Dinner With Chet

As a whole, our bunch of rag-tag wanderers, my friends, back around 7th Grade, on the South Side of Chicago, walked up & down, every street in our neighborhoood...not looking for trouble...but for something to do...

See, our neighborhood was sparse as far as kid's stuff to do...But we never, ever felt we were missing anything because we were clueless as can be...and that was a good thing, sometimes...

Take one windy, wet, cold, early March night...A Friday night...a dark and vicious soaker...me and my friends had our HAYES PARK HOCKEY champion jackets on...that we had just won...up at our park...and those jackets felt like heavy sponges...as we dredged down 87th Street...in a pouring, frigid rain...

We came across a new restaurant, just opened up...

THE CRAZY SICILIAN RESTAURANT & SATALITE LOUNGE...

Just a tiny place, a hole in the wall, dump, kinda, but it offered us a chance to dodge the onslaught of rain, that was relentlessly pelting against us...

I'm guessing there was close to 8 to 12 of us...the usual suspects...filing into THE CRAZY SICILIAN...with little idea...of what kinda food they even had....

I think the waitress looked at us like lost mongrels, soaked to the bone...as we peeled off our soggy coats and sat down. for a peek at the menu...

We looked around and the place was empty, except for us, a table right next to us, had just left...and we tried to figure out...what they had just eaten...on their remaining plates...

Suddenly, my good friend, the young & ever-growing man-child, John "Chet" Feeely, started to scarf down, the leftovers, from the empty table, next to us...with reckless abandon...

Chet was not just grabbing an errant french fry, but was boldly going "hog wild"...chowing down, on a leftover "Chicken Parmesian" dinner...You could still see teeth marks on the melted mozzerella, chicken patty...as the dismay and horror...overtook some of our faces...

My good friend, Moodo, hit the roof, in his own, impeccable, Moodo, way, bursting out, with a spastic howl, screaming at Chet, to throw down, the chicken patty, and come to his senses.

Sure, Chet, was clearly, over-the-line, acting like an animal and a complete fool...but the rest of us, found a great deal of laughter, in what was transpiring, before us. Indeed, Chet was unphased, by Moodo's jarring hits...and he munched and munched and munched...away...

As far as Chet was concerned, he was our food tester, at that moment, going to give us, his sparkling review of his "special of the day"...Chicken ala' Chet...

I think the waitress, walked cautiously up, with a strange grin, wondering what was so funny. These foolish, foolish boys, were there, but a minute, and were already, out of control...

We all tried to regain, our composure, but we kept glancing, over at Chet, his cheeks now, stuffed, looking like a big chipmunk...that hit the motherload of nuts...

You can't bottle "dumb fun" like that...but that was just par for the course, when me and my friends got together...because we were, truly jokesters, never knowing, who would be doing crazy stuff, next...

Just an ordinary Friday night, South-Side, maybe 1976 or 1977...just a few bucks in our pockets...nowhere special to go...but the world was ours by the string...in a never-ending adventure...that would know, no end...always having a good time...no matter what...

Just ask Moodo or Chet....

Camp Willabay

Long ago...behind us, across the street from our Lake House, a vibrant, wild, kid's camp called CAMP WILLABAY ...stood...It was hidden away...in the far corner of the Bay...Truly a treasured gem, whoever went there...so many trees....a dense forest with scattered cabins all about...

Zippity-Doo-Da...Zippity Aaayyy...Let's all go to Camp Willabay...Young teens would jump at the chance to escape the hustle & bustle of the city or their smaller towns and assume they would become better people...

Surely you become better at something by swatting a zillion killer mosquitos the size of Mongolia while enjoying all the woodland games & good times...and mild mischief...

The people running the camp were generally really cool with us outsiders because we would wander over there and hop on their trampoline, or play basketball, or tennis...(...yes, tennis was "Big"...back then...)

...all this...at the end of the day, while all the happy campers were at the cafeteria...It was all good...

I felt like I was falling into a character of the Bill Murray movie "Meatballs" because the cabins and kiddies and trees felt like a surreal movie set...

One funny camp story was when my brother Joe, one time, got a little crazy with his buddies one day and decided to try to ride the camps horses, bareback....Unfortunately, the camp counselors were not happy with this intrusion and chased Joe to an area of barbed wire....

His buddies made it through...but Joe got his ankle stuck, gnarled tight, in the grizzly barb wire and it shredded his skin to the bone....bleeding all over the place...

They rushed him to doctor here in the bay and stitched him up good...but it hampered Joe pretty bad for a few weeks...as my Dad made a wry, funny comment...

"Hey, hot shot, I guess we won't be seeing you walk around the lake anytime too soon....(something my brother had done, the day before....Joe walked all 27 miles around the path of Lake Geneva in 9 hours)...Joe was the oldest boy, in the family...and his wild ways, made me & Dan's wrongful steps as teenagers...not so bad...

Back to the old camp, it died out, eventually...and it got sold to a real estate developer and Boom...all the cabins and a bunch of trees are leveled to make room for a giant neat, condo complex. It sounds sad, in some ways....

...and it is...but life goes on and now 3 of my sisters have places over there, now....Patsy, Joan & Karen...and their families, all enjoy being solidified in the Bay...so close by....for at least 10 years.

The now established, Willabay Shores, still has a wonderful woodlands feel to it....but the trampoline...and other neat stuff are all gone...

One last memory, of Camp Willabay...On the final day...of camp....usually....they would flood, an open field of dirt...and roll out a giant 6 foot diameter high, ball...to play "Mudball"...It was hilarious, as 25 joyful kids were filthy dirty, drenched in soupy gray mud...

...pushing the ball, back and forth...As the camp kids finally got exhausted, from exertion trying to win the Mud-Ball mania...They would stumble down to our open park next door, completely caked in mud, moving like delerious, laughing Mud-Zillas towards the cleansing, cool waters of the the Bay...

Certainly, a funny, funny sight to see...and a memory, from long, long ago, that's hard to imagine nowadays, but in an instant always brings a smile to my face...anytime I see muddy kids on TV...

HOORAY...FOR CAMP WILLABAY...!!!

a relay to remember

On a hazy, lazy summer day, up at The Park...there was nobody around...in 1976...Where was everybody...the whole gang is gone...Am I being ditched...???...I wander up to the field house...and Rich the Park Instructor tells me...

"Get your buddies together, we are having a track meet here, today...Right Now...!!!..."

I don't know what to do, but somehow Fitz and Eddie B wander up, but Rich tells us, "You are gonna need a 4th guy to run the relay race..."

Us 3 look bewildered at each other..."Whadda we gonna do...???...Out of nowhere, Marty Rogers shows up, out of the blue...What strange luck to have us all together, right at that crazy moment...

So, we set up for the Relay, Fitz up first, ME the 2nd leg, Eddie B the 3rd leg, then Marty Rogers bringing it on home as the anchor...Have we gotta chance at winning, I ask Fitz and Fitz says, Don't worry about this, it's a piece of cake...

I never seen any of these kids who showed up by the carload, to race that day...I had no clue, what to expect...or did I...???...

The race starts...Fitzie's got a head full of steam, handing the baton to me, about 3 feet ahead of his counterparts....I took hold of the baton and darted, way fast, my mind racing faster than my feet. As my 2nd leg is finishing, I feel other competitors catching up.

Boom...I get a sudden burst and slap-over the baton to Eddie B, who rips the baton out of my hand and ferociously, takes off like an angry tiger...No-nonsense Eddie B, was in full power mode and out to do some damage, running each step, harder and harder.

Me & Fitz are bent over, huffing and puffing, with Fitz saying, "All Bar's gotta do, is get that baton over to Marty, without dropping it..."....And Eddie Bar, did just that, almost coming to a complete stop, just relaxing with a big lead...

...easily handing it to Marty, with a big smile, who takes off, in a puff of smoke. You see, everyone, all of my buddies know, Marty Rogers was quicker than lightning...His mercurial speed was amazing and he blew the competition away by 40 yards....

VICTORY WAS OURS...!!!...

I left the "track meet", after we got our trophies. Believe me, I was flying high...What a rush that was. Totally, out of the blue, excitement...It cleared my mind of missing the basketball cuts a few months back, and had me so sky high...But then, about a block from home, I dropped my trophy, to the ground, breaking it into 3 pieces...

I burst through my kitchen door, anyway, elated, on 86th Street....and threw the broken trophy on the kitchen table and told of my exciting day of running the relay...up at The Park...My Mom was very happy, and my Dad even smiled...He said to me..."Jimmy, jump in the car, let's go get that trophy fixed."

We rode up to some special novelty store 0ff 95th & Western with long aisles full of trophies...

My Dad slips the trophy guy a $10 bill and says..."Do what you can..."

Next thing, you know, I'm walking down the street with big golden column, with a golden runner on top..."....It's a top notch trophy now....and my Dad cleared away, all my brother Joe and Danny's dozen trophies...and set mine in the middle...looking like a million bucks...

It was a clear cut memory, that I would have some mark of acheivement, in my sports activities, and surely something I will never, ever, forget...Secretly, I think my Dad, wanted to show everyone he knew, his son was a bit disabled...

...But that, Jimmy, was never gonna stop, trying, to be his best, like my Uncle Jimmy, a great football player, my Dad, named me after...his brother, JIMMY O'LEARY, a star running back for Mount Carmel H.S. and University of Detroit...in the 1950's...

The wild relay race that day, put us 4 crazy kids together by pure chance, and it just felt like an unbelievable, magical day I didn't want to end...anytime soon...

(...BTW...I "googled" my Uncle Jimmy's name...and he was inducted into a Hall-of-Fame as a quite successful football coach...in the Detroit area...back in 1977...Jimmy had died tragically of a brain anyerism, in his early 30's...back in 1962...)

John Fitz & Danny Casey

I knew Johnny Fitz & Danny Casey since the 3rd Grade....They only lived a couple blocks away, next to The Park, on 85th Street...and they were street-wise and cool as you get.

Wild kids, sure, but they also had wonderful family atmospheres abound. Danny had an old grandfather we would always be amazed by his wry humor as Danny sent zingers at him, to get him riled...But the old codger knew it was a fun game they shared and everyone had a big ol' laugh from the antics....

Johnny Fitzpatrick down the street, had 2 brothers to rough it up with and just an onslaught, make it a passion of being the best basketball player, he could be....They had a blacktop cement pavement top, featuring your typical basketball net strung on the garage....

The basketball seemed to really bounce higher in Fitz's backyard lot...and it gave you a bit of zip, roughing it up, with endless games of HORSE and pick-up games that would go on until it got too dark....

The Fitz's were your proto-typical Irish South-Siders...his Dad a valiant Fireman and his Mom taking care of the 3 boys, Mike & John & Jimmy and little sister Maura too...I always remember going into Fitz's kitchen with WGN-AM radio 720 blasting away...

John's Mom quickly throwing dinner together, as his Dad would walk in, covered in smolten ash. Mister Fitz worked in the harder neighborhoods, where he had more than his fair share of brushes with fire danger...

Meanwhile....Us kids, all us silly little nomads, making it an adventure every day....

One time, me and Fitz, got a ride out to this new indoor amusement park, called OLD CHICAGO. It was indoors....wow....but it was far, far away in a suburb called Bolingbrook, that had a rugged indoor roller coaster, that was super cool, looking in the constant commercials on TV....

Well the 2 of us, Fitz & Me...first, got on a ride called THE SPYDER, that spun you in wacky wild action, up and down and spinning....It was quite thrilling until John started barfing his guts out, 30 seconds into the ride...

Here's this vicious vomit, spewing out, flying out in a chaotic blast, sending shrieks, for other riders. I got hit with some of it.....TTTHHHWAAACCKKKK....!!!...

But others, unfortunately, faired much worse....probably some sticky & cheesy red Chef-Boy-ardee ravioli found its way across the entire park....at that moment...lol...

I too can recall when Fitz and Me and Hop and Danny were gonna start a band...I was gonna play harmonica and we actually tried to play a song together which turned out massively atrocious. See, Hop's older brother, Mike, had started a great "garage band"...so why not us....

Back then, Mister Fitz was the coach of the junior varsity in the 7th Grade basketball team. I gave it a shot...and I could execute running up and down the entire court and throwing the ball up for a lay-up, flawlessly....and as luck would have it....That drill was the final drill that would decide the final cuts....

Boom...I'm flawlessly getting the job done...while the bigger kids stumbled a bit from the added pressure....At the end...I was the last one cut from the team...It was kinda devastating for me, but Mister Fitz had John tell me...I'd never last if I got double-or-triple teamed as a game wound down....and they were right...I was much too short, to handle some ugly scrum, for a ball, so it didn't sting as much....

A classic young FITZ moment when he wasn't as punky....was when we raced home from Saint Thomas More because John wanted to learn to play the Beatles song...YELLOW SUBMARINE...on his trumpet...This was a genuine cool song. Fitz had the sheet music and he puckered up, ready to rock it out with his new trumpet....

Well, John got about 3 notes into the song and it just fell off the Earth and sounded like the most gurgly ill, spasmic noise, ever heard on any planet...We all laugthed at his trumpet efforts...but Fitz didn't care....He knew he'd get it right....with a little practice...

At heart, we were all good kids, who thought we could talk the talk and walk the walk with any punks we encountered....And...All 3 of us went on to Brother Rice High School...Fitz, Case & Me, a few years later and are still very proud of going there, too...

4th of July/1776-1976

....Oh my...

The 7th Grade was a breath of fresh air, during our country's Bi-Centennial Year of 1976....Wow, I felt like I was signing the Declaration of Independence, myself, it was so cool, learning all the struggles and extreme sacrifices, those courageous patriots, put on the line, to get our nation rolling, on the right track...around 1776

An awesome thing we did for ART CLASS that year was hang all kinds of special patriotic flags, made of construction paper, which hung on a clothesline that hung 4 feet over our heads....Flags for each of the 13 colonies and DON'T TREAD ON ME....just kicked ass....hanging above our heads...looking cooler than anything...Betsy Ross would have been proud...

But then....One of us goofballs, got the devious idea, we could sling-shot paper clips, with rubber bands, thru all the flags, even while class was in session....It was an onslaught as these neat paper flags were decimated with little paper clip puncture holes....across the whole room...

Finally, the sh-t hit the fan, as our mean Assistant Principal, Sister Alyssa came stomping into our room, extremely pissed and was ready to drag us out of the classrooms by our ears....

Why...???....

The Bi-Centennial Flags (1776/1976) we made were pretty darn cool looking...but then they got bullet-riddled, like it was an ouzi sub-machine gun, doing the damage....so all the teacher's were all aghast because open house for the parents was up-coming that weekend...

Who were the culprits....No doubt, Fitz & Slim, Joe Devlin & Jimmy Ade, Chet & Buck & Johnny Murph, Eddie B & Moodo, for sure, maybe more....Well Sister Alyssa started to search thru the desks, across the room, looking for some evidence....

and then she tip-toed, ominously back to Mike Moody's desk, all the way back, in the last row, with a devilish grin, saying, "Can I look inside your desk, Mister Michael Moody...???...."

Moodo turned white as a ghost...because he had the motherload of paperclips and rubber bands sticking out from the inside of his desk....But right before, she was gonna stick her hands into Moodo's desk, she asked ME, Jimmy O'Leary, to look for her, because I think she knew Moodo's white as a ghost, face said it all...

I rummaged my hand thru the barrage of stuff inside of Moodo's desk and declared it clean as a whistle....and Sister Alyssa turned with a sly smirk and walked away....We all knew at that moment, Sister Alyssa was alot cooler than we thought, not taking us down, for the count....

Moodo caught a big break that day...and immediately our flag onslaught was over...

We even made more new, cooler flags, to replace the decimated ones....So everyone was happy!

After school, in the Springtime, you could find us all wander up to the park, later, lagging quarters for dough or playing fast pitch baseball, throwing a heavy rubber ball as hard as you could, at a brick wall, with a hitters' box spray-painted against the field house....

I was no good at fast-pitch....but it was a nice chance to try to heave a ball at Nolan Ryan fast-ball speed...and watch it fly, mostly beaning someone in the head, arm or shoulders...which always brought out lotsa laughter....The older kids like Eddy Epper & Jack McManus & Hop & Case & Coon-Daddy & Bram & The Funk & Gert & Jimmy Walsh, all a year older than us, made us look like complete fools...

Then, us slugs, gave up, and rambled down to the air-conditioned basement of our field house where the cool temps were heavenly and played a card game called KNUCKLES....Knuckles was a blood-sport, with a deck of cards...

All I remember, if you lost at Knuckles, your opponent got to try to make your knuckles, spew out blood, by scathing the deck of cards like a machete, going thru a big melon...

It was ferociously cruel but we loved it, because it was high-comedy and high-brutality all rolled into one...I can remember Neil Krull scraping down Eddie Barkowski's knuckles almost to the bone...in a relentless war of a Knuckles game, that carried high stakes....

When July 4th, 1976....finally did come around...the day was a big-let-down, for me...I was expecting a huge celebration, beyond anything that had been ever seen....but I just remember rolling out of bed, up at the Lake House...My Dad was patiently reading the Tribune on the patio ande my Mom had all kinds of red-white-and-blue stuff up...

I was expecting all-day...all-night fireworks & sparklers & smoke bombs & bottle rockets...

But here I was, sleepy, walking out on our patio about 10AM. Dead Quiet...I looked at my Dad...and I think he was zeroed in on the sports section of the Chicago Tribune, if White Sox pitcher, Britt Burns or Wilbur Wood had pitched a gem...just turning the page after page, of the newspaper, letting out a sigh.

I think that was my first recollection, that the media knew how to get out the HYPE for an event and push it to the MAX beyond my capacity to understand such things...The Bi-Centennial, came and went and a little of that patriotism I had, maybe shoulda' died with it....because I had spent hours and hours, combing over our US History, from 200 years before, and was very proud to be an American, that day...no matter what...big fireworks or no fireworks....

The 4th of July, 2009...is only a few days away....and I hope people do realize this nation was founded on some sound principles that stand even to this day...And those principles are...Every man is created equal and we all share in the endeavors to make this nation, a better place, every which way we can...In my mind...

....and "T.J."...Thomas Jefferson also would want to say....wave your flags high with pride, so everyone can see them, flowing and glowing, standing for our Independence, back on July 4th, 1776.....233 long years ago....and certainly right now...!!!...in the "Land of the FREE" and "Home of the BRAVE"...

Fishing

Fishing...it's in my blood...Maybe some kinda ancestrial link of some sorts, whatever...It's there.

As a young tyke, digging up worms in the backyard, in Williams Bay, after a rainy night, exctitedly coming across a big juicy nightcrawler...I was convinced that ugly, bloated, veiny worm, was gonna land me a jumbo whopper, of a fish...

I can remember 1970, very clearly, going out to the end of our new pier, in Williams Bay, and hauling in a few sunfish, perch...blue gill...etc...Nothing spectacular, but enough to keep the fires alive, for the next time around...I was only 7 years old...but the whole hobby of fishing was a great deal of fun...and spending endless time, with lost lures & tangled lines, never phased me.

It seemed as I grew older, my strategy would change, going out on our Granny Franny boat, to hidden places around the lake...where vast amounts of fish were considered, there, for the taking...And as I hit my teenage years, my passion for fishing was at a peak...

Sometimes, we'd get caught up, in the tranquil peacefulness of fishing and not see a rapidly appraching storm, bearing down, out on Lake Geneva, ready to unload, a giant shower of rain & thunder & lightining. Suddenly, our weather senses, kicked in...

and there we were, making a mad dash...across the lake, flooring our Granny Franny boat at top speed, to beat the storm back home...It was exhilerating, throwing caution to the wind and bouncing our boat thru monster waves, crashing us, all around, as we sped like demons, back to shore, in the Bay... Me & Joe had that happen to us, more than a couple times...

Sometimes, it was helping my nieces & nephews, gather their steam, off the side of the pier, laughing at them, fishing with their bamboo poles & corn nibblets for bait...I realized fishing was fun, from the very start...for some more than others...

My nephew Mike, a bit of an intense little bugger, actually saw a giant, dazed, Northern Pike, wallowing in the short end of the water...Well, he jumped in the water, and started beating the fish with an oar...until it stopped flopping...

That's not gonna get you any brownie points from Babe Winkleman...but it got the job done...A caught fish is a caught fish...no rule books in fishing...Mike had that sucker mounted even, and we all managed to leave out the technicality of hauling that monster in...

As an older teen, I did some fishing with some buddies, off Lake Michigan, near Adler Planetarium, in Olive Park...(most spectacular view of the lakefront, in the city of Chicago...btw...) and even ventured north around the Banai' Temple off Northwestern University where my brother Joe's friend, Dennis, hauled in a giant Coho Salmon...

Sure, they said the mercury levels were too dangerous to eat a Coho from Lake Michigan but we were drinking Budweiser, which kills all germ & mercury poisons...(it says that in fine print on the side of the can...lol...)....

I'm glowing a bit, still, from eating that Coho, but "danger" is my middle name...When they crack me open on an autopsy table, down the line, they can have a good laugh with what they find inside me...

Even years later, when I moved out to San Diego, in the early 90's, living,in a one room, beach hut, apartment, 25 feet off of Ocean Beach pier...I resumed my passion for fishing,. soaking up the Cali sunshine, having a ball, hauling in baby sharks & some crazy fish called "Wahoo", that had razor sharp teeth...At night, every Friday night, about 9pm, nearby Sea World would have a great fireworks display...

and it was really surreal to be out on the end of Ocean Beach pier, with your pole in the water, people of every nationality, speaking a different language and the colors of the fireworks boldly glistening off the ocean waters...

Here I was, so far from home, with the deep, driving, mesmorizing ocean sounds surrounding me. Everybody had glow sticks, out there, glowing lime/yellow, all over, in the darkness & it was very cool, to soak it all in...considering I was just a land-lubber from the Midwest...

I even joined the San Diego Fishing Club and won a kick-ass, $600 mega-marlin pole, the first night I was there, that looked like something you would have rigged up off your big fishing trolly, off "The Cape of Good Hope"...That was alot of fun, hearing those S.D. fishing guys spin some wild tales of fishing all over the world...Those guys sailed the seven seas, and then some...making my passion for fishing look a bit silly...

a couple years back, I went over to my sister Maureen's place in Delavan, in July, and me & my buddy Jack McManus had a blast, as he hauled in a big Catfish...out of the murky waters of Delavan Lake, which is the best fishing lake around here, now...

It was funny as my nephew, Thomas and his Dad Charlie, insisted we keep the fish... because those ugly Catfish are bad fish...to throw back in...but it was too late...we were celebrating the unexpected whopper, by cracking open some cold suds...and laughing how that was totally mind-blowing...because only a few minutes before, Jack had dropped my fishing pole, to the bottom of the lake, accidentally, somewhat blasted drunk, and we were about to give it up, for the day...

Today, a new summer fishing season lies ahead and I have every intention of getting out there, some day, and see if some of the fish are still biting...and having a good time, recalling the old "fish stories" of the past...The fish always seem to get bigger, every time you tell the stories, but you can't help but lose track of time, which fish got caught when...

Who knows, if I can dig one up, on the Internet, maybe I'll break out the "Old School" fishing hat I wore all over, back in the day, as a youngster...when fishing was so fun for me...and I always felt that the "big one" was waiting for me, on the end of my line...

Fore...!!!...

Every Spring, the snow melts away and our eyes return to getting outside and tearing things up. Whether it was pounding a basketball on a backyard court, smacking a baseball--up at the park or this next sports venture, all were a dazzling delight, to stretch our legs and bloody our noses.

Of course, we had no public golf course, in our neighborhood, but there was a great private golf course, Beverly Country Club, right across the railroad tracks, 2 blocks away fro me. And surely enough, some kind citizen, used some heavy-duty, wire-cutters to open up a slithery wicked opening, to squeeze our small bodies thru, to make this private course, our golf course, too.

The Beverly Country Club was top-notch in its day. Arnold Palmer had won a PGA Championship there, back in 1961, but nicer courses, popped up, further out in the suburbs, making this little gem, a quiet little retreat, for just a few, lucky ones.

On occasion, I can remember crashing the country club grounds and wreaking havoc there. I remember one time, me and a few friends, were wandering thru it, full-knowing we were tresspassing, and went into the main indoor, country club area and started riding up and down, this special seat, that transported/assisted older people, up and down, a high, winding stair-case. Well, we just about broke the machine, fooling around, when some official from the club, walked up and asked us, what club member had brought us there, that day.

Well, my goofy little buddies, (probably The Howlands-Johnny Hop & some other nuts) were shell-shocked, ready to get the boot, when I looked up on the wall and saw some special award, for the President of the club. Boom. I say, we are the special guests of the esteemed President and we are offended by their inquiry. Well, the official turned beet red, and steered us into the dining area, and gave us huge, free, ice cream sundaes. Stuff like that was priceless, as we inevitably stopped/stumbled by the Men's Room and saw all this guy's cologne & grooming stuff, in front of the big mirror...

I think we all lathered on half the gook they had displayed there, walking out of there, smelling like a perfume factory, with our hair slicked back, thinking that's what all these rich people did, every time, they hit the john. Yes, we were crazy beyond crazy, little rascals, just taking a boring, no-nothing day and making it a James Bond adeventure, boldly entering forbidden territory and making our mark, as silly little monsters.

Back to the golf course. A new set of us pranksters, descended on the hole in the fence, nestled about 10 feet from the railroad tracks. It was 6th Grade for us, the 2 Murphs--Johnny & Mike and Fitz, Slim & Chet and Neil, Marty, Bucky & me...Moodo & Bar...maybe a few others. We all grabbed our family's golf clubs and thought we'd take a run at Arnold Palmer's record, that early April day, when the course was still shut down, because winter was barely, gone.

Sure, there might even had been a few mounds of snow, here and there, in the crisp Spring air, about 40 to 50 degrees, great weather to us, to do anything because we did have Eskimo blood running thru us, able to take the frigid cold, in stride. The course looked stunning to us. A formidable challenge as any could be, as our golfing skills were a bit lax.

Well, put it this way, we all approached hitting the golf ball, like it was hitting a baseball, bashing & thumping and cursing, as our awful swings, did not help our scores. Let's face it, we look like The Three Stooges, out there...An occasional squirrel would run out on the course, and some dufess would drop their clubs and go chase it, like it was gonna be dinner, for that night. Just a rag-tag, bunch of goof balls, with no golfing experience, whatsoever, expecting this golf stuff, to be a piece of cake, once we warmed up a bit.

After awhile, our minds wandered as we realized this golf stuff was baffling. Sure, we told each other, we got par on that hole, maybe a bogie, a double-bogie, if we were slightly honest. But for the most part, all of us were racking up 6 to 12 strokes, each and every hole. Finally, we felt the day had been a success and we'd wrap things up, with one more hole, after wandering around 6 or 7 holes, on the back 9. We came up to a green, located back by the railroad tracks, by our big sledding hill...(Yes, this place was our toboggan run, in winter time, too...)...

Marty & Neil, were getting goofy with their clubs, throwing them at each other, when Marty, actually threw an iron, like a tomahawk, and it spun, around and around, and thunked, into the green, like a dagger, with a big delicious thud. Well, it looked hilarious and after a few seconds, a whole bunch of us, began tossing the golf irons, tomahawk-style, across this entire green, bludgeoning it, absolutely ruining it, for the up-coming year.

I knew this was getting ugly & was gonna be a frightful dilemma to deal with, next time, we crashed the Beverly C.C...but my friends were joyously romping all over the place, laughing & laughing, pulling up their irons, with a huge mound of dirty/muddy/grassy green, stuck to it. Clearly, they had lost their minds.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, 4 or 5 golf carts, come zooming out of nowhere....!!!...

THE CAVALRY WAS COMING...!!!...

Uhhh-oooohhh...!!!...

Let's get outta here...!!!...Where are we...???...

A mad incoherent dash, erupted, amongst us, knowing this was a shockingly wicked development, going down...For we had no clue, where the hell, the fence hole was, to get out, of there...(except for me...)...Half of my friends, started running for 83rd Street, which I knew was a dead end...their arms and legs, flailing, in terror, streaking faster, than their minds could fathom.

Half of us, headed for the fence, along the railroad tracks. But this was not easy, because we had to run into the teeth of these groundskeepers, bearing down at us, on carts, with a tenacious fury. All of us, had this bewildered/terrified look on our faces, as the fence, seemed to have no more holes, anymore.

I kinda knew the fence, like the back of my hand, having been there, quite a bit, as a kid and zeroed in on the seam/hole, to get the hell out of there. Only Bucky, followed me, while most the rest were caught up in the frenzy of being trapped like rats, about to face a rude awakening.

Me and Bucky slid thru the hole and scrambled up to the actual railroad tracks, looking down on the course, as the murderous mayhem, took hold. It was gut-wrenching, standing there, as one by one, alot of my buddies, got the collar, wrestled down and yelled at, like no-good clowns.

It was a hopeless, hopeless situation as my mind pondered the estimated damage to that green. I knew it had to be completely replaced, in less than 2 weeks, for the opening of the golf season. At least $12,000.00, I thought. For me, I knew it was an end to an era, of crashing the Beverly C.C., the club officials would take care of that, I was sure.

But, oddly enough, in the end, the Beverly C.C. people were really decent folks, knowing we were stupid little kids. They kept the golf clubs, among them, my Johnny Murphy's--Dad's new clubs. It's a little foggy, I don't remember, I don't even think they took one dollar from us...but told us...next time they see us, again...our ass is grass...

As time goes by, I think of those wild times, crashing the Beverly C.C. for some fun-time excursions, because it was so close by, like The B, right next to it...All that stuff remains, curiously frozen in my mind. It felt like it had been an endless time because me and the Howland Boys had run amock there, alot and then my TM buddies found the place, a romping good time, too...The endless goofy golfing, the psychotically intense squirrel hunting, snow slededing there, every winter, just somewhere, to get away and do crazy, crazy stuff.

But I get a chuckle, now, as I'll have a PGA golf tournament on TV and an announcer will state something like..."mmm, well, I'm afraid this green is not in the best of shape..." and I'll just wander my mind back, to the tomahawk chop, golf clubs spinning, thudding deliciously into fertile soil, rendering a nice green, into a complete, shredded mess...

Those were the times...and I'm sure, I'll get some further confirmation, on details, cuz' it was a spectacular moment, where all of us, almost peed in our pants, we were so damn shocked. One of the few times, we actually did get caught, for our stupid/mindless ways, that kinda popped up, as little antagonists, bumping into trouble, here & there, every now & then...

(update--Eddie B says him & Moodo, ran the whole damn length of the course, scooting over to busy Western Ave. and flipped a sharp, barb wire fence, losing half his shirt, as the carts came racing down on him & Moodo. We all can still feel our hearts pounding, skipping a beat or two, re-calling this mad, mad, mad mis-adventure...lol...And Slim just told me, the groundskeepers took his sorry ass, the Murphy boys, Fitz and Chet...on the back of the golf carts...all the way...to some little funky office...where they took their home phone numbers and shouted at them, they would be contacting their parents...real soon...hahaha...They never did...)