Article #5
Featured Teacher: Jetterbug
(to meet this week's teacher go to www.oneputtpress.com/teachers_jitterbug.cfm)
Jitterbug and I spent many Saturday mornings at the local driving range. We might be there for three hours and not go through more than a hundred balls between us. We'd spend most of our time just listening to what was going on around us, as Jitterbug took particular delight in watching the teaching pros give lessons.
Every pro within fifty miles knew Jitterbug and it was interesting to watch them teach, knowing full well they were in the presence of a local legend. Some seemed to rise to the occasion, some a bit too much. There was one occasion, however, when a local pro did not rise to the occasion. In fact, he didn't even show up.
"Someone better tell me I didn't bring my kids out here for nothin'!" came a sudden shout. "This is no way for the summer to start."
It was time for the Saturday morning kids' clinic, only the second of the season, and the instructor, Alan Baker, was nowhere to be found.
Fighting back a grin, I said, "I'd hate to be Alan come next week. He's gonna get an earful."
Jitterbug stood solemnly as he removed the head cover from his driver. "He'll be lucky to have a next week."
Alan Baker was well known for his success on the Mountain Tour. Unfortunately, he was just as well known for not being on time to teach his golf lessons.
Walking to the edge of the tee, Jitterbug whistled loudly. "All right, kids, let's have everybody in the clinic grab a seven-iron out of your bag and put your bag against the wall. When you've done that, come on over, circle around and have a seat."
This would be worth watching. Jitterbug and I weren't there the week before, so there was no way for him to know where they'd left off, or if his help would even be welcome.
Mr. Deck, the driving range owner, stepped nervously out of the work shack with a cordless phone pressed to his ear. As angry mothers swarmed around him, he looked out to the tee. Hanging up the phone, he said, "Ladies, I apologize for the confusion, but Mr. Baker won't be with us any more. The good news, however, is that Harold Bell will be teaching the clinic."
Unimpressed by the sudden change, one mother barked, "We paid for Alan Baker, not Harold Bell!"
Mr. Deck smiled. "I'll make a deal with you, Mrs. Thompson. Just stay for one lesson. If you're unsatisfied with Jitterbug Bell, your child can hit balls all summer for free."
Seemingly awe struck, Mrs. Thompson looked out to the tee. "You mean to tell me that man is Jitterbug Bell?"
Jitterbug teed a ball and hit a drive as long and straight as I'd ever seen. When it came to rest at the far side of the range, Jitterbug turned and asked the kids, "What did I do to that ball?"
One of the younger kids yelled out, "You killed it!"
There was a small roar as Jitterbug nodded and agreed. "That's right, I killed it. Anybody want to know how to kill the ball?"
"Yeah! Kill the ball!" The kids cheered loudly and began to stand up.
"Now, hang on a minute," Jitterbug said. "Stay seated for just another minute and listen to me. You kids gotta do exactly as I say if you're gonna learn how to kill the ball. Everybody has to agree to listen to what I have to tell you. 'Cause you can't just hear a little bit, you gotta hear the whole thing or you won't be able to kill the ball. Now, raise your hand if you agree to listen." About half of the kids raised their hands.
"That's too bad," Jitterbug said. "If all of you don't agree, then we can't even get started."
A teenage boy with his hand already in the air turned to the rest of the group, ordering, "Raise your hand, you guys! Raise your hands or he's not going to teach us."
WHHAAACCKK!!!! Jitterbug drove another ball down the range.
At that, arms shot up across the tee.
"Good. Now, the first lesson in killing the ball is getting into a 'K-stance.' 'K' stands for kill the ball! And that's what we plan to do to the ball, right?"
"Yeaahh!!!" the kids shouted out. "Kill it!!!"
Jitterbug addressed the ball with his chin buried in his chest, his shoulders rounded, his hips pushed forward, and his knees severely bent.
"Does this look like a 'K-stance'?"
It was obvious Jitterbug wasn't in the same position he'd been in when he hit the long drives. "NO!!!" the kids said, shaking their heads.
"That's right," Jitterbug admitted. "This looks more like an 'S-stance,' doesn't it?"
The kids seemed to identify the 'S' formed by Jitterbug's posture.
"And what does 'S' stand for?" Jitterbug asked.
One child yelled out, "Sloppy!"
Apparently caught off guard, Jitterbug laughed. "That's right! Sloppy! What else does 'S' stand for?"
"Silly!" another child giggled.
"Good!! What else?"
When nobody responded Jitterbug asked, "How about soft?"
Again, a roar from the kids, "SOFT!!!!"
"Short?"
"Yeah, Short!!!!"
"Sorry?"
"Sorry!!!"
"How about slice?"
"Yeah!!!!"
"Now, you better believe," Jitterbug said, "if you stand like an 'S,' you're gonna hit the sloppiest, slouchiest, softest, shortest, silliest and sorriest slices you've ever seen!"
With the parents all smiling in appreciation for this most unexpected show, Jitterbug hit a shot from the 'S-stance,' sending the ball, along with a chunk of ground, weakly to the right.
The kids roared with laughter.
"So, I don't want to see any 'S-stances,'" Jitterbug said. "Everybody understand that?"
The kids all nodded.
Jitterbug then addressed a ball with no tilt anywhere in his posture. His legs were straight, and so was his torso.
"Now, what does this stance look like?" he asked. When nobody answered, Jitterbug said, "Looks like an 'I,' doesn't it?"
"Yeah, 'I'!!!" the kids yelled.
"And, what does 'I' stand for?"
After a few seconds of silence, one child braved softly, "I don't know."
"That's right!" Jitterbug exclaimed. "It could stand for, 'I don't know,' 'cause anyone who stands this way don't know anything about killing the ball! What else does 'I' stand for?"
We then heard words like impossible, ignorant, iffy, and 'in the trees.'
"Then, should I stand like an 'I' if I want to kill the ball?"
All the kids said together, "NO!!!!"
Jitterbug assumed a proper, more athletic posture and launched a range ball over the 250-yard banner.
"That was a 'K-stance'!" Mrs. Thompson yelled out, then covered her mouth to make her sudden blurt appear accidental. Her teenage son shook his head before covering his face with his hand.
"That's right," Jitterbug said. "Now somebody talk to me about this 'K-stance.' Are my legs severely bent, or just a little bent?"
"Just a little bent!"
"That's right. Are my hands hanging straight down under my chin or are they way out in front of me, stiff like a couple boards?"
"Hanging straight down under your chin!"
"Am I bending at the waist or tilting from the hips?"
That confused the kids; they all looked at one another for the answer.
Jitterbug hunched over, creating a big bow in his spine. "Well," he said, "this would be bending from the waist."
As if to beat the buzzer, one child yelled out, "You're tilting from the hips!"
"That's right," Jitterbug said. "So, my back has to be straight then, right?"
The kids agreed.
"All right, then," Jitterbug said. "If ya'll think you know how to get in a 'K-stance,' you can get up and show me."
Jitterbug motioned for me to assist. As the kids circled around him, all working into a 'K-stance,' Jitterbug said to me, "They probably worked on their grip last week, but lets go around and make sure they got it right."
When the kids were all armed with a workable grip and stance, they spent the rest of the hour hitting balls down the range.
At the clinic's end, Mr. Deck approached Jitterbug. "I would love it, and so would the parents, Jitterbug, if you would teach the remaining six weeks of this summer session. You just name your price!"
Jitterbug shook his head. "I'm afraid teaching for money would mean I'm no longer an amateur," he said. "I can't do that."
Mr. Deck seemed at a loss for words.
"I'll tell you what, though," Jitterbug said. "You custom-fit clubs for people, don't you?"
"I sure do," Mr. Deck answered. "You want me to make you a new set of clubs?"
"Not for me," Jitterbug said. "For the kids. About half of 'em don't have clubs that are anywhere near the right size for them. Why don't you measure them all and make whatever adjustments necessary so that they all have the right size equipment?"
"You got a deal," Mr. Deck said. "Anything else?"
"Just one thing," Jitterbug replied, turning to face me. "These kids are a lot to handle, Bobby. You think you can give up every Saturday morning to help me teach?"
I couldn't get the words out fast enough. "I'd love to!"
"Then I think we have a deal."