Article #40
Teacher: Bobby Steiner
To meet this week's teacher, or to purchase a copy of MUNIE ~ The Jitterbug Collection, go to www.bobbysteiner.com
The Munie Gangsome teed off every Saturday morning at 11:00, and I looked forward to it each week.
The format was simple. You could sign up as a single, two-, three-, or foursome; the guys behind the counter would shuffle things around so that each group had a minimum of three players. They made up teams while we were out on the course, so nobody knew who his real teammates were until we finished.
One Saturday morning I called the pro shop. "Say Johnny, sign me and Jitterbug up for the Gangsome today."
Johnny, the shop assistant replied, "All right, you're in the sixth group off. I don't know who you'll play with, but I'll figure something out."
That sounded great. "Perfect. I'll see you then."
After arriving at the course, I lifted the Gangsome sign-in sheet from the counter, and noticed that the space above my name was worn thin from eraser damage. It appeared at least three names had been written in the space, and then erased, suggesting that perhaps I wasn't too popular this particular morning.
"What's this about?" I asked Johnny. "Why doesn't anybody want to play with me?"
"It's not you," Johnny assured me. "It's the walk-on single in your group." I looked at the space below Jitterbug's name. THEODORE LOCKE, it read.
"Who is Theodore Locke? And, why doesn't anybody want to play with him?"
"He's a snooty rich South African fellow who claims to be Bobby Locke's nephew," Johnny said. "He's playing here because he got kicked out of the Carolina Country Club for going in after hours and making himself drinks at the bar. Apparently, he gave drinks to underage kids too. One of the pros caught him, so now he's here at Munie." Johnny's eyes panned over the Gangsome sheet. "Of course, if you don't want to play with him either, I think maybe I can put you with…"
"We don't care," Jitterbug said. "We'll play with anybody."
A few minutes later, Johnny walked out to the putting green and introduced us to Theodore Locke. "Mr. Locke, this is Jitterbug and Bobby. They'll be your playing companions today."
Mr. Locke was probably Jitterbug's age, somewhere close to sixty, but far less tidy. His left pant leg was caught up in his sock, and his wrinkled shirt was only partially tucked in. He extended his right arm, and without looking up used his left hand to rummage through the pockets in his golf bag.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Locke," Jitterbug said, grasping Mr. Locke's lifeless hand.
Mr. Locke looked confused. "I thought I had some balls in this bag," he said. "I'll be back." At that, he rushed into the pro shop.
Jitterbug smiled a heartfelt smile. "This should be an interesting day."
"That's an understatement!" came an abrupt shout from behind us. "I'm stuck in your group too. And, don't think I'm happy about it."
It was Victor Fairplay, a retired judge and frequent Gangsome attendee. Judge Fairplay reminded me of Mr. Potter from It's a Wonderful Life, only without the wheelchair. With putter in hand, he walked up closer. "By the way, we might oughtta keep an eye on Mr. Locke today. We don't need him taking liberties with the rules."
The first hole was played without incident. Waiting on the second tee, I asked Mr. Locke, "So, what kind of work do you do?"
"I was a financial planner for ten years with a firm outside of Atlanta," he said. "But, I was terminated for forging a client's signature."
Judge Fairplay rolled his eyes. "That figures."
"My gosh!" I said. "That's a serious charge. Why'd you do that?"
"I'd served the client for years," Mr. Locke said. "She was like a mother to me. We worked out a lucrative land management agreement, one which would leave her set up for life. After reviewing the contract, I noticed she'd inadvertently left one signature space blank, so I signed her name. The home office noticed the inconsistent handwriting, and asked me about it; I told them what I'd done, and it was ruled my conduct was unbecoming of company standards, so they let me go. It was truly my fault."
It seemed like a bonehead thing to do, but I found Mr. Locke's honesty endearing.
As the day carried on, Mr. Locke and I became better acquainted. Walking off the ninth tee box, Mr. Locke said, "You know, Bobby, this golf course is a well kept secret. I wish I'd known about Munie years ago."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I am currently serving a sixty-day suspension from Carolina Country Club for making myself at home at the Players' Lounge after hours. Seems they forgot to lock the door one night, so I sat down and made myself and my nineteen year-old nephew a cocktail."
"And, you got caught?"
"Oh, yes," Mr. Locke admitted. "Red-handed! I knew by the _expression on the young assistant's face that the jig was up, uh, so to speak."
I cracked up. "So, that's how you ended up here?"
"That's right," Mr. Locke said. "And it is the best thing that ever happened to me."
We all played our approach shots to the ninth green. Unfortunately for Judge Fairplay, his approach landed in the newly staked lateral hazard short and left of the green. Judge Fairplay entered the hazard and took four or five practice swings, sending grass and earth flying with each rehearsal by the ball.
I turned to Jitterbug. "Did you see that?"
"I'm afraid I did," Jitterbug said.
Judge Fairplay grounded his club behind his shot before pitching to the green, where his ball came to rest within six inches of the flag.
When we finished the hole, Jitterbug said, "What'd you make, Judge?"
With obvious delight, Judge Fairplay answered, "Par! I just tied my career-best nine of forty-four!"
"I don't know how to tell you this," Jitterbug said. "But that was a hazard you were swingin' in over there."
"That's no hazard!" Judge Fairplay insisted.
"I'm afraid it is," Jitterbug said. "They just marked it last week."
Judge Fairplay glanced back at the red stakes surrounding the hazard. "So what?"
"Well, that's a two stroke penalty," Jitterbug said. "You grounded your club."
"No I didn't! You're just mad because I hit a great shot!"
"No, I'm happy that you hit a great shot," Jitterbug said. "But, as scorekeeper, and as the guy who is supposed to sign this scorecard when we're finished, it's my obligation to…"
"I'm finished right now!" Judge Fairplay barked. "You and your new friend, the criminal, can go around the back-nine on your own!" With that, Judge Fairplay stomped off to the parking lot.
I didn't find Mr. Locke to be any kind of a criminal. Nor was he a cheater, an excuse maker, or in violation of golf course etiquette. He was just glad to have a place to play golf.
Standing on the tenth tee a few minutes later, Jitterbug said, "You know, you don't have to wish for it; golf just brings it out. Everybody's true colors is eventually gonna shine through."
Judge Fairplay never played in the Munie Gangsome again. Rather, from that point on, he referred to the 11:00 AM Saturday group as a "gang of cheaters."
Theodore Locke never went back to Carolina Country Club. He elected instead to stay at Munie where he remains and enjoys the company of his many friends.