The Richard Jackson Saga: Book 11: Interesting Times

by Ed Nelson

  The final round was the pressure round. Everything else was preparation for it. I followed the strategy that John and I had laid out on the first practice round. It gave me a par and the win.

  The trick to the Oakmont was to realize you couldn’t beat it, you could only break even.

  Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer were tied at one-under. There would be a playoff on Sunday for the prize money.

  Jack ended up winning first place pro money of $17,500 and Arnold took home $10,500.

  What occurred on the course from the crowd was disgraceful. Arnold Palmer was from nearby Latrobe, PA which made him a hometown favorite.

  That was no reason for the ten thousand plus spectators to heckle Jack as he played. He kept his cool. If anything, they were encouraging him. He was even for eighteen while Palmer came in a plus three.

  Arnold Palmer was always a gentleman and I think the crowd's antics bothered him more than it did Jack Nicklaus.

  In the interviews after I accepted the trophy, I was once more asked if I was turning pro. I was a little arrogant when I stated that I couldn’t afford the cut in pay to play golf full time. I wasn’t treated well in the golf magazines for my statement, but the businesspeople agreed.

  The movie people loved it; any publicity is good publicity in their eyes. I didn’t call the Queen or the Empress to see what they thought. The Kennedys sent me a congratulatory telegram so I guess they had no problems.

  When asked if I was going for a grand slam my only comment was that I had entered those tournaments.

  I did attend several parties Saturday night. It was an obligation of the winners. I spent a lot of time talking golf with Jack Nicklaus. I believe that he is a pro that is going to go places.

  Sunday was a quiet flight home for the family. John was still talking a mile a minute. I think he was more thrilled with the win than I was.

  All in all, an interesting trip.

  Chapter 50

  We were all exhausted when we got home from the trip. Dad carried Eddie to the car. I carried Mary and Mum shepherded a dazed Denny. If someone had been able to carry me, I think I would have let them.

  There were reporters lined up at the gate, but we didn’t stop. I would have to talk to them but not that evening.

  Between the golf and parties, it had been a hard week. Dad thought it was worth it from his point of view as he made several good contacts. Mum had twisted some arms for donations to hers, and Anna Romanov’s, charity.

  I didn’t ask but I bet Mary even sold some dresses or something.

  I was slow starting, but I did get my run in. I rode over to see Sam and John. They were both busy setting up the practice greens for the PGA and British Open tournaments. At least I would have almost a month to get ready for them.

  In the meantime, we talked about the arrangements that had to be made for them to get to both courses in the next week. My plane was getting a workout, which was a good thing. An aircraft sitting idle will deteriorate quicker than one in service; at least that is what I had been taught.

  Once we had the details hashed out, I headed back to the house for the part of the job I didn’t care for, the press interview.

  We had a wooden bleacher set up beside the house that we used for these events. When they were being set up, I asked for extra splinters to be installed. I never sat upon them to find out if it had been done.

  There was a simple platform about two feet high at the front of the bleachers. A sound system had been brought out earlier and tested so I had to face the music.

  Now there was a thought, maybe I could sing to them, that would keep it short. Nah, I’m not that mean.

  I was expecting the usual questions about turning pro, going for a grand slam, and how did I feel about winning the US Open two times.

  I was thrown for a loop when the first question was.

  “How do you feel about Nina getting back together with the Prince?”

  I felt like I had been drenched with a bucket of ice water. Then I realized who had asked the question.

  “On what authority do you have that they are back together.”

  He held up the front page of the latest issue of his rag. It showed Nina and the Prince together. I had seen enough of these to know when pictures have been superimposed.

  “So, your paper faked a picture. Now you are trying to get me to comment on the fake so you can stir up some controversy. I would like the gentlemen and ladies of the true press to excuse me for using the term paper when talking about this waste of pulpwood.”

  “People deserve to know how you feel about this,” he shouted.

  “I feel that you had better leave now.”

  “I have press credentials. I don’t have to leave.”

  “Have it your way then, this press conference is over. You might want to run as your colleagues don’t look happy.”

  “You just don’t want to talk about the bitch!”

  I managed to jump from the platform and go up three rows and throw a right hook into his jaw before he got another word out.

  This led to all sorts of complications, I knocked him unconscious, cameras were clicking like crazy, questions were screamed at me.

  Our security got control quickly, smelling salts brought the jerk around.

  He kept shouting, “Call the Sheriff, he attacked me.”

  Dad had been watching from the sidelines.

  He commented, “Good punch, Rick, but we have to call the Sheriff.”

  Since we had a lot of witnesses and recordings of what happened we made everyone stay.

  Reporters were begging us to use our phones.

  We were lucky in that a Deputy Sheriff arrived within ten minutes. After a quick talk with Dad, he took control of the situation. He had me go to the gate guardhouse and wait.

  Later I was told he had all the reporters sit down on the bleachers. Then he called for backup.

  The guy that I had knocked out came around and was screaming that I should be arrested and that he was going to sue.

  I didn't hear any of this or I might have busted him again.

  The Deputy had the guy show his ID for his report, Dad told me. Then the Deputy came into the guard shack and made a phone call. I could hear his end.

  He read off the information on the guy's driver's license. He made notes as something was read off to him.

  He hung up the phone and told me, “Normally, Jackson, I would be putting the cuffs on you for assault and battery. You are the luckiest guy I know.”

  He didn’t explain, but he went out and cuffed the guy and put him in the back of the cruiser. I could hear the yells outside, so I had to stick my head out.

  I saw him close the backdoor of the cruiser and go up on the stage. To say there was a storm of questions would be, to put it mildly.

  The Deputy held up his hands until it got relatively quiet.

  “I just took into custody a man wanted for escaping from prison in Wyoming. We had a BOLO, on him. Rick Jackson a US Deputy Marshal, subdued him and held him for our arrival.”

  And I thought the newspapers made things up.

  All he said was true but had nothing to do with the real story. I saw Dad talking to him while the reporters were going nuts again.

  Since I didn’t appear to be in trouble now, I walked up to the stage. I just thought they were yelling before. I held up my hands for silence. It took a couple of minutes, but they finally shut up.

  “I would like to thank Deputy Fife for his fine work tonight. I thought I recognized the guy but wasn’t sure until he kept talking. Then I subdued him. That is my story and I’m sticking to it. I’m also confused about how he got hired in the first place. Are all of you like that?”

  This droves them mad. I went into the house. Other sheriff cruisers were showing up. Sheriff Burrell came rolling in. He, Dad, Mum, Deputy Fife, and I sat in the kitchen drinking coffee.

  The Sheriff told me, “By rights Rick we should be hauling you away. Lucky for you he had several sto
ries printed with his picture in them. The Wyoming state police found out he would be out this way and put out the “Be On the Look Out for him in this area.”

  “If they hadn’t it would have taken us weeks to figure out who he was. You would be out on bail but would have the arrest on your record. As I said you are lucky. I understand the real reason you punched him was that he called your girlfriend a bitch.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend anymore, but I won’t tolerate what he said.”

  Mum added, “Rick thinks she isn’t his girlfriend. The way he has been mooning around I don’t think the issue is settled.”

  I don’t know where she gets her ideas from.

  The next day the newspapers and tabloids had a field day with the story. If you could think of a variation it was printed.

  I wondered what Nina would think of all this. I wasn’t about to call her and ask. It was a shame we didn’t have any mutual friends that would know how the other was doing.

  I might be losing my mind.

  The news on TV that evening was all about Viet Nam, both north and south. The government in the south had collapsed, currently, anarchy reigned. In the north, Ho Chi Minh had a heart attack and died. That country was in turmoil, but not civil war yet.

  China had moved quickly and made an offer to the UN to send in Peacekeeping troops to both North and South. Since they were traditional enemies that wouldn’t play well with the Communist in the North or whatever they now were in the South. This might even unite the two.

  I was thankful that I wasn’t involved in that mess.

  That lasted until the phone rang five minutes later. It was Empress Ping for me.

  “Rick, we need your help. We need someone to be a go-between for North and South Viet Nam. We know that if China goes in it will be an all-out war. We only made the offer as a goodwill gesture to the UN.”

  “You are in a strange position. You can sit down with the North and talk about modernizing Haiphong Harbor. This will put pressure on the North to have a responsible leadership in place and stop them from invading the disorganized south.”

  “The Australians with British backing are willing to occupy Saigon to keep the peace there while you talk about modernizing their series of ports.”

  “We hope that the warring factions will call a truce for the opportunity to upgrade the ports.”

  “Who do you expect to pay for these ports?”

  “China will arrange the loans as we hope to change our relationship with our past enemies. We now know as the United States had demonstrated there is more than one way to influence a country besides conquering it.”

  “So, you are going to loan my money to the Vietnamese to gain goodwill for China.”

  “I knew you were a smart one.”

  “Okay, if it will stave off two wars I will try.”

  “You are a good boy, Rick.”

  Chapter 51

  Hanoi didn’t have an airport that would take my 707 so I had to fly into Hong Kong and then a series of ever-smaller aircraft into Hanoi.

  The last was a Cessna.

  I was given a cool welcome into the country. They were not thrilled with me being an American, or my British and Chinese connections.

  What they were interested in was my money. So, what else was new?

  I rode in a ‘limo’ circa 1930, it had seen hard use. This was a poor country if this is the best the government could do, that or they were sending me a message. From the looks of the few other vehicles on the road, I’m voting poor.

  The hotel looked like it had been built by the French at the turn of the century. It looked the same as it did then. It would have helped if it had been maintained.

  The conference room had a round table. I was told by my interpreter who had joined me in Hong Kong that this was because the various functionaries present couldn’t agree on who would be the new leader of North Vietnam.

  They were the most circumspect group I have ever dealt with. Nothing was said straight out because no one wanted to be the one to open the topic as they would be begging for Chinese help.

  I decided that I had to break this log jam. Through my interpreter, I started.

  “I have come to North Vietnam to ask for your help.”

  Now I was the beggar. Since I was a westerner, I had no face to lose.

  “My company is upgrading the ports of this region of Asia. Haiphong Harbor is one of those that we need in our trade network.”

  This was a bare face lie.

  “I have arranged financing from the Chinese to do this. I would think that your country would be pleased to take the Chinese money, using your old enemy's money to attack them economically.”

  This phrase had been given to me by the Empress’ staff. The key idea here was, ‘old enemy,’ and ‘attack.’ This implied that Chania was no longer an enemy as in warfare but if they wanted to have an economic war, game on.

  This played to the two countries' history and changed the playing field.

  “I have a request of my own that I would add. No war with the South. I need peace there so I can upgrade Saigon’s Harbors. They will not compete with you as you are placed to ship to Japan, the Philippines, and China. They have the inferior markets of Australia, New Zealand, and Indonesia.”

  I had conveniently forgotten about India. Maybe I should go into bridge sales. This all leads to a circular conversation until I realized that I had brought out nothing for their rice bowls. This was a polite way of saying bribes. How could I forget? I was in Asia.

  “I will need to hire most of you as consultants to help my project along. I’m offering ten thousand dollars a year as a starting salary.”

  This was a bloody fortune to them.

  No one immediately took me up on my offer. I didn’t expect that. I did get a promise to set up a study group when the new leadership emerged. In other words, they wanted to fight it out to see who would run the country, then the winner would try to extract as much as they could from me.

  That worked, while concentrating internally there would be no attack on the south. Also, with the prospect of millions from the Chinese, they would be more interested in getting their differences settled peacefully rather than dying for the privilege of running this poor country.

  Of course, I was later proved wrong. Some people would rather be the large frog in the small pond rather than a rich frog in a large pond. I no sooner left them to fly to Saigon than fighting broke out.

  It came out in favor of a rich frog in a large pond, so it ended well from my point of view.

  In the south, it was quite different. The Australian Army had joint exercises going with the South Vietnamese Army so we're able to lockdown Saigon.

  Arriving there was remarkably like my arrival in the north. I was bundled into a 1940s model Cadillac, a distinct improvement over my northern ride.

  I was taken to a French-built hotel which looked better than the one up north, but not that much better.

  Three groups were sitting at a rectangular table. I had an end to myself. At the other end was a man who I guessed was a schoolteacher. He was the representative of one of the factions. He was alone.

  Oh, the two long sides of the table were the other factions, each on their side.

  While one at the short end looked reputable the others didn't. One group was dressed in a suit and tie, but they looked like they belonged in a gangster movie as the bad guys.

  The other looked like highway bandits. None dressed alike. Their clothes were dirty and stained. I imagine the odor in the room emanated from them.

  Stand behind me were the American Ambassador and the Australian Commander.

  I made an opening statement through my interpreter that I was there to see if they could form a government that I could negotiate modernizing their port facilities with.

  The American Ambassador interjected, “There will have to be free and open elections first.”

  He no sooner got that out than one of the bandit types pulled a pisto
l and shot the leader in the business suit group.

  I dove for the floor under the table as gunfire erupted around the room. When the gunfire ceased with my weapon in hand I crawled out from under the Australian Commander and the American Ambassador.

  The Commander was fine. The Ambassador had taken a wound to his buttock as that was the last portion of him to go down.

  The room was a shamble. There were dead and dying on both sides of the table. It didn’t look like any of them survived.

  At the other end of the table, the schoolteacher stood up. I looked around the room.

  “It looks like the election has been held and this gentleman is the winner.”

  It wasn’t that simple. Both shot-up groups had other leaders who hadn’t attended. The Australians sent messages to those who hadn’t attended asking them to take the fallen leader’s places.

  As they showed up, they were taken into custody. Two of the major factions were now missing the top two layers of their command.

  The guy who looked like a schoolteacher had been a schoolteacher. Trần Văn Hương had resisted both the French and the Communists who overthrew them. He was considered a moderate and was probably as good of a leader as we would get.

  He and I adjourned to a separate office as the bodies were cleared under the Australian Commanders' direction. The American Ambassador was carried out to a car where he was to be taken back to the Embassy to be treated by an American Doctor.

  From the way the bullet skimmed his pants, I didn’t think it went deep. The wound would be painful, and he wouldn’t be able to sit. It would be nothing compared to the jokes and nicknames he would carry for the rest of his career. Or should I say the rest of his rear?

  I decided to be blunt with Trần.

  “China does not want war in Vietnam at this time. Not because they care about Vietnam, it is because a war here might bring the Americans in on the south’s side.”

  “The Soviets want that to happen and are supporting the north because it will leave China in the middle.”