Some Call It Luck - Chapter 22

by Jim Wile

Background
A brilliant and beautiful but insecure, nerdy young woman befriends a going nowhere older alcoholic caddie. Together, they bring out the best in each other and collaborate on a startling new invention

E.J. Budrowski

The same evening
August, 1986

What another day this has been! Despite the heat and lack of work (that part I didn’t mind so much), I felt really good. I hadn’t had anything to eat since that early breakfast at Maudie’s, and I was famished again, so I stopped in at Greenfield’s lunch counter and ordered the “Blue Plate Special”: an open-faced roast beef sandwich served with mashed potatoes, gravy, and peas, served on real blue Wedgewood plates. That sure hit the spot!

For “dessert,” I made my way to Cowley’s and picked up a couple bottles of bourbon. Along with dinner, that blew about half of my earnings for the day. I’d never get rich caddying, but it did provide enough for my food and liquor needs, with enough left over to pay my rent to Mr. Lee, who owned the building and was the proprietor of the laundry below. My needs were simple, plus I still had a little bit in the bank from my inheritance. My dad had passed away several years ago and, incredibly, left me a few thousand, although I had gradually whittled that down to only a few hundred bucks.

Before going up to my apartment, though, I decided to go down to the basement and fetch my clubs from the storage bin. I was honestly thinking about giving golf another try. There’s nothing like that incomparable feeling of hitting a ball right on the sweet spot to get your juices flowing again. Maybe later I’d hitch a ride over to the driving range and try hitting a bucket, but first I had some “dessert” to partake of.

As I sat in my apartment drinking, my mind kept wandering to the events of the day. I suddenly felt for the ball in my pocket to assure myself again that it had been real. It was still there—my lucky ball. Now I just had to figure out what to do with this newfound luck.

I gulped down the rest of my drink and decided: No time like the present. I got up, grabbed my clubs from the corner where I had set them, and headed back down the stairs and out to the street. I walked about a quarter-mile out of the downtown area with my clubs on my shoulder, then stuck out my thumb to hitch a ride to Bud’s Driving Range another mile or so down on the right. Pretty soon a guy in a pickup truck stopped and gave me a lift. He said he was a golfer too, and the bag looked heavy. He dropped me off right in front of Bud’s. I went in and bought a bucket of balls for $3 from Bud himself and headed out to the range.

It was kind of a crummy range with only 10 stalls. You had to hit off mats, and they were pretty old and worn. The range itself was only perhaps 230 yards long. When I was younger, I could probably have hit balls over the tall fence that marked the back of the range. Now, probably not. I spilled the balls into the little trough beside the mat and decided to do some stretches before attempting any shots. Once I got limber, I started with my pitching wedge, just lofting a few out there to get the feel of the swing. Most of the shots were pretty good. Then I moved up to the 8-iron, then the 6, then the 4. The shots were getting more consistent now, with a nice little right-to-left draw, as my swing sped up and lengthened.

A little kid, who I’d seen hitting balls a few stalls over, came up behind me to watch. After seeing me nail a couple of 4-irons, he said, “Wow, mister, you’re pretty good! Wish I could hit ‘em like that.”

“Keep practicing, and one day you may,” I said as I put the 4-iron back in my bag and pulled out my driver. “Let’s see what we can do with this one.” The first two rolled up to the bottom of the fence, but the next couple hit it on a fly. 230 yards in the air with crummy driving range balls! Even I was impressed.

By this time Bud had come out and joined the kid behind me. The next one hit near the top of the fence and dropped down, but the next one we lost sight of as it went clear over. I apologized to Bud for losing his ball, but he just laughed and shook his head. “Man, I haven’t seen anybody hit ‘em like that out here in a long time. It’s a pleasure to watch.”

I thought I’d end on a good note. I still had a few balls left, but I gave them to the kid to hit. Then I packed up my clubs and headed back out to the road to hitch a ride back into town.

Man, that was fun! Like I said, there’s nothing like hitting the sweet spot—in this case over and over again—to put you in a really good mood.

I got to the caddie yard by around 9:30 the next morning, and within half an hour, I caught a loop: a couple of old guys I didn’t know too well. I did a reasonably good job, for me anyway, and got an average tip. It was 2:30 when I finished up and headed down to see Abby at the snack bar. She was pretty busy, but she did reach under the counter to hand me a new book. I told her I’d probably be reading it up at The Overlook, and she said she’d come up to see me after she got off at 4:00.

The book was called 5 Weeks to Winning Bridge by Alfred Sheinwold, the same one who wrote the bridge column in the paper. By the time Abby joined me at 4:00, I’d gotten through the first week and a half’s lessons in the book. I was captivated by it!

“So how do you like this book?” she asked me when she came up and saw I was reading it.

“I think it’s well laid out and teaches the beginner the game in a very orderly fashion.”

“Do you think you’ve learned enough yet to try an actual game?”

“Yes, I think so, and I’m dying to give it a try.”

“Well, then if you’re free tonight, let’s plan on a game around 7:00 over at my place. I think I can find a couple others to play. My Great Aunt Helen, who I live with for the summer, will want to play, and we’ll dig up another. You said you don’t have a car, so why don’t I come pick you up around maybe 6:45?”

“That’s asking too much of you. You’re already hosting the game. I’m sure I can hitch a ride over to your place.”

“I don’t mind at all. Just tell me where you live, and I’ll give you a lift.”

“Well, that’s awfully nice of you. You know where Lee’s Laundry is: at the corner of Main and Hubbard Street downtown? I live just above that. I’ll be waiting for you down on the street out front.”

“Sure, I know where that is. I’ll meet you there at 6:45.”

“Sounds good. Hey, Abby, this is great. Thanks for inviting me. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, me too. I’d better get going to get this game arranged. See you later,” she said, then turned around and left.

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The two "aces" weren't a complete fluke as E.J. is still a good golfer, even though he hasn't played in 20 years. He's also fascinated by bridge and looks forward to the first game since high school. With Abby by his side, maybe there's hope for him yet.

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E.J.'s new interests begin to replace the tedium of his days

A chapter in the book Some Call It Luck

Some Call It Luck - Chapter 22

by Jim Wile

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