Forgive Us Our Trespasses
Somewhere in
So goes a summary of my favorite book of all time, Danny the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl. I’ve always wondered why I loved this book so much. Each year during my classroom teaching career, I’d read this treat aloud to my children. Each year, I never ceased to marvel at the sheer excitement of and drama built into the story. Predictably, the children would always respond to my artist character renderings in the most climatic scenes. My ego fed off their joy and further stimulated my show. But that’s not why I love this story so much.
Ultimately, I’m attracted to Danny the Champion of the World because it delves into the murky world of hide-and-seek for keeps. This is a world I know well, because I’ve lived there for most of my life.
Back around the summer of 1973, my brothers led me into darkness in search of treasure. Jody, my oldest brother, and Greg, my next oldest brother, hatched out a money-saving scheme where they would liberate lost golf balls from the par 5 second hole at Arrowood (Countryside) Golf Course, and then after sorting through their treasure, they’d have enough golf balls to save them from having to ever buy anymore.
That summer evening, Jody and Greg came to me to share their plan. They needed my services as the ball catcher. I had some experience in this field as I had been wandering the golf course for several years looking for lost balls in the woods and weeds. I knew my golf ball brands and where the lost ones would hide.
What they envisioned was sneaking onto the course after dark on the full moonlit night and stealing down to the pond beside the green. Then they’d wade out and feel around for balls. When they found them, they’d toss the treasures onto the shore where I’d bag them. Their plan was ballsy and would require coordination as well as stealth. Although as scared as young Danny when he went out to rescue his pheasant poaching father, I agreed to be the one holding the bag in this epic adventure.
Preparation was the key. With the full moon out, it was important to dress appropriately. We each chose dark clothing and darkened our faces. I was concerned that my blaze white tennis shoes would be spotted, so I scuffed them with dirt from the garden. We scarfed a couple of pillow cases for from my mother’s linen closet.
As we were about to launch the expedition, we came face to face with my father. Immediately, I wanted to hide, to run, and to just get away from his glare. I wonder what he thought when he saw his three sons dressed for combat. Somehow, though, Jody intervened and explained parts of our plan to him. Then silently, he turned and walked away, neither endorsing nor forbidding our project. With his silent approval, we decided to get on the road before we encountered my mother. We all knew that if that meeting were to take place, we’d most likely find our little plan wrecked and our backsides tanned.
My memory is a bit incomplete on the exact details of how we got to the pond. We may have walked the mile or so across the golf course in our mock camo, but I suspect we piled into my brother’s 1968 Opel Kadett with me crammed into the tiny backseat with the pillowcases. After parking near some adjacent apartments, we sneaked onto the fairway of the second hole and down to the pond by the green. Traffic from I-581 zoomed by within yards of us as my brothers made their final preparations. I was so nervous and scared of being caught. My brothers though were dealing with another fear.
It was well known that Arrowood was the home of wild snapping turtles. These monsters lived in and near ponds on the golf course and patrolled the water like dragons guarding treasures. We all believed that these massive creatures could sever 2x4 boards with one application of their plier-like beaks. It was decided that one of my jobs would be to keep an eye out for unnatural movements on the still pond water surface.
With bravery, my brothers entered that slimy, still pond and began to feel around on the mucky bottom. The pond was never very deep. I had imagined that it was fathoms deep, but now I learned that it really was sort of shallow. By that I mean that there was only about three or four feet from the surface to a false muddy bottom; however, walking on the bottom in an upright fashion would cause you to sink up to your knees in stinky, silty muck. My brothers quickly mastered their hunting technique. They’d float across the surfaces and rake their hands along the bottom feeling for the treasured orbs.
Suddenly, I began hearing the sound of lollipops landing all around me. First one ball, then another, then another and another. Soon it was raining golf balls. I’d run from sound to sound and snatch the loot, tossing each into my loot bag. Soon one bag was filled and I began working on another. Every now and then, they’d uncover something different; a sand rake, a golf club severed in frustration. I was reacting now by reflex. Darting here, darting there in silence when I heard Greg’s cry light the darkness and pierce us, exposing us all for the world to see. SNAPPERS! One was after his foot. I seem to remember him virtually leaping out of the pond. With classic heroic resolve, though, he went back in and faced the demons.
More than once, our feast was interrupted by a passing car on the road next to the course. Every car that passed I imagined was a police car. I knew that it was just a matter of time before one to the cops stopped and shined his mega-watt searchlight onto us. A sense of doom began to creep into my exuberance, and I knew that I really just wanted to cut and run. Longer than I cared to, I gathered balls tossed onto the bank beside that pond. Smelly pond sweat covering my drenched body.
Finally my brothers made their exit from the stench like monsters from the black lagoon. With the ball orgy over, the loot included two rakes, several severed clubs, and hundreds of golf balls. The clubs were given back to the snapping turtle godheads and the rakes were left by the green guarding sand traps. I suppose leaving them behind eased our consciences, sort of a group act of contrition.
We slimed ourselves back into the car with the gold and made our way home. Immediately, my brothers went to the garden hose and tried to hose off. Impossible; the stench and slime was embedded in their pores. Only time would pardon their stink. I began to bathe the treasure, revealing so many of my favorites. Faultless’ Futura and Lee Trevino, Penfold’s Foremost, Achusnet’s Club Special and Titelist, Wilson’s Staff and K-28, Spalding’s Top-Flite, Pro-Flite, Kro-Flite and Dot, as well as Dunlop’s Red, Black, Green and the highly coveted Blue Max were all reclaimed from the shallows. Some were in glorious fresh condition while many others looked much like leathery snapping turtle eggs.
I always marveled at golf ball construction. Most balls back during that period were made with either a liquid center or a solid core center. The liquid center balls actually had a liquid filled rubber ball at the core with elastic rubber bands wrapped tightly around and around. Then they were given a soft white dimpled cover.
Sometime during the cleansing, our father came out and curiously debriefed us and stared in amazed wonder at the booty. Proudly, we showed off samples. As I recall, he was especially interested in the Faultless- not because he wished to believe his tacit approval made him blameless but rather because that really was his favorite ball- and I’m sure he extracted a few of these as payment for his silence.
Raiding the pond at Arrowood Country Club on a full moonlit summer eve in 1973 was an act of profound trespass. For that I am heartily sorry. I do not repent the memory.
An Act of Contrition
O my God, I am heartily sorry
for having offended you, and I detest
all my sins, because of Your just
punishments, but most of all because
they offend You, my God, who are
all-good and deserving of all my love.
I firmly resolve, with the help of
Your grace, to sin no more and to
avoid the near occasion of sin.
In Danny the Champion of the World, Danny and his father went on an Ha-mazing Ha-venture in to the murky wood to set the record for most pheasants ever poached in one evening. Using secret methods and special techniques, they pulled off the big, delicious heist.
On a summer evening at Arrowood Country Club, Jody, Greg, and Tommy went on an amazing adventure into the murky stink of the number two greenside pond. Using secret methods and special techniques, they pulled off the biggest ball heist of all time.
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