arrive on time.

  After that, I told Mr. Hamilton to have the garage cleaned out and let it go. Mum had rented it for me and had paid for me by the year. I had no idea who the landlord was, but he said he had the papers and would take care of them.

  This year had been paid for and I could legally stop them from using the garage for all of 1962.

  I told Mr. Hamilton just to get me out and eat the loss. That was when it hit me hard that my days at Oxford were over. I started to tear up a little then settled down. As they say, it was done and dusted.

  I also called David Randel-MacIver and let him know that I would continue to fund the roman dig and the amusement park. He had heard about my being dismissed so was relieved to hear my promise to continue the funding.

  I don’t know why he was worried it was only a couple of million pounds a year. Another loose end tidied up.

  All caught up on the loose ends of my life I wondered what to do next. I felt like playing golf but with this lousy weather, cold rain, there was no way that I was going to play.

  I did think that I had to contact John Jacobs as I hadn’t talked to him in a while. About that time, I slapped my forehead. Why not go to dry, warm California to talk to John and play some golf?

  Silly me sitting here in England with nothing to do and I could go anywhere in the world. I picked up the phone and called the air leasing firm to see if my jet was ready to go. It was.

  I asked them to set up a flight to California leaving early tomorrow morning. Informed Harold of my intentions and that he was to accompany me. Grand Mum and Mr. Hamilton were still at Jackson House.

  I let the housekeeper know my plans. She told me she would take advantage of everyone being gone and let them take a week off. She would be heading to Corfu. It seems everyone was ready to flee this dreadful winter weather.

  I wish I had thought of it earlier, I never gave it a thought that the only reason the servants were here was that I was in residence.

  I called Nina and told her of my plans. She immediately declared she hated me. She had to stay in school. We talked for an hour and she finally told me she didn’t hate me but was jealous.

  She wouldn’t be getting any length of time off until spring break in May. She would model on the weekends and even in some nice places, but it would be flying in, work, fly out.

  I then called Jackson House to let them know I would be arriving tomorrow night and please have a room available for Harold. I assumed mine would be there.

  Mum told me she wondered why I had even bothered to go back to England while the weather was bad. I pled male not thinking. She accepted that as normal.

  My flight to LAX was getting to be old hat. I even sat upfront with the flight crew. They let me log a few hours over the Arctic ocean. I think they only did it because it was one of the most boring flights ever. Nothing but white down below.

  We arrived on time at LAX and spent the next hour circling as traffic was backed up. This was jet plane traffic, not cars. Though from what I could see the freeways had a major case of gridlock.

  Finally, able to land Harold and I took our limo which Mum had sent for us to Jackson House. He had more luggage than I did because of my duplicate sets of clothing. I told him to purchase and bill me duplicate sets of his own. It seemed dumb for me to be able to leave the plane quickly because I had no bags but then had to wait for him.

  He told me that he had been saving to do that very thing and he would take me up on my generous offer.

  At Jackson House just in time for dinner I was told there would be a treat for me after eating. I had no clue as to what it might be.

  After the meal, the family retired to the TV room. There was a special documentary they wanted to watch. My shipping container documentary had been released.

  I thought it was well done but I couldn’t stand my voice. Everyone assured me that it sounded fine. Even Mary gave me a pass. She must be up to something.

  I had only been gone for a little while so there wasn’t much to catch up on. I did notice that Mr. Hamilton and Grand Mum were sitting together on a love seat.

  No one else seemed to notice or care so I let it go. Hey, if they are happy so am I. Our resident gadabout, Mrs. Hernandez seemed to have a night off from her frantic dating schedule.

  I had the flight crew take a few days off. They were staying at my beach house. They complained to their home office about how tough of duty they had. The nerve.

  I even took the Head Stewardess to task over this. She told me it was incredibly stressful never knowing when their idiot client would take it in his mind to leave this paradise. The worry!

  I called John Jacobs and he was glad to hear from me. He didn’t know if I had given up on golf. It wasn’t the money. Since he had caddied for a US Open winner he was in high demand.

  He was looking forward to defending the title this year and by the way, was I thinking of the Grand Slam. I hadn’t been but this was a good idea. I had the time now.

  It would be the Masters in April, June was the US Open, then the PGA Championship July, and followed by the British Open the same month.

  We talked about it. He volunteered to cancel all his caddy bookings if I wanted to get serious. I did. I would be playing or practicing every day that I could. I explained that I had to be in China the last week of January, but it would only be for a week, then he had my full time.

  He had a few friends who worked at the Augusta National Golf Club, he would ask who on the board would most likely get me gues
t privileges.

  He called back within the hour, if I had a way to contact him President Eisenhower was a long-time member and carried heavy influence. I told him I would call Ike. John knew that Ike was my godfather and was pulling my leg.

  Not letting any grass grow under my feet and it still being early enough I called the ex-President at his farm in Gettysburg. He was home and took my call.

  I explained that I was going for a grand slam this year and that I needed to practice at Augusta. He immediately volunteered to get me guest privileges and that he would take me on my first round.

  I suspect it was an excuse to get to Augusta and play a round or two.

  He checked his calendar and said he could play next week. I offered to pick him up in Frederick Maryland and take him with me to the Augusta airfield. I later learned we would have to fly into Atlanta and take a smaller plane to Augusta as the runways were not long enough at Daniel’s field.

  Chapter 6

  I knew my golf was rusty, so I went to the Riviera County Club’s practice range. I spent half a day and hit four buckets of balls. I took frequent breaks, so I didn’t get sore or pull anything.

  Starting with my nine iron I worked my way up. When I got to my driver things had changed, I hadn’t grown any taller, but I was carrying twenty more pounds. At six foot five inches weighing two hundred and ten pounds I was in the best shape of my life.

  During the last six months, I had stepped up my running, weightlifting, and general exercising. I didn’t make a big deal of it, I just did it.

  I weighed fifteen pounds more than I did at the US Open. It showed when I hit my drives, I had gained about five yards. That doesn’t sound like much, but at this level of golf, it could be a game-changer.

  I might also add that the weight gain wasn’t fat. I had what they called washboard abs. I felt good about myself and it was obvious that I was going to tear up the golf courses.

  Then I went to the putting green and my world collapsed around me. My speed, and ability to read the lie were terrible, other than that all was well. It was trash!

  I was going to have to spend hours getting my feel for the greens back. Not only was I bad, but I was also trying to putt on the practice greens of a busy golf course.

  Groups were teeing off every ten minutes. Most groups hit the practice green while they waited. US Open winner or not, they wanted their share of the large green. I would never get the time I needed here. All the courses in the area would be the same.

  I could go anywhere in the world. Where would I find a practice green that would be all mine? I was so desperate that I even mentioned it at dinner. Denny and Eddie shrugged their shoulders, Mary thought I should buy a course of my own.

  Dad didn’t say anything. Mum was out at some charity event with Mrs. Hernandez. Those two made the local tabloids almost every day and the nationals once a week.

  After dinner Dad went to his office, he came out a little while later.

  “Rick, there is a golf course out by Ontario that is being torn down for residential development. The practice greens are still there, and I have rented them for you for the next month.”

  “Dad you are awesome.”

  “You are paying for it, not me.”

  Have I ever said my Dad can be a cheapskate at times? I think being raised in the depression made him that way. It didn’t matter, either of us could afford it, it was his tone of voice, he was serious.

  No matter I had my practice green.

  In the morning John and I drove out to Ontario to the golf course. The clubhouse was gone, and the first fairway was being bulldozed. The putting green and driving range were on the far side of where the clubhouse had been, so the equipment noise wasn’t that bad.

  One nice thing was that the green was still in good shape like someone was still tending it. We soon found out as a grumpy old man came out and demanded who we were, and what we were doing here.

  He didn’t want to listen to us, he was calling the police. Before he did that a guy in a construction truck pulled in. He was yelling as he came up to us.

  He yelled, “Sam, wait a minute, it's okay.”

  The old guy turned and listened.

  “These guys have rented the practice area for the next month. It means you have an extra three weeks.”

  A picture started to form.

  The old guy named Sam had to be told twice before he understood, he started smiling.

  “I knew the Lord would provide.”

  “Sam it is only some more weeks, this area is coming down.”

  “I’m sure the Lord will provide.”

  He turned to me and asked, “Now who are you coming to my rescue.”

  There was no way I could pass this one up. Using my most posh British accent.

  “Lord Blackhoof.”

  Sam got all red in the face, I thought he might have a heart attack. I was worried when he started wheezing. He finally got settled down.

  “I know the Lord moves in mysterious ways, but I didn’t know he also has a sense of humor. So, you’re the Richard Jackson who is the US Open Champion.”

  “I am.”

  “Nice to meet you, now let me guess, you haven’t played much recently and find your putting has gone out the window. Not only that you need a green where you can spend many hours.”

  Sam is not as crazy as I thought.

  “You understand my situation quite well.”

  The construction guy had headed back to his truck when saw blood wasn’t going to be shed.”

  “Sam, what's the story here?”

  “I’ve tended this golf course for the last forty years. It’s part of my life, I just can’t seem to let it go. I know that it is gone but I want this last little piece to last as long as it can.”

  I could respect that, I didn’t understand it, but I could respect it. I didn’t have forty years invested in anything so there was no way I could understand.

  John had been standing silently the whole time. He now spoke up asking some technical questions about the large green. The foundation, sand, grass type, and a few other things.

  Sam waxed enthusiastic and I could see John forming a partnership with Sam.

  I went right to work, lining up ten golf balls fifteen feet from one of the pins. I kept missing to the right. It was only inches but, in this case, the saying, an inch is as good as a mile was correct.

  I lined them up again when Sam stopped me. He and John had been watching my poor display.

  “May I call you Rick?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Rick, stop what you are doing, you are only ingraining a bad habit.”

  “Do you know what I should be doing?”

  “I think you are too tense. Try something for me.”

  I nodded and he showed me a different grip.

  “Try it this way.”

  I did and the ball went in the hole. The second and third made it also. I missed the fourth, leaving it hanging on the edge. The point was it was headed towards the cup not sliding away.

  “You mean I have been gripping the club wrong all this time?”

  “Not at all, when you changed your grip you concentrated on that and forgot whatever was making it push.”

  I set up and stroked the other six balls towards the pin. I was sinking fifteen percent, good but not good enough to win a tournament.

  I must have putted a thousand times that day. Towards the end, I was up to twenty percent. Better but not good enough. I needed to be above thirty percent at ten to fifteen feet.

  Above fifteen feet putting drops off dramatically. I didn’t bother to practice any forty-five-footers. With the curves, hills, and dales used today, it would be almost impossible to read a green that well.

  Sam proved to be a putting genius. I asked him why he wasn’t a pro somewhere. He told me that his short irons were a mystery that he never solved and as such never made a name for himself, even locally.

  As far as I was concerned their loss, my gain.
Further conversation revealed he is a widower with no children. He appeared to be all alone in the world.

  I said something to that effect, and he laughed.

  “I have my buddies at the VFW. We get together every week and tell lies.”

  Still not the same.

  I spent a total of six hours putting and two hours on the range.

  On the putting green, I would line ten balls up at three feet and put them in 98% of the time, I had to be 99%. Then I would back off a foot and stroke ten more. The further back the lower the percentage in, but the more practice and that percentage started to rise. Nothing spectacular but it was an improvement.

  After working back to fifteen feet I would move over to the driving range. I was using the range as a break from putting. At the range I would start with the low clubs, hitting ten shots. Finally, the driver using tees. I was booming them out.

  We broke for lunch, my treat. At the end of the day, I felt like I had a real workout.

  On the way back to my house where John had left his car, he made a statement.

  “It’s a shame you don’t have a putting green like that at Jackson House.”

  “Yes, it is, but it would take a long time to put one in and grow the grass.”

  “Not if you transplanted.”

  “John you are a genius!”

  Chapter 7

  I could hardly wait to get home and talk to Dad. I asked him who owned the golf course I had been practicing at, I wanted to buy the putting green and have it brought to Jackson House. He had no problems with that.

  We had the room. We talked about the driving range; we had the room but didn’t want to move that much grass. Dad made a phone call and talked for a while.

  “Rick, I explained what you wanted. He is giving the green to you plus the driving range, all you must do is pay to move it and play one round of golf with him at a future date. He wants to brag he played with a US Open winner.”

  “That’s great, I’ll gladly play eighteen holes with him, any idea of the cost of moving?”

  “None but I bet a sod company could do it.”