Golf - The Road To Insanity

Murray Gelber had his little idiosyncrasies too.  I noticed that he always liked to hit first when we got to the tee.  In an earlier chapter describing my loop with Rut Krauzer, I described the rule in golf where a player has the “Honors” if he has posted the lowest score on the previous hole.  Therefore, he would have the “Honor” of teeing off first.  Most players, it seemed to me, played with that rule, but in this group, because they were noted for slow play, they would play what they called, “Ready Golf.”  That is, everyone would hit when they were ready.  And Murray always made sure that he was first to the next tee so that he could hit first.  The only problem with that plan was that Murray would “freeze” over the ball for about 20 or 25 seconds while he would run all the necessary programs through his head which would put his muscles in play in such a fashion as to hit the ball in the perfect manner.  And while Murray stood over his ball, if someone should happen to make the slightest movement in his line of vision, or if the tiniest bit of sound emanated which was in discordance with the chirping of birds in the forests, or the rustle of leaves blowing in the branches of the trees, Murray would back off his shot, look around in an obviously annoyed manner to see who had made the disturbance, and then go through the entire routine again.  It was very irritating.

After I had caddied for these guys for 4 or 5 holes I realized one thing.  They were not only peculiar.  They were nuts.

And Murray's playing partner, Mr. Hennessey, or "Henney," had a similar peculiarity whereby he required perfect stillness and quiet while he prepared for his shot ----.. or putt.   An example of what I was going to see that day, and for that matter, every time I caddied in this group, occurred on the 3^rd tee.  You will remember that the 3^rd hole was a par three of approximately 145 yards, which required the player to hit over a wooded canyon to the green ahead.  After Murray had teed off, first of course, Mr. Hennessey stepped up to make his tee shot.  After this short time I had already been conditioned to be extra careful not to make a sound or movement while these players were in the act of shot preparation.  We all stood like stone statues while Mr. Hennessey placed his feet exactly in the proper position, looked forward to the target in the distance, placed the club head squarely behind the ball which was sitting neatly on the little wooden tee, and proceeded with his swing to project the ball out over the canyon towards the green.  However, the ball did not proceed to the green, but took an errant path into the woods to the right of the green and down the forested slope to come to rest in obscurity, no doubt, out of sight under a pile of leaves.  Mr. Hennessey, obviously pained by his “less than perfect” shot, turned around to all of us standing at the rear of the tee box and glared at us.  Murray, having successfully traversed the canyon with his shot said,

“What are you looking at us for?  We didn’t say a word!”  To which Mr. Hennessey responded by hollering,

“But I knew you fucking guys were going to talk as soon as I hit!”

Am I right about these guys?  They were beyond being nuts!

As we played on that day, we came to the 6^th hole, if the reader will remember, was another par 3 that required hitting over a canyon.  But the 6^th hole was quite a bit longer at 200 yards, from the white tees, vs. the 145 or so at the 3^rd hole.  Mr. McClendon, being at the advanced age that he was, did not get his tee shot over the canyon and into the fairway in front of the green.  And, as I learned during my many loops with these guys in the months and years ahead, he NEVER got his tee shot over that canyon.  But Jesse McClendon was a gamer!  Even though his tee shot had landed short of the fairway on the other side of that canyon, he would go down into that canyon from the far side and look for his ball so that if he found it he could hit it up onto the fairway and perhaps manage a bogey 4 on that hole.  His playing partners had seen this happen so often, that they did not bother helping him locate his ball.  I guess to them it was an annoyance that they had decided long ago to circumvent by just continuing on to where their shots had landed and let Jesse and the caddy look for the ball.  To me it was amazing that this old guy, in his mid 80’s, with the bad leg, would go down into this steep little canyon to look for his ball.

I spent a few minutes with Mr. McClendon looking through the weeds on the side of that canyon for his ball when he hollered out,

“Here it is, go on up and watch it for me, pard’.”  Meaning, of course, that I should get out of the canyon and wait for his ball to come sailing out.

As I climbed out of the canyon and positioned myself as a good and trusted caddy would, so that I could spot the ball for Mr. McClendon, I heard Mr. Hennessey hollering from the bridge that we all had taken to get to the other side of the canyon after the tee shots.

“I saw that, you cheatin’ son of a bitch!  I was watching.  You are a cheatin’ son of a bitch.  God Damn you!  GOD DAMN YOU!!!”

It appeared that Mr. McClendon, not knowing that his golfing opponent and long time playing partner, Owen “Henney” Hennessey, h