I would see Jim all the time at the Clifton School. His daughter, Maya was in Georgie's class. He was the Oak class parent rep. and seemed like a very nice guy. One day in the fall we were chatting and the subject turned to golf. I was thinking of hitting a range some time and he told me about one down North Druid Hills Road. He said he hardly golfed anymore since the kids came along but would like to get back into it. We talked about going but never did. I looked for the range one day, half-heartedly but I went the wrong way and ended up at Target. So it never happened. Then I went to Florida for a week. When I came back fall had given way to winter and Atlanta's repuation as a year round golf destination was exposed as myth. At least in the winter of 09-10, the worst one in 20 years.
In the spring our thoughts once again turned to grand game (is it called that?) and we eventually made a date to meet at the Druid Hills range. The place is a dump but that suited me fine for my first hit in eons. No intimidation factor and the price was right. Jim hit the ball well and seemed to be much better equipped than I. Though this was not hard as my clubs are 20 years old.
We practiced many times together and enjoyed discussing ways to improve our swings. I watched a lot of the golf channel and he had some computer programs that analyzed his swing. We were two duffers with time to spend working on the silly game. It was perfect. We were both unemployed. Our kids were at the same school so after drop off we were free to play. Sometimes we would go the golf stores and try out new clubs and putters. Once we drove out to Celebrity Golf Club where Jim's friend worked. A place once owned by NBA great Julius Erving and where I had seen Charles Barkley hack and slash his way around while trying to cure his outrageous swing at the hands of Hank Haney.
But our true golf home would be the Charlie Yates Course at East Lake. I discovered this little gem in an ad in "Creative Loafing". It is adjacent to the famous East Lake Course, where Bobby Jones played and where I had seen Tiger and Phil battle it out the previous September, just a few weeks before Tiger's life came undone. We practiced at the much nicer range there and eventually took the leap and played an acutal round of golf. It was tough. The little course has multiple hazards and we seemed to find most of them. But we were very compatible on the course and I was happy to have a new friend. We played that course several times through the spring. I think we improved but my scores only got worse. We would always walk the course and it got hotter and hotter as the weeks went by.
One day at Charlie Yates, Jim brought a couple of sandwiches along (he has a high metabolism and eats constantly). He offered me one but I stuck to my Coca Cola diet. He ate one but the other went missing. He would often puzzle about what had happened to it. About 6 weeks later he made a gruesome discovery under the front seat of his car. The sandwich, now unrecognizable as such had been percolating in the Georgia heat. Luckily the integrity of the ziplock bad was not compromised and he was able to toss the distended moldy bag without further incident.
We went to Stone Mountain for a practice day. The course there is upscale and in the shadow of the great granite behemoth that is Stone Mountain. Stone Mountain has may attractions: campsites, a gondola to the top where there is a great view of Atlanta, hiking and running trails and an amusement park for the kids. My friend David calls it "Hillbilly Disneyland". It does have a pretty southern theme, with homage to many civil war heros. Stonewall Jackson for one, and maybe Robert E. Lee but not the psychotic Sherman. At the golf course in the blazing heat, I spent about 3o minutes practicing in the bunker. And there I saw a really big daddy longlegs. I had plans to hike the mountain but I needed to get out of the heat. It was only June but it had become too hot for golf. Jim and I just hadn't realized it yet.
In the spring our thoughts once again turned to grand game (is it called that?) and we eventually made a date to meet at the Druid Hills range. The place is a dump but that suited me fine for my first hit in eons. No intimidation factor and the price was right. Jim hit the ball well and seemed to be much better equipped than I. Though this was not hard as my clubs are 20 years old.
We practiced many times together and enjoyed discussing ways to improve our swings. I watched a lot of the golf channel and he had some computer programs that analyzed his swing. We were two duffers with time to spend working on the silly game. It was perfect. We were both unemployed. Our kids were at the same school so after drop off we were free to play. Sometimes we would go the golf stores and try out new clubs and putters. Once we drove out to Celebrity Golf Club where Jim's friend worked. A place once owned by NBA great Julius Erving and where I had seen Charles Barkley hack and slash his way around while trying to cure his outrageous swing at the hands of Hank Haney.
But our true golf home would be the Charlie Yates Course at East Lake. I discovered this little gem in an ad in "Creative Loafing". It is adjacent to the famous East Lake Course, where Bobby Jones played and where I had seen Tiger and Phil battle it out the previous September, just a few weeks before Tiger's life came undone. We practiced at the much nicer range there and eventually took the leap and played an acutal round of golf. It was tough. The little course has multiple hazards and we seemed to find most of them. But we were very compatible on the course and I was happy to have a new friend. We played that course several times through the spring. I think we improved but my scores only got worse. We would always walk the course and it got hotter and hotter as the weeks went by.
One day at Charlie Yates, Jim brought a couple of sandwiches along (he has a high metabolism and eats constantly). He offered me one but I stuck to my Coca Cola diet. He ate one but the other went missing. He would often puzzle about what had happened to it. About 6 weeks later he made a gruesome discovery under the front seat of his car. The sandwich, now unrecognizable as such had been percolating in the Georgia heat. Luckily the integrity of the ziplock bad was not compromised and he was able to toss the distended moldy bag without further incident.
We went to Stone Mountain for a practice day. The course there is upscale and in the shadow of the great granite behemoth that is Stone Mountain. Stone Mountain has may attractions: campsites, a gondola to the top where there is a great view of Atlanta, hiking and running trails and an amusement park for the kids. My friend David calls it "Hillbilly Disneyland". It does have a pretty southern theme, with homage to many civil war heros. Stonewall Jackson for one, and maybe Robert E. Lee but not the psychotic Sherman. At the golf course in the blazing heat, I spent about 3o minutes practicing in the bunker. And there I saw a really big daddy longlegs. I had plans to hike the mountain but I needed to get out of the heat. It was only June but it had become too hot for golf. Jim and I just hadn't realized it yet.
Our next outing left no doubt. It was our ill-advised 18 hole adventure in Southwest Dekalb county. We drove the 45 minutes east of the city to play Mystery Valley. It was about 90 degrees and stinking humid. Although we rode in a golf cart we were exhausted by the end. To make matters worse we were shamed by a 75 year-old man playing behind us. He was walking the course, carrying his clubs! And even though we were riding and he was on foot, he was still catching up to us, slowly but surely. He would hit his shot, then sling the bag over his shoulders, put his head down and start his slow march up the fairway. He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat. He took almost no time before hitting and never seemed to hit a bad shot. Every time I looked back, he was a little closer. It was freaking me out. He was like a zombie getting closer and closer. Coming to get us and eat our brains. I think the heat was getting to me. Jim hit one into the trees and while he looked for his ball I fretted about the living dead. Just forget the ball, Jim, play a new one! It didn't matter, the undead got to us on hole number 15. "You boys mind if I join you?" Not a zombie, thank god, just an old southern man. And I mean old.
*old white southerners sometimes call me "boy", old black southern men sometimes call me "boss". The old south, in a nutshell
After that round, Jim said he felt like he had been beat with a stick. I felt his pain. I couldn't decide whether to pass out, throw up or start crying.
Soon after that, Jim went to Texas and then I went back to Vancouver. I wish we had been able to play more. But we just couldn't have done more in that heat. Now that it is fall it would be perfect. I hope to play a round or two with Jim when we visit next month.
Jim and I had good times together and we have a lot in common. His wife works at the CDC and is a loevly person as well. Jim campaigned for Obama and I was very impressed by his inviation to the innaguaration. He had it up on his kitchen wall. As Todd of Todd and Craig said, southern liberals are some of the nicest peoople you will meet. It is true. Maybe because they don't take it for granted. You have to fight for it there. Or at least put up with a lot of abuse.
I hope Sarah Palin runs for president and wins. Because Jim says they are moving to Canada if that ever happens.
No comments:
Post a Comment