My father used to say, "Teaching is a little like playing professional baseball. You get to start a new season every year."
Well, today, the President of the United States (forget his name, his party, his religion, his color) wanted to give a "first day of school speech" to the kids of the nation. People bitched. School districts opted out. Parents kept kids home.
I read the speech. I listened to most of it. The message was "do what your parents, and grand-parents want you to do," "stay in school," "study hard," "do your best," "it's important for you and your country." Now, what the hell is wrong with that.
If we, as a country, as a nation, as a people, FAIL, it will be because we've brought ourselves down.
Today was depressing. A lot of days are depressing.
Onward and upward?? I hope so.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
All the Days Dwindle Down
It is September, before a rainfall … no, it is September and time to catch-up.
Let's see. Michael Jackson's death has been ruled a homicide. The coroner thinks his doctor did it with an overdose of one of the drugs Jackson was using to get to sleep. Bizarre. He was buried in the mausoleum at Forest Lawn Cemetery yesterday. "Oh, lay me down at Forest Lawn in a silver casket, with golden flowers over my head in a silver basket."
Teddy Kennedy died the other day. The left went into mourning. The media went crazy again. He went down as "the Lion of the Senate." I remember writing to him year's ago and urging him to pick-up the liberal banner and go forward. I wish I had a copy of that letter. I wonder if he ever read it? He's was buried in Arlington near his brothers. That's quite a family. I guess you can be "quite a family" if you've got money.
Yesterday it was announced that many of the CEOs of the banks that got bail out money are getting huge bonuses that will push their salaries to something like $13 million. That's obscene. Keep that up and there will be a revolution.
Let's see … a woman someplace is pregnant with 12 babies … a woman who was kidnapped as a child about 18 years ago has been found with two daughters of her own by the sex offender who kidnapped her … why didn't she try to get away … and why didn't the sheriff investigate more thoroughly … Bill Cosby came to Detroit to help the public schools … they need all the help they can get … theft, corruption, you name it.
In golf, they're into the FedEx Cup play-offs. Heath Slocum (who the hell is he?) won the first one. He beat Tiger by two strokes after Tiger missed a birdie putt on the 72nd hole. They're playing this week in Boston. I've got Vijay. He didn't make the cut last week. Either did the guy I had. Tiger still leads in the point count.
The Tigers are still in first place in the Central Division. They lead Chicago by seven and Minnesota by five with 29 games left. In those games, they play Chicago seven times and Minnesota three times. That will tell the tale. If they play their final 29 games with the same winning percentage they have now, they'll be tough to beat.
In local golf, I've been playing fairly well of late. I've had scores of 75 and 77 in Coscarelly's League. We scramble the drive so I get a break when I hit a crummy one and we're usually on all the par threes. Yesterday at Lilac Brothers, we used 11 of my tee shots and I won closest to the pin on two of the four par threes. That's when I shot 77 (38-39). At Rasin River and Taylor Meadows (where you play your own ball) I've been in the low 80s pretty consistently. Now watch it all go to hell.
The days are dwindling down … to a precious few.
Let's see. Michael Jackson's death has been ruled a homicide. The coroner thinks his doctor did it with an overdose of one of the drugs Jackson was using to get to sleep. Bizarre. He was buried in the mausoleum at Forest Lawn Cemetery yesterday. "Oh, lay me down at Forest Lawn in a silver casket, with golden flowers over my head in a silver basket."
Teddy Kennedy died the other day. The left went into mourning. The media went crazy again. He went down as "the Lion of the Senate." I remember writing to him year's ago and urging him to pick-up the liberal banner and go forward. I wish I had a copy of that letter. I wonder if he ever read it? He's was buried in Arlington near his brothers. That's quite a family. I guess you can be "quite a family" if you've got money.
Yesterday it was announced that many of the CEOs of the banks that got bail out money are getting huge bonuses that will push their salaries to something like $13 million. That's obscene. Keep that up and there will be a revolution.
Let's see … a woman someplace is pregnant with 12 babies … a woman who was kidnapped as a child about 18 years ago has been found with two daughters of her own by the sex offender who kidnapped her … why didn't she try to get away … and why didn't the sheriff investigate more thoroughly … Bill Cosby came to Detroit to help the public schools … they need all the help they can get … theft, corruption, you name it.
In golf, they're into the FedEx Cup play-offs. Heath Slocum (who the hell is he?) won the first one. He beat Tiger by two strokes after Tiger missed a birdie putt on the 72nd hole. They're playing this week in Boston. I've got Vijay. He didn't make the cut last week. Either did the guy I had. Tiger still leads in the point count.
The Tigers are still in first place in the Central Division. They lead Chicago by seven and Minnesota by five with 29 games left. In those games, they play Chicago seven times and Minnesota three times. That will tell the tale. If they play their final 29 games with the same winning percentage they have now, they'll be tough to beat.
In local golf, I've been playing fairly well of late. I've had scores of 75 and 77 in Coscarelly's League. We scramble the drive so I get a break when I hit a crummy one and we're usually on all the par threes. Yesterday at Lilac Brothers, we used 11 of my tee shots and I won closest to the pin on two of the four par threes. That's when I shot 77 (38-39). At Rasin River and Taylor Meadows (where you play your own ball) I've been in the low 80s pretty consistently. Now watch it all go to hell.
The days are dwindling down … to a precious few.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Maine
Julie and I spent all or part of ten days in Maine. We left home on July 22 and drove to Lee, Massachusetts. In Lee we stayed at a tired Quality Inn, but associated with the Inn was a great Indian Restaurant: The Bombay Bar and Grill. Super martinis and wonderful Indian food.
We had an interesting time driving to Lee. We had borrowed Julie's girlfriend's GPS system. It kept taking us away from I-90, the New York ThruWay, and onto NY route 20a, a two lane road winding through quaint towns and the beautiful New York countryside - a countryside dominated by New York's largest wind farm. Giant wind turbines with blades that reach 400 feet into the air are like eerie-looking aliens. They are almost scary as they appear to be able to begin moving across the landscape whenever they get the urge. From an article I read, it's my understanding that they are controversial. The farmers get paid to allow them on their farms, but lots of people say they shouldn't be allowed. One farmer made an interesting comment when he talked about the high tension lines that were installed during the electrification of America. People objected to those, too, but now take them for granted, Maybe the same thing will happen to the windmills.
It turns out that the GPS was programed to avoid toll roads and she (Julie named her Lola) worked perfectly once she was reprogramed. I think I'll get one for Julie as a birthday present.
We arrived on Westport Island on Thursday, the 23rd, and stayed at Meg's house as there were renters in Julie's house. The houses are on Kehail Point and face the Sheepscot River. They are about nine-tenths of a mile from the ocean. You look south from the house, down the widening river, until you see the lighthouse at Hendrick's Head on the Atlantic. The view is ever-changing and always magnificent … even in the fog.
The Sheepscot rises and falls with the tide with high tide being 8-12 feet higher than low tide. Upper Mark Island, an uninhabited rock covered with small trees and bushes is about two-tenths of a mile from shore. At low tide, the Harbor Seals bask on the rocks. At high tide you can watch them as they hunt for food. There are also all manner of birds from Eagles to the small birds that flit through the bushes between the houses and the water.
And then, there are the lobster fishermen. Their boats seem to be the ultimate male toy with their chugging engines, their radios and radar, and their lobstering equipment. They fish right in front of the houses and, on occasion, we've had them deliver lobsters to the dock in front of Meg's house. You can't get much fresher than that.
We moved into Julie's house on Saturday. Jenny, Bob, and Sophie, and Richard and Addie also arrived on Saturday. They rent a house on the Long Cove side of Kehail Point, just a short walk from Meg and Julie. Sunday was a rainy day and Rick played Monopoly with Sophie and Addie. Dinner at their camp.
On Monday morning, we went to the little beach at the end of Long Cove to hunt for treasures from the sea. Tom and Kara arrived on Monday. Rick picked them up at the Portland airport and brought them to Westport. We made another trip to the Long Cove beach in the afternoon. In the evening their was a surprise birthday party for Carl at Ellen's place. The kids had a good time with Ellen's tire swing.
On Tuesday we went to Reid State Park on the end of Georgetown Island. The kids, Julie, Jen, Bob, and Tom swam in the surf. Rick and I watched. We had a lobster dinner at their cottage that evening.
On Wednesday, we took one of Cap'n Fish's boat rides. The kids had a good time running from the bow to the stern, up the stairs to the upper deck, and back again.
Rick and Addie left on Thursday. Julie and I went to Damariscotta. Bob, Jenny, and Sophie went back to Booth Bay Harbor to bowl. We had dinner at Meg's on Thursday night.
On Friday, Julie and I took Tom and Kara to the Portland airport. Then we went into Portland to the Portland Museum of Art to see the Art Colonies of Maine show. Two of Julie's grandfather's paintings we're in the show and the show book cover was Pip's "Road to Ogunquit." On Friday afternoon we packed up to leave.
Saturday we drove to Rochester, New York. On Sunday we drove the rest of the way home. I wish we could have stayed in Maine a lot longer.
We had an interesting time driving to Lee. We had borrowed Julie's girlfriend's GPS system. It kept taking us away from I-90, the New York ThruWay, and onto NY route 20a, a two lane road winding through quaint towns and the beautiful New York countryside - a countryside dominated by New York's largest wind farm. Giant wind turbines with blades that reach 400 feet into the air are like eerie-looking aliens. They are almost scary as they appear to be able to begin moving across the landscape whenever they get the urge. From an article I read, it's my understanding that they are controversial. The farmers get paid to allow them on their farms, but lots of people say they shouldn't be allowed. One farmer made an interesting comment when he talked about the high tension lines that were installed during the electrification of America. People objected to those, too, but now take them for granted, Maybe the same thing will happen to the windmills.
It turns out that the GPS was programed to avoid toll roads and she (Julie named her Lola) worked perfectly once she was reprogramed. I think I'll get one for Julie as a birthday present.
We arrived on Westport Island on Thursday, the 23rd, and stayed at Meg's house as there were renters in Julie's house. The houses are on Kehail Point and face the Sheepscot River. They are about nine-tenths of a mile from the ocean. You look south from the house, down the widening river, until you see the lighthouse at Hendrick's Head on the Atlantic. The view is ever-changing and always magnificent … even in the fog.
The Sheepscot rises and falls with the tide with high tide being 8-12 feet higher than low tide. Upper Mark Island, an uninhabited rock covered with small trees and bushes is about two-tenths of a mile from shore. At low tide, the Harbor Seals bask on the rocks. At high tide you can watch them as they hunt for food. There are also all manner of birds from Eagles to the small birds that flit through the bushes between the houses and the water.
And then, there are the lobster fishermen. Their boats seem to be the ultimate male toy with their chugging engines, their radios and radar, and their lobstering equipment. They fish right in front of the houses and, on occasion, we've had them deliver lobsters to the dock in front of Meg's house. You can't get much fresher than that.
We moved into Julie's house on Saturday. Jenny, Bob, and Sophie, and Richard and Addie also arrived on Saturday. They rent a house on the Long Cove side of Kehail Point, just a short walk from Meg and Julie. Sunday was a rainy day and Rick played Monopoly with Sophie and Addie. Dinner at their camp.
On Monday morning, we went to the little beach at the end of Long Cove to hunt for treasures from the sea. Tom and Kara arrived on Monday. Rick picked them up at the Portland airport and brought them to Westport. We made another trip to the Long Cove beach in the afternoon. In the evening their was a surprise birthday party for Carl at Ellen's place. The kids had a good time with Ellen's tire swing.
On Tuesday we went to Reid State Park on the end of Georgetown Island. The kids, Julie, Jen, Bob, and Tom swam in the surf. Rick and I watched. We had a lobster dinner at their cottage that evening.
On Wednesday, we took one of Cap'n Fish's boat rides. The kids had a good time running from the bow to the stern, up the stairs to the upper deck, and back again.
Rick and Addie left on Thursday. Julie and I went to Damariscotta. Bob, Jenny, and Sophie went back to Booth Bay Harbor to bowl. We had dinner at Meg's on Thursday night.
On Friday, Julie and I took Tom and Kara to the Portland airport. Then we went into Portland to the Portland Museum of Art to see the Art Colonies of Maine show. Two of Julie's grandfather's paintings we're in the show and the show book cover was Pip's "Road to Ogunquit." On Friday afternoon we packed up to leave.
Saturday we drove to Rochester, New York. On Sunday we drove the rest of the way home. I wish we could have stayed in Maine a lot longer.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Twists and Turns
Things happen. They just happen. And taken collectively, they lead you through the twists and turns of your life to wherever it is you're going. You can dream. You can plan. But the things keep happening. And you get pushed and pulled, nudged and swept along, until - there you are!
I joined the Army in March of 1955. I did it to get away from a boy-girl-boy situation that wasn't resolving itself the way I wanted it resolved. I was losing. I also did it because I wasn't doing well at Michigan State University and probably recognized that I needed to grow-up a little bit.
When I announced my intention of quitting, John Winburne, Dean of the Basic College, called me in and gave me hell. He said, "We live in a world with a crying need for intelligence. You have that intelligence and you waste it instead of making a contribution." When I got out of the Army in 1958 and went back to Michigan State, one of the first things I did was go see Dean Winburne and tell him that he was right.
Anyway, I had to go through the suburban-Detroit intersection of Grand River and Telegraph on the way from East Lansing to Wyandotte. There was an Army recruiting station on an island in the intersection. I stopped there one weekend in February or March and enlisted. I signed-up for a two year hitch with the 8th Infantry Division. They were scheduled to go to Europe and I wanted to get as far away from Mary as possible.
Mom and Dad were upset. Dad said that the Army wouldn't take me because of my asthma. But the army was hard-up for recruits, I was breathing, and I passed the physical after the technician had me lie down for about 15 minutes to slow my heart rate.
I was inducted on March 29, 1955 at Fort Wayne in Detroit. We spent several days there taking various placement tests. We were sitting in a room waiting for processing of some kind or other and the solider at the front desk called my name.
"Private Sparrow. Front and center."
A "Sergeant Fortune" wanted to see me. I was led down a narrow hallway and into a small room. Sergeant Fortune was seated at a desk. He was wearing his olive drab uniform with an Eisenhower jacket. Underneath his Combat Infantryman's Badge were four rows of ribbons. He had hashmarks from his wrist to his elbow - indicating almost thirty years of service. He "ordered" me to sit down.
"I see here that you've enlisted for the 8th Infantry Divison."
"That right," I said.
"Why in hell'd you do that?"
"The 8th Infantry Division is scheduled to rotate to Europe and I'd like to go."
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Sparrow," he said, "life in the infantry is hard. You ever spent six months out of a year in the field?"
"What do you mean 'in the field'?"
"You know - livin' in tents, eatin' out of your mess kit, cold showers, diggin' latrines. That kind of thing."
"Well, no. I haven't done that."
"Ain't much fun. Tough way to live. I might be able to give you a chance to see Europe in a little more comfort."
"Oh?"
"You got really good scores on your placement tests, Sparrow. Two years of college. Parents are both educators. You look like a pretty bright person -just the kind of solider we need in the ASA," he smiled.
"What's the ASA?"
"The Army Security Agency - our branch of communications intelligence. Can't tell you much about the work because most of it is 'top secret,' but I know from personal experience that it's fascinatin'. And it sure as hell beats bein' in the infantry."
Sergeant Fortune was persuasive. He described the radio work, the code schools at Fort Devens, the language schools in California. And he described the ASA's "fixed" field stations with their bowling alleys, EM clubs, golf courses, and comfortable living quarters. And all that stuff about 'top secret' was particularly intriguing. Even though I had to enlist for another year, I was sold. I signed Sergeant Fortune's enlistment extension. That's how I wound up in the ASA.
The twists and turns.
I joined the Army in March of 1955. I did it to get away from a boy-girl-boy situation that wasn't resolving itself the way I wanted it resolved. I was losing. I also did it because I wasn't doing well at Michigan State University and probably recognized that I needed to grow-up a little bit.
When I announced my intention of quitting, John Winburne, Dean of the Basic College, called me in and gave me hell. He said, "We live in a world with a crying need for intelligence. You have that intelligence and you waste it instead of making a contribution." When I got out of the Army in 1958 and went back to Michigan State, one of the first things I did was go see Dean Winburne and tell him that he was right.
Anyway, I had to go through the suburban-Detroit intersection of Grand River and Telegraph on the way from East Lansing to Wyandotte. There was an Army recruiting station on an island in the intersection. I stopped there one weekend in February or March and enlisted. I signed-up for a two year hitch with the 8th Infantry Division. They were scheduled to go to Europe and I wanted to get as far away from Mary as possible.
Mom and Dad were upset. Dad said that the Army wouldn't take me because of my asthma. But the army was hard-up for recruits, I was breathing, and I passed the physical after the technician had me lie down for about 15 minutes to slow my heart rate.
I was inducted on March 29, 1955 at Fort Wayne in Detroit. We spent several days there taking various placement tests. We were sitting in a room waiting for processing of some kind or other and the solider at the front desk called my name.
"Private Sparrow. Front and center."
A "Sergeant Fortune" wanted to see me. I was led down a narrow hallway and into a small room. Sergeant Fortune was seated at a desk. He was wearing his olive drab uniform with an Eisenhower jacket. Underneath his Combat Infantryman's Badge were four rows of ribbons. He had hashmarks from his wrist to his elbow - indicating almost thirty years of service. He "ordered" me to sit down.
"I see here that you've enlisted for the 8th Infantry Divison."
"That right," I said.
"Why in hell'd you do that?"
"The 8th Infantry Division is scheduled to rotate to Europe and I'd like to go."
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Sparrow," he said, "life in the infantry is hard. You ever spent six months out of a year in the field?"
"What do you mean 'in the field'?"
"You know - livin' in tents, eatin' out of your mess kit, cold showers, diggin' latrines. That kind of thing."
"Well, no. I haven't done that."
"Ain't much fun. Tough way to live. I might be able to give you a chance to see Europe in a little more comfort."
"Oh?"
"You got really good scores on your placement tests, Sparrow. Two years of college. Parents are both educators. You look like a pretty bright person -just the kind of solider we need in the ASA," he smiled.
"What's the ASA?"
"The Army Security Agency - our branch of communications intelligence. Can't tell you much about the work because most of it is 'top secret,' but I know from personal experience that it's fascinatin'. And it sure as hell beats bein' in the infantry."
Sergeant Fortune was persuasive. He described the radio work, the code schools at Fort Devens, the language schools in California. And he described the ASA's "fixed" field stations with their bowling alleys, EM clubs, golf courses, and comfortable living quarters. And all that stuff about 'top secret' was particularly intriguing. Even though I had to enlist for another year, I was sold. I signed Sergeant Fortune's enlistment extension. That's how I wound up in the ASA.
The twists and turns.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Hurrah for the Fourth of July!!!
Here's a Fourth of July story.
I'm in a Players Guild of Dearborn production of 1776 playing Stephen Hopkins of Rhode Island. We're doing a performance for about 200 kids from Salina Middle School. Paul Bruce is one of their teachers. He is in the cast playing Roger Sherman. Paul frequently arranges for kids from Salina to see our shows. The school serves a depressed area of Dearborn with a large middle-eastern population. I think it's great that Paul gets the kids to the Guild for a "live theatre experience."
In the show, Pat Landio is playing Andrew McNair. McNair was sort of a custodian/barkeep/errand-runner for the Congress. During the show, McNair periodically goes over to a wall calendar and removes a sheet to indicate a passage of time. The opening date is May 8.
The play drags on. McNair reveals June 7. In real time an hour goes by. July 1. Two hours. Now we're pushing three hours. McNair tears off a calendar sheet revealing July 4.
In a voice that can be heard throughout the house, one of the kids says, "Finally!"
Hurrah for the Fourth of July!
I'm in a Players Guild of Dearborn production of 1776 playing Stephen Hopkins of Rhode Island. We're doing a performance for about 200 kids from Salina Middle School. Paul Bruce is one of their teachers. He is in the cast playing Roger Sherman. Paul frequently arranges for kids from Salina to see our shows. The school serves a depressed area of Dearborn with a large middle-eastern population. I think it's great that Paul gets the kids to the Guild for a "live theatre experience."
In the show, Pat Landio is playing Andrew McNair. McNair was sort of a custodian/barkeep/errand-runner for the Congress. During the show, McNair periodically goes over to a wall calendar and removes a sheet to indicate a passage of time. The opening date is May 8.
The play drags on. McNair reveals June 7. In real time an hour goes by. July 1. Two hours. Now we're pushing three hours. McNair tears off a calendar sheet revealing July 4.
In a voice that can be heard throughout the house, one of the kids says, "Finally!"
Hurrah for the Fourth of July!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Catching Up, Again
I haven't written anything for a while. Let's see. Monica Conyers was indicted by the feds and plead guilty to one count of conspiracy. She could face five years in prison. She resigned from the Detroit City Council. It's hard to believe that her husband didn't know anything about any of this.
Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, and Karl Malden died within a week and a half of each other. Farrah staged a valiant fight against cancer. Malden died of old-age. Jackson died of a possible drug overdose.
My son-in-law said, "I don't know why everybody is so upset about Michael Jackson. He was a pedophile, a drug addict, $400 million in debt, his nose was falling off, and he probably had HIV." Mitch Albom suggested the out-pouring of grief was more about the grievers than Michael. Jenny says it's something about the loss of youth.
Jenny told a cute story about Sophie and a friend of hers. They're riding in the car. The girls are in the backseat and Jenny hears their conversation go something like this.
"Michael Jackson died on Thursday."
"Yes. He was brown-skinned boy who turned into a vampire."
"Or, a woman."
Through the eyes of children.
More later.
Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, and Karl Malden died within a week and a half of each other. Farrah staged a valiant fight against cancer. Malden died of old-age. Jackson died of a possible drug overdose.
My son-in-law said, "I don't know why everybody is so upset about Michael Jackson. He was a pedophile, a drug addict, $400 million in debt, his nose was falling off, and he probably had HIV." Mitch Albom suggested the out-pouring of grief was more about the grievers than Michael. Jenny says it's something about the loss of youth.
Jenny told a cute story about Sophie and a friend of hers. They're riding in the car. The girls are in the backseat and Jenny hears their conversation go something like this.
"Michael Jackson died on Thursday."
"Yes. He was brown-skinned boy who turned into a vampire."
"Or, a woman."
Through the eyes of children.
More later.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Golf
I wrote this piece in something like 1998. The golf course I'm referring to is The Country Club of Barre. Barre is Barre, Vermont. The course is actually in the town of Plainfield, Vermont.
I really love golf. I love everything about it.
I love the way course looks--especially when it has just been mowed. Or at twilight, when the shadows lengthen, and the fairways curve away into the gathering darkness. Or in the morning, just before the fog lifts, and the grass is wet with morning dew. When the grass is wet with dew you can read the greens perfectly because the balls from the group ahead have left little trails curving toward the hole that are easy to see.
I love the equipment. I love my clubs. They are Wilson Staff Mid-Sized Irons with 4.0 Graphite Shafts. They are called “FireStiks” and the shafts are red. They are actually pretty and I’ve never thought of clubs as pretty. Well, maybe the old wooden drivers were pretty. But my clubs are pretty. I love their real leather grips. I love the way they feel in my hands. I love the way they swing. I love these irons. I also love my "woods." Titanium Great Big Berthas ... a driver and a four wood. They both have extra-long shafts and when I connect just right, the ball really flies. I love my clubs.
I love the golf junk I always carry in my pocket. A divot repairer from Michigan State University--my alma mater--with a ball marker that’s held in it by a magnet. A plastic divot repairer that really works good. A copper ball mark from the U.S.G.A. A plastic ball mark from AAA. And a bunch of tees. I carry these on the course and off the course--all year long.
I love the way the clubs sound when they swing and hit the ball--especially the woods. Swish--crack. And the ball flies away. I love the way the ball sounds when it falls into the cup. I love it when other players cry, “Fore” to warn the rest of us of an errant shot.
I love the ball washers that we have on the course--even ‘though the water in them really stinks because nobody ever changes it. I love the sprinkler heads that dot the fairways. They have the distances to the center of the green written on them. I love to watch the sprinklers work--especially those around the green that work together to send out water in great, spraying circles.
I love the mowers and the guys who drive them. Billy, our greens superintendent is a super kid. He has a degree in golf course management and interned at Augusta. He looks at the greens. He get down on his hands and knees and touches them. He smells them. I think he even tastes them. They have to be among the nicest greens in the world. When Billy drives the small mower you know there is no place in the world he would rather be.
I love the clothes I wear when I golf. Cotton pants when it’s cool. An off-white Irish knit sweater that is becoming frayed and worn. Long underwear when it’s cold. (We’ll play if the temperature is above 32°.) Cotton shorts and cotton shirts in the summer. I wear very low cut socks that come just to the top of my golf shoes. (I love my golf shoes, too.) My foot has a great tan line. So do my legs and arms. Without clothes on I’m pretty funny looking.
I love the back nine at Barre. Every single hole.
The tenth--a long, uphill par five. You need three good shots to get there and when you get there, here is a treacherous green protected by a great, yawing front trap. I’m usually happy to walk away with a six.
These next four are our “A-Men Corner.”
The eleventh--straight away par four, but you hit to a highly contoured and elevated green. A tough par. I’ll take five any day.
The twelfth--another long par four. The fairway slopes drastically to the left so don’t go left off the tee. You’ll be out of bonds. Another elevated green--more severely than the green at the eleventh. This green is “small” so it’s hard to stay on if you get up the hill. Take five and be happy.
The thirteenth. 160 yard uphill par three. All carry. You can’t see the green because it’s above you. Very deceiving hole. Lots of guys playing it for the first time try to use a seven or eight iron. They wind up very short. I usually hit a four wood! Don’t go left or right off the tee. Big trouble.
The fourteenth. Number 2 handicap hole. Long, long par four. Takes two great shots to get there. Trouble right and left off the tee. Be straight. Take a five.
The fifteenth. Uphill par five with a dog-leg left. Great hole. You have to be at the top of the hill off the tee or you will never get a par. Don’t go right on your second shot or you’ll be in the woods. Don’t go left either. Same thing.
This part of the course is very pretty. A great view of the Green Mountains. You can see all the way to Camel’s Hump--Vermont’s second highest mountain--about 40 miles away. Spectacular in the fall. Actually, spectacular any time of the year. When it's my time to leave this third rock from the sun, I want my ashes scattered up here someplace.
The sixteenth. Short par three. 112 yards. You look down onto the green from an elevated tee. Big, hungry traps all around the green. And the green is on the side of hill--rolling from back to front. Great golf hole.
The seventeenth. A par four that looks so easy it kills you. Easy driving hole with trouble only too far to the left or right. The green, however, is protected by a great trap on the front right and smaller traps along the left side. The second shot is a real challenge. One of my favorite holes.
The eighteenth. Great closing hole. Long par four. You need a good drive and a good second shot to be on the green. The green runs dramatically to the left. When the pin is at the top it’s tough to get near it.
I love the club house. I love my locker. I love the bar. I love the barmaids and the caterer. I love the pro and his assistant. I love the administrative assistant and the bagroom boys. I love my fellow members.
I love golf. I really do.
Here is a parody …
Oh, I must go out to Barre again
to the greens and the club house bar,
and all I ask is a long straight drive,
and--now and then--a par.
I really love golf. I love everything about it.
I love the way course looks--especially when it has just been mowed. Or at twilight, when the shadows lengthen, and the fairways curve away into the gathering darkness. Or in the morning, just before the fog lifts, and the grass is wet with morning dew. When the grass is wet with dew you can read the greens perfectly because the balls from the group ahead have left little trails curving toward the hole that are easy to see.
I love the equipment. I love my clubs. They are Wilson Staff Mid-Sized Irons with 4.0 Graphite Shafts. They are called “FireStiks” and the shafts are red. They are actually pretty and I’ve never thought of clubs as pretty. Well, maybe the old wooden drivers were pretty. But my clubs are pretty. I love their real leather grips. I love the way they feel in my hands. I love the way they swing. I love these irons. I also love my "woods." Titanium Great Big Berthas ... a driver and a four wood. They both have extra-long shafts and when I connect just right, the ball really flies. I love my clubs.
I love the golf junk I always carry in my pocket. A divot repairer from Michigan State University--my alma mater--with a ball marker that’s held in it by a magnet. A plastic divot repairer that really works good. A copper ball mark from the U.S.G.A. A plastic ball mark from AAA. And a bunch of tees. I carry these on the course and off the course--all year long.
I love the way the clubs sound when they swing and hit the ball--especially the woods. Swish--crack. And the ball flies away. I love the way the ball sounds when it falls into the cup. I love it when other players cry, “Fore” to warn the rest of us of an errant shot.
I love the ball washers that we have on the course--even ‘though the water in them really stinks because nobody ever changes it. I love the sprinkler heads that dot the fairways. They have the distances to the center of the green written on them. I love to watch the sprinklers work--especially those around the green that work together to send out water in great, spraying circles.
I love the mowers and the guys who drive them. Billy, our greens superintendent is a super kid. He has a degree in golf course management and interned at Augusta. He looks at the greens. He get down on his hands and knees and touches them. He smells them. I think he even tastes them. They have to be among the nicest greens in the world. When Billy drives the small mower you know there is no place in the world he would rather be.
I love the clothes I wear when I golf. Cotton pants when it’s cool. An off-white Irish knit sweater that is becoming frayed and worn. Long underwear when it’s cold. (We’ll play if the temperature is above 32°.) Cotton shorts and cotton shirts in the summer. I wear very low cut socks that come just to the top of my golf shoes. (I love my golf shoes, too.) My foot has a great tan line. So do my legs and arms. Without clothes on I’m pretty funny looking.
I love the back nine at Barre. Every single hole.
The tenth--a long, uphill par five. You need three good shots to get there and when you get there, here is a treacherous green protected by a great, yawing front trap. I’m usually happy to walk away with a six.
These next four are our “A-Men Corner.”
The eleventh--straight away par four, but you hit to a highly contoured and elevated green. A tough par. I’ll take five any day.
The twelfth--another long par four. The fairway slopes drastically to the left so don’t go left off the tee. You’ll be out of bonds. Another elevated green--more severely than the green at the eleventh. This green is “small” so it’s hard to stay on if you get up the hill. Take five and be happy.
The thirteenth. 160 yard uphill par three. All carry. You can’t see the green because it’s above you. Very deceiving hole. Lots of guys playing it for the first time try to use a seven or eight iron. They wind up very short. I usually hit a four wood! Don’t go left or right off the tee. Big trouble.
The fourteenth. Number 2 handicap hole. Long, long par four. Takes two great shots to get there. Trouble right and left off the tee. Be straight. Take a five.
The fifteenth. Uphill par five with a dog-leg left. Great hole. You have to be at the top of the hill off the tee or you will never get a par. Don’t go right on your second shot or you’ll be in the woods. Don’t go left either. Same thing.
This part of the course is very pretty. A great view of the Green Mountains. You can see all the way to Camel’s Hump--Vermont’s second highest mountain--about 40 miles away. Spectacular in the fall. Actually, spectacular any time of the year. When it's my time to leave this third rock from the sun, I want my ashes scattered up here someplace.
The sixteenth. Short par three. 112 yards. You look down onto the green from an elevated tee. Big, hungry traps all around the green. And the green is on the side of hill--rolling from back to front. Great golf hole.
The seventeenth. A par four that looks so easy it kills you. Easy driving hole with trouble only too far to the left or right. The green, however, is protected by a great trap on the front right and smaller traps along the left side. The second shot is a real challenge. One of my favorite holes.
The eighteenth. Great closing hole. Long par four. You need a good drive and a good second shot to be on the green. The green runs dramatically to the left. When the pin is at the top it’s tough to get near it.
I love the club house. I love my locker. I love the bar. I love the barmaids and the caterer. I love the pro and his assistant. I love the administrative assistant and the bagroom boys. I love my fellow members.
I love golf. I really do.
Here is a parody …
Oh, I must go out to Barre again
to the greens and the club house bar,
and all I ask is a long straight drive,
and--now and then--a par.
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