The Great Golf Ball Caper
It's tough to know the exact year, but I've been retired for for four, worked at the bank for thirty-three and the railroad before that. This is a CP Rail story so I make it right around 1986. CP's West Toronto Signal Shop was in a converted roundhouse at Keele and St. St. Clair. We golfed every Friday afternoon after work at a large public course called Scarlet Woods, right on the Humber River in the west end at Jane and Eglinton. We'd get off work, one guy would head to the beer store, the other two to the course and get our tee-off time. We'd then convene in the parking lot, six cold Coor's Light in the bottom of each bag and away we would go. Brad, Mike and myself. Both boys were from Smith Falls. Brad was a little wiry guy with a high pitched voice that carried. Mike was classic farm boy, 6' 1", big everywhere, hips, shoulders, biceps and temper (but that's another story). I would not have tackled him with a machine gun. The 12th hole was a little par three, with an elevated tee that ran downhill about 200 feet on hard pan to a little square pond. The green was on the other side. We had often speculated that there must be a million balls in that little pond as any ball hit short, scuffed, sculled, kicked or basically dropped on the front of the tee box, just naturally rolled all the way down and into the into the water. I don't know if golf balls were expensive but both Mike and I had scuba masks and he had bought a new diving flashlight! We decided that a little midnight run would be required to bolster our golf ball holdings. After a few beers waiting for it to get dark in the CP boarding trailers nearby, we parked in the guest parking at the nearby apartment build (see map) and walked through the giant culvet that goes underneath Eglinton Avenue right onto the golf course. It was about 11:00 and a cloudy muggy night. It was pitch dark. Upon approaching the pond, we were mortified to discover that there was already a couple of guys, gleaning the pond for treasure. "Someone is stealing our golf balls": Mike whispers into my ear. We hear them dump a giant load out into the grass and they are back in the pond to continue their theiving ways. They are getting further and further away from us as they work down the far shoreline. "Cover me": is the next instruction I receive? I am laying thinking with what? I've got handful of kitchen catchers and a zippo lighter. Mike commando crawls up to their stash and comes back past me crouched down at the dead run. "Time to go" in a stage whisper. Back across the course, into the river, through the tunnel and up to my car. When we start to get back into some light I realize he is hauling a gigantic tubular burlap sack with what appears to be a million golf balls inside. Into my car, back to my apartment at Bathrust and Wilson. I will spare you the horror we inflicted on my Jewish landlords' prized new Maytag coin washing machine. The sun comes up to find Mike and I (hungover) with our stash washed, dried and separated. The intal count was 754! About a hundred and a half were waterlogged, cut, stained and went stright into the garbage chute. We each walked awasy with about 300 perfect golf balls, about a hundred were premium stuff (Wilson Pro Staff, Pinnacle Gold, Ram Tour) that we only dreamed of being able to afford.
I went into my "GOLF" storage bin last week to get ready for my first round of the season. In the bottom, was an old baby formula tin with what I believe was the last eight or nine of those golf balls that we liberated all those years ago. It brought back this memory. I'm a pretty good golfer these days. I wonder which will come first? My giving up the game or me having to buy my first sleeve of balls in four decades? First two rounds, Fifty-four. Forty-seven. CO is toast.
Let's all go ...
So, unless this popular Kentucky Headhunters song is about planning a felony sexual assault (seems unlikely), I had always assumed that the song is referencing a house of ill repute where the lovely Miss Walker will willingly provide her libido draining services ... for a fee?
"Let's all go ... down and do Miss Walker
It goes on to list the popular menu items that he and his "baby" are going to have for lunch. Huh? You are taking your girlfriend to the whorehouse? So, enough was enough and I dove down the rabbit hole on your behalf. Turns out, fact really is stranger than fiction!
Mr. Dumas Walker (1915 - 1991) was a world champion rolly ball player from Moss, Tennessee who owned Walker's Package Store. For decades, locals would go across the border from Kentucky, buy beer, snacks and fireworks. You could also find him playing a game most days, get an autograph, take a pictures. In that area, there are thousands of families who have an old pciture of a visit to his store. It was an institution. Another nearby haunt was the Adolphus Ennis Lunchroom, located in Greensburg, Kentucky. They were famous for slaw burgers and ski, which is a a local soft drink made with lemon, oranges and a shitload of caffeine. The Headhunters combined the two "field trip" traditions and incorporated them into their tagline of their hit single. "Lets all go, down to Dumas Walker". I have alwasy thought their first hit: Walk Softly On This Heart Of Mine is a better song. A Kevin Mercer find if my thirty-year old memory is correct. Now you know.
Our Optimum Week
We've seen grapes as low as two bucks but $2.50 a pound is still a great price. The flyer and the Offers are like that. Some good top line deals (which I am giving you), but you get off the first page and there is not much after that. 35K if you spend more than $350. If you have teenagers, no problem. For SWMBO and I, that is a big spend and we are stocked up (except for butter). Here is your list:
... and finally
Had to say goodbye to the Bandit. I developed spot of arthritis in my right wrist and could no longer handle the Valkyrie (which was a beast to drive). I bought this weapon of mass destruction, then couldn't sell the first one one as it was already mid-August. Storing two bikes over the winter was not on my dance card! I literally had the strip the shelving out of my bike shed to make them both fit. This was simply the quickest bike I have ever owned or ridden. Truly breathtaking! Cesar (the guy I sold it to), plans to take a month next year and ride it to South America! Oh, to be twenty years younger and have time to make that trip!
Mitch & Maddie