How to Learn to Play Golf

A fairly new friend of mine invited me to play golf with him many years ago. I did not really know much about the game but, it was getting to be necessary for me start playing for politics at work. Will Doornail is a stout, outgoing very likable guy. He is a heck of a writer and I was just starting to do that for both work and my own pleasure.

I didn't like the pretentiousness of most of the "golfers" I'd met. I thought it would be fun to go golfing with Will. It was.

Will set us up at a nice public course on a Sunday afternoon. I remember thinking how nice it was outside and how beautiful the course was. I could get used to this. Two of his buddies from work joined us in the foursome. Ironically, one of them, Leland, works for me now as a security guard

I was the first one up on the first tee. Will was patient and great at explaining the rules. More important was the etiquette, of which I had no clue. After teeing up and hitting a lousy slice not very far down the fairway, I headed off walking down the right side.

"Whoo, whoo whoo!," Will yelled at me. "Where do you think you're going."

He was good natured about it but, explained that a golfer never leaves the tee box ahead of everyone else in his foursome. He said it just wasn't done and more importantly you could get hit by a 90 mph golf ball. I got it. Thanks for the info, brother.

We finished up the first hole, a par 4, which I made in about 12 strokes.

At the second hole, Will stepped up to the tee. He wiggled around for a while, adjusted his grip and made a couple of practice swings. I could see I knew nothing about golf yet. I could use some tips from "Tiger" Doornail!

Will had a beautful swing, a picture of grace and athleticism. The follow-through of the swing was perfect. He kept his head down as he had instructed me to and I was to spot his shot for him.

"Well, where did it go? Right down the middle, right?"

"Uhh, no. It went off to the right about 50 yards down, up against that pine tree."

Will uttered a couple of words I didn't quite understand. They did have a religious connotation. I did pick up that much.

Will started walking down the right side of the fairway.

"Whoo, whoo whoo! Where are you going? I thought you told me you weren't supposed to leave the tee box ahead of the group!"

Will keep on going and yelled over his shoulder, "Its okay. I'm just going to find my ball so I don't hold up the group behind us." I found that interesting because I hadn't given the first thought to the idiots behind us yelling, "Hurry up amatures! You're holding everybody up!"

I stepped up to the tee, now feeling a little pressure. I didn't think my swing was too hot but, the ball and club made a distintive "tink" when they made contact. I'm not too quick, so I didn't realize what was happening at first. It was headed in a long curve right for Will.

Everyone yelled, "Four!" I joined in.

Will turned just in time to see what was happening. He raised his right arm in a defensive move. If he'd had a catchers mitt, he'da caught it.

He caught it all right. He looked like he'd been hit with a shotgun slug. It was all in slow-motion. His feet came off the ground. His arms and legs felled out uselessly. He looked like he'd been jerked straight backwards at the end of a giant's lasso.

We all ran to his aid. The other guys wanted to call 9-1-1. I was just laughing as Will looked at me like I was crazy. He wasn't able to breath yet. His thumb and half of his right hand was black. Not blue, not purple. Black. We undid his shirt and there was a black bruse the size of a football. At least there were shades of blue and purple around the perimeter of the wound.

"Walk it off. Walk it off, you big baby! Didn't you just get through telling me to NOT walk out ahead of the group? I don't want to hear any excuses now!"

After he was finally able in inhale, Will got up and slowly walked to the next tee. Leland picked up his ball for him. I should have let him keep my ball. That would have been a keeper.

That's the day I learned to play golf. I am forever grateful to Will for his unforgettable object lesson. I have never again walked out in front of the rest of my group while golfing. Ever.

Rugburns Rule!

Many years ago driving between LA and San Diego I heard a song on the radio I loved and had never heard before. I listened intently, in 90 mph bumper-to bumper traffic, for the song title and the name of the group. (If you've never driven in Southern California traffic, the 90 mph bumper-to bumper thing makes no sense.) The song was Hitchhiker Joe and the group was the Rugburns. The DJ had apparently played it several times in a row and was begging the listening audience (as opposed to the non-listening audience) to stop the repeated request for Hitchhiker Joe. Actually, I wanted to hear it again too.

I was in LA to do some training for the local Special Agents and used the opportunity to run down and visit my buddy Johnny for the weekend. I was in charge of law enforcement training for Union Pacific Railroad Police. I lived in Oh My God! (Omaha) Nebraska, the headquarters of the Union Pacific. I traveled all over the country at least 30 weeks a year. Racked up them airline points.

I bought the two albums the Rugburns had put out by then. I loved almost every song they did. Most of the cuts were writen and sung by their lead singer, Steve Poltz. His song-writing, musical ability and performance ability are truly amazing. Almost everything he does is smart, irreverant and funny. I was an instant fan. If I could sing, it would be like Poltz. If you know me: that ain't ever gonna happen.

My buddy Johnny was a short guy. This is a fact that, despite being a "trained investigator" I did not notice until over a decade later when someone I introduced to him remarked on it later. Johnny just never carried himself that way. He was not "bigger than life" but, almost.

Nobody else I knew, or kinda forced to listen to the Rugburns (my car, your ride, my music) much appreciated them. Oh, Hitchhiker Joe was okay and they had heard it a couple times on the radio. The rest of their music got me odd looks and the occasional, earned, rude remark.

The first time I met Johnny was the day before he married. I was invited to the reception dinner by default. My first wife, Suzanne, was the bride's room-mate in nursing school. I now know she was palmed off on me to get me off Myra's (the bride) back. Myra (Betty) was my first love ever, back in high school. I dumped her unceremoniously (would a ceramony made things better? I doubt it.) for a cute little cheerleader who dumped me 3 days before the prom. (What goes around, comes around, don't it?) I was 16. Nuff said.

It was a big Italian dinner at a big Italian restaurant with a very big Italian Family. (Family witha' Capital F) When dinner was over, it was the guys on one side of the room and the ladies on the other. I had been introduced around, but I really didn't know anybody. After dinner wine, drinks, cigars and conversations, talk turned to having a Bachelor Party. Geez, the wedding was at noon the next day.

I told them, "Brother, its now or never!"

The Rugburns never got very big outside of Southern California. They produced one more album and it wasn't as good as the first two. I followed them, but their shows, for the most part were in places I wasn't close enough to get too. I was still a fan and wondered why they weren't making it big. I guess I always knew they weren't mainstream. Not by a long shot.

I took Johnny, his brother and their friends to a strip bar I knew well from work. I was a Memphis cop back then and the owner had been trying hard to win favor so we'd lay off enforcement in his joint. Needless to say we were welcomed. I told the owner I couldn't take anything but, my buddy was getting married the next day.

To make a long story short (if that's possible) Johnny had 3 girls in his lap, titty-slapping his face and round after round of Tequila shots. Sometimes with the lemon and salt retreved from silicone filled twin appendages. While this was happening I had an idea. I discreatly called my two partners who were working patrol in our ward that night.

In 1996 I was called in at the last minute to take over an assignment that was going bad. I ended up running the protective detail in San Diego. I volunteered because I knew I could spend the weekend visiting Johnny after the week on that assignment. It was worth it. It turned out the Rugburns were playing at a hippy bar in Ocean Beach, just North of San Diego. I talked Johnny into going with me. He was not thrilled about it but, like a good wingman, he was right there.

In Memphis, when two cops show up in a strip bar on Friday night, looking around, radios blaring, everyone in the place turns their head to look. For a second, everyone and everything just stopped. The jovial mood unintentionally dropped a notch or two. The owner pointed to our table and the two strapping cops walked with purpose right toward us. They snatched Johnny up from his chair and two naked gals, covered in salt, fell on their bare butts, "You been touching these girls!!?"

A lot more happened and it was difficult not to laugh out loud, much less not at least smile. His brother was talking about kicking their ass and they all had completely forgotten I was cop. They dragged Johnny out to the squad car and threw him in the back. Things had been going so well only minutes ago. They told him he couldn't make bail until Monday, when the judge showed up in court. I can still see Johnny rocking back and forth behind the cage in handcuffs crying, "I'm supposed to get married tomorrow!"

"No your not, buddy." they told him.

I visited Johnny once when he lived in Salt Lake City. He taught me to ski the fast and easy way. Down the little hill from the lodge, snow-plowing down and holding the rope on a pulley back up. "That's it, we'll try something a little harder." The lift was short and I could see the drop-off a little ways up a slight hill. All the kiddies were doing it!

Richard, Johnny's hoodlum brother still wanted to whip the cops asses. I calmed him down and said I'd talk to the cops. After all, I'm a cop! My partners, Joe and Russ, played along. "I don't care who you are. You saw this little asshole. He resisted arrest and assaulted a police officer!"

"You can release him to my custody. I'll take care of it and" I said, "I'll owe you."

Loud enough for Richard and the guys to hear, "Do you know what you're saying. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, I do."

They made a show shaking there heads, shouting and yelling at him and me. Making sure I knew what the obligation was. They uncuffed him and practically threw him at me. They burned rubber and threw up dirt and rocks leaving the parting lot. Richard and Johnny's buddies were drunk, impressed and thankful. They all wanted to know what I had to do, now that I owed them.

"Policeman's Code, I can't talk about it."

The next ski lift when up a long, long way. Johnny and another friend, Trey, who skied backwards giving me intructions, told me. "Oh, its almost a bunny trail, just longer." Here it is: I fell down 200 plus times, got caught in a drift up to my shoulders where I had to "ski" out of it and at the bottom third I was going 100 mph in a straight line, unable to turn or stop almost running over a young woman who must have been nine months pregnant.

"Now you can ski anywhere!"

This was apparently funny, "That was a quadruple black diamond trail!"

Johnny and I were almost the first ones at he Ocean Beach bar. I say bar, but no alcohol was searved, or permitted. There was a fine selection; however, of herbal teas and lemonades. Through the heavy incense you could still detect the distinctive order of marijuana. Soon, a nursing mother and couple small kids made their way in and spread out a blanket on the floor instad of taking a table. Several hippies and a couple punkers made their way in.

A man in a walker and his wife, who looked like she needed one, shuffled in. Before long the place was packed and they were still coming. The owner opened up the double doors on the front and side, the exit by the bathrooms and all the over-sized windows. People crowded up outside all these openings.

At the wedding the next morning, Johnny, the best man and Richard looked none too able. I wasn't sure Johnny could stand up by himself but. they were all dressed alike! As, Here Comes the Bride played Myra came down the aisle in her wedding gown. Her eyes locked on me like lasers (Good thing they weren't lasers, I'd be dead, dead, dead.) Her look said, "I know EXACTLY who is responsible for this and I've never been more pissed in my life." (or something like that...)

When the Rugburns came on and starting playing the intro chords to their first song, the crowd, inside and out, erupted. I mean erupted in cheer! Johnny was startled. It had been a quiet, sudate crowd to that point. Poltz started singing, "Sure as I was borne in Ireland, I was weaned on whiskey, but raised on gin. Drinkin' so long since I was born, never been so high as a kite in a storm."

Then the whole crowd together loudly, in chorus, "Hey ho, whataya know, when you're outta good whiskey, you're out on the road. Way to Kilkenny where liquor is plenty and people are friendly wherever you go!" Johnny almost fell out of his seat! He was the only one in the place that didn't know the words.

What's all this got to do with FHH? Nothing maybe. Johnny would love my blog. He'd repair a carburetor on a rocking boat in Freer's Gerry Lake as it was getting dark. Herman Dollar would try to sell him a "prime" lot in FHH between the sewer plant and the trailer park with a lake view, if you cut the trees and "angle your house just so." He'd go to a Rugburn concert with me even if I screwed up his wedding.

Molly, Matt, Steve Poltz and me possing at the bend (yoga during the day, intimate concerts at night and no shoes because the floor is bamboo.) March 15, 2008 in Dallas, Texas.