| General Non-Fiction posted June 13, 2022 |
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Memory of my dad.
Enter Marshall Dillon
by Terry Broxson
The first week of December 1961, the Shamrock Lanes Bowling Alley announced a Father and Son Tournament. The first-place prize was a year's free bowling, all you wanted, for both father and son. That was a big deal in our small bowling community on the plains of West Texas.
The written rules specified that a man and a boy (under sixteen) would be a two-person team. Despite the tournament's name, the individuals did not have to be related. Each man had to be a member of an adult league. Each boy had to be a junior league member (under sixteen).
I was fifteen years old and a good bowler, but I had not joined a league that year and was not eligible under the rules. My dad was a good bowler, a respected Insurance agent, and well-liked. But he would be out of town the week of the tournament.
I was a bowling alley rat. I had been hanging out in bowling alleys since I was eleven. On the day of the tournament, I was there to watch several friends and their fathers.
Angie Makris, the manager of Shamrock Lanes, came up and asked, "I know your father is out of town, but we could use another entry. Mr. Berryman is a very nice fellow who has no son, and I would like to see if you could pair up with him. Mr. Berryman will pay the entry fee. What do you think?"
"Angie, that would be great, but I am not a league member right now."
Being a league member was important because it established a bowler's average score. The tournament was handicapped, meaning that bowlers with lower averages got their scores increased by several points, making it a level playing field for all bowlers.
Angie said, "That is not a problem. I will give you an average of 180, meaning you will not get any extra points added to your score."
"Great, Angie!"
The tournament consisted of three rounds. Each round was three games. There were thirty teams in the tournament. At the end of the three rounds, the two teams with the highest total score would meet for a final three-game series.
The problem was right from the start. Angie never thought Mr. Berryman (a 135-average bowler) would average 160 in the tournament. His handicap of twenty-five extra points per game gave him an average of 185. That was an excellent score.
Angie admitted later that he never thought my tournament average would be 210. I did not get any extra points, but then I didn't need them.
Mr. Berryman and I were in first place after the first three rounds, and we would compete against Bill Combs and his dad in the finals. Bill was a friend and a good bowler. His father was as good as Mr. Berryman.
Right before the finals took place, the third-place team challenged my eligibility. Everyone in the tournament was talking at once. Angie was the center of a firestorm.
It has been sixty years, but I still see it: my father chose that moment to walk in through the double glass doors of the Shamrock Lanes. He looked like Marshal Matt Dillon entering the Long Branch Saloon to stop a gun fight.
Five or six fellows went to him and said, "Gil, let me tell you what happened!"
Calmly, my father walked over to Angie. Angie explained the dilemma. My dad said, "Angie since you decided to let him in the tournament and it's your bowling alley, I think you have to live up to your commitment."
Angie said, "This is what we will do. If Mr. Berryman and Gil's son win the final match, all four will get free bowling for a year. But the trophies go to the Combs."
Everyone, except for the third-place team, thought this was a good solution.
The final match was not close. In the first game, I started with seven strikes. I ended with a score of 279. My next two games were 235 and 234. Everybody got free bowling. Bill and his dad gave us the trophies.
Almost everybody was happy.
He never said a word. But I think my father wished he could have been Mr. Berryman. I was glad he was Marshall Dillon, but I wished he could have been Mr. Berryman.
A Special Time for My Dad and Me contest entry
The first week of December 1961, the Shamrock Lanes Bowling Alley announced a Father and Son Tournament. The first-place prize was a year's free bowling, all you wanted, for both father and son. That was a big deal in our small bowling community on the plains of West Texas.
The written rules specified that a man and a boy (under sixteen) would be a two-person team. Despite the tournament's name, the individuals did not have to be related. Each man had to be a member of an adult league. Each boy had to be a junior league member (under sixteen).
I was fifteen years old and a good bowler, but I had not joined a league that year and was not eligible under the rules. My dad was a good bowler, a respected Insurance agent, and well-liked. But he would be out of town the week of the tournament.
I was a bowling alley rat. I had been hanging out in bowling alleys since I was eleven. On the day of the tournament, I was there to watch several friends and their fathers.
Angie Makris, the manager of Shamrock Lanes, came up and asked, "I know your father is out of town, but we could use another entry. Mr. Berryman is a very nice fellow who has no son, and I would like to see if you could pair up with him. Mr. Berryman will pay the entry fee. What do you think?"
"Angie, that would be great, but I am not a league member right now."
Being a league member was important because it established a bowler's average score. The tournament was handicapped, meaning that bowlers with lower averages got their scores increased by several points, making it a level playing field for all bowlers.
Angie said, "That is not a problem. I will give you an average of 180, meaning you will not get any extra points added to your score."
"Great, Angie!"
The tournament consisted of three rounds. Each round was three games. There were thirty teams in the tournament. At the end of the three rounds, the two teams with the highest total score would meet for a final three-game series.
The problem was right from the start. Angie never thought Mr. Berryman (a 135-average bowler) would average 160 in the tournament. His handicap of twenty-five extra points per game gave him an average of 185. That was an excellent score.
Angie admitted later that he never thought my tournament average would be 210. I did not get any extra points, but then I didn't need them.
Mr. Berryman and I were in first place after the first three rounds, and we would compete against Bill Combs and his dad in the finals. Bill was a friend and a good bowler. His father was as good as Mr. Berryman.
Right before the finals took place, the third-place team challenged my eligibility. Everyone in the tournament was talking at once. Angie was the center of a firestorm.
It has been sixty years, but I still see it: my father chose that moment to walk in through the double glass doors of the Shamrock Lanes. He looked like Marshal Matt Dillon entering the Long Branch Saloon to stop a gun fight.
Five or six fellows went to him and said, "Gil, let me tell you what happened!"
Calmly, my father walked over to Angie. Angie explained the dilemma. My dad said, "Angie since you decided to let him in the tournament and it's your bowling alley, I think you have to live up to your commitment."
Angie said, "This is what we will do. If Mr. Berryman and Gil's son win the final match, all four will get free bowling for a year. But the trophies go to the Combs."
Everyone, except for the third-place team, thought this was a good solution.
The final match was not close. In the first game, I started with seven strikes. I ended with a score of 279. My next two games were 235 and 234. Everybody got free bowling. Bill and his dad gave us the trophies.
Almost everybody was happy.
He never said a word. But I think my father wished he could have been Mr. Berryman. I was glad he was Marshall Dillon, but I wished he could have been Mr. Berryman.
The written rules specified that a man and a boy (under sixteen) would be a two-person team. Despite the tournament's name, the individuals did not have to be related. Each man had to be a member of an adult league. Each boy had to be a junior league member (under sixteen).
I was fifteen years old and a good bowler, but I had not joined a league that year and was not eligible under the rules. My dad was a good bowler, a respected Insurance agent, and well-liked. But he would be out of town the week of the tournament.
I was a bowling alley rat. I had been hanging out in bowling alleys since I was eleven. On the day of the tournament, I was there to watch several friends and their fathers.
Angie Makris, the manager of Shamrock Lanes, came up and asked, "I know your father is out of town, but we could use another entry. Mr. Berryman is a very nice fellow who has no son, and I would like to see if you could pair up with him. Mr. Berryman will pay the entry fee. What do you think?"
"Angie, that would be great, but I am not a league member right now."
Being a league member was important because it established a bowler's average score. The tournament was handicapped, meaning that bowlers with lower averages got their scores increased by several points, making it a level playing field for all bowlers.
Angie said, "That is not a problem. I will give you an average of 180, meaning you will not get any extra points added to your score."
"Great, Angie!"
The tournament consisted of three rounds. Each round was three games. There were thirty teams in the tournament. At the end of the three rounds, the two teams with the highest total score would meet for a final three-game series.
The problem was right from the start. Angie never thought Mr. Berryman (a 135-average bowler) would average 160 in the tournament. His handicap of twenty-five extra points per game gave him an average of 185. That was an excellent score.
Angie admitted later that he never thought my tournament average would be 210. I did not get any extra points, but then I didn't need them.
Mr. Berryman and I were in first place after the first three rounds, and we would compete against Bill Combs and his dad in the finals. Bill was a friend and a good bowler. His father was as good as Mr. Berryman.
Right before the finals took place, the third-place team challenged my eligibility. Everyone in the tournament was talking at once. Angie was the center of a firestorm.
It has been sixty years, but I still see it: my father chose that moment to walk in through the double glass doors of the Shamrock Lanes. He looked like Marshal Matt Dillon entering the Long Branch Saloon to stop a gun fight.
Five or six fellows went to him and said, "Gil, let me tell you what happened!"
Calmly, my father walked over to Angie. Angie explained the dilemma. My dad said, "Angie since you decided to let him in the tournament and it's your bowling alley, I think you have to live up to your commitment."
Angie said, "This is what we will do. If Mr. Berryman and Gil's son win the final match, all four will get free bowling for a year. But the trophies go to the Combs."
Everyone, except for the third-place team, thought this was a good solution.
The final match was not close. In the first game, I started with seven strikes. I ended with a score of 279. My next two games were 235 and 234. Everybody got free bowling. Bill and his dad gave us the trophies.
Almost everybody was happy.
He never said a word. But I think my father wished he could have been Mr. Berryman. I was glad he was Marshall Dillon, but I wished he could have been Mr. Berryman.
 Recognized |
#45 June 2022 |
Artwork by hannahmhug at FanArtReview.com
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