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...)

Hot Dog Day

Once upon a time...there was a day, like no other...a day dreamed about endlessly...of wondrous feasts, a nice little piece of heaven...erasing the stark reality of blubbery bologna, moldy tuna & sour ham salad sandwiches...

...(keep going)...

...O.K. just add any other wretched, lifeless lunch, we were forced to consume every single school day...too...

For this unique & splendid day...obliterating our senses was...Hot Dog Day...

This delightful day of dogs...relished with mustard...never could come soon enough...for us misbegotten children enslaved to an ordinary droll existence...ready to boom, burst wide open, onto our playground, outdoors, ready to run amock, with a frenzy, towards the line for the ladies dishing out the dogs...

All the girls, all the boys...had that wild look in their eyes, as our teachers led us from our classrooms, towards the doors, that day. Our hearts pounding/racing, our minds ablaze with pure delight...

In our small pockets, our coins & dollars all jumbled together, we never had quite enough cash, to buy the amount of mouth-watering goodies, our minds felt so certain, we could consume that day...

Maybe $2.00 to $3.00...was all our parents would dole out...and we were all just rabid little fools, anyway...."Honestly, look at yourself, your eyes are bigger than your belly", our parents would say, laughing at us...sheepishly, with such a knowing wink...

By the way...the hot dogs weren't that great...

Plain old, run-of-the-mill Oscar Mayer hot dogs, boiled in a big silver kettle...nothing special, seemed like something created by the gods that day...We devoured those doggies, in nothing flat, out there, on the black-top pavement...our playground... Our church & school parking lot, transformed into a sea of blissful children, caught up in the wild moment...

A moment so incredibly rare, a moment we wished we could have, at least once a week, or once a month....Couldn't we have Hot Dog Day....every day...???...

No way...Jose'...!!!...

The school, our Principal...kept our day of deliverance down to one Spring day...usually in early May...until demands made it a two time...holiday...after the ruckus, us kids made, because our passion to celebrate this special event took on a life of its own...

And every year, we grew older & wiser, in our pursuit of perfection. Making the most, of that sumptuous half-hour...planning a mad dash, for any line, that looked thin...Sure, the shortest line, could be anything...The line for a can of Pop...the line for mini bags of Jay's potato chips...the line for ice cream sandwiches...and of course, that killer line for hot dogs...

That Hot Dog line...seemed like it always was 20 kids deep...and our anxiety of wondering if they would run out of hot dogs or maybe, they would be icky cold, by the time we got one, made us twice as anxious to get that damn dog...ASAP...

It's funny, how our passion for Hot Dog Day, dissipated as we grew older. By the time we hit 8th Grade, it seemed almost a farce...us kids jaded by our enormous egos, of thinking it was little kid stuff...We no longer basked in the glow, of piling those hot dogs into our tummies with glee. The fun was done...The moment as boring as any other day...Why...was this so...???...

For once upon a time, our little voices, screamed with madness, when the word got out, when Hot Dog Day, was declared...A hearty rush, of happiness poured forth...brimming with excitement, because there was nothing quite like it...Ohhh, those were happy times...

Sure, I can taste the rubbery dogs, right now. The salty potato chips, the orange pop, the ice cream sandwich which dripped & dripped & dripped all over our school clothes...It didn't matter.

Because rare is the beauty, the sight of children, immensely proud, they had acheived this mark, of excellence. Wolfing it all down, like baby tigers. Mustard on our hands, mustard on our mouths, mustard, mustard...did I mention, plenty of mustard...???....

Of course, we'd give a kings ransom to re-live that moment. It was a timeless treasure. The sun always seemed to beating brightly down that day, and not one kid was ever, ever sick on Hot Dog Day...You cannot deny the sheer silliness of it all.

For it was a day of dogs and a day of laughter. Also, a day of sunshine and a day of sharing. The sharing of pure goodness, from one end of the loud & boisterous playground, to the other...

There...at old Saint Thomas More school....long, long ago...

Yes, if you listen closely, you can hear the echoes of kiddie chaos, in your minds. Our minds enriched, with such gentle thoughts, never lost from our precious memories. Always there, any time, we care to gaze back, back so fondly and so dearly, upon Hot Dog Day...

...good old Hot Dog Day......

(BTW...John "Chet" Feely, set the bar high, by consuming 8 hot dogs, at one time, one Hot Dog Day, back around 1976...While this doesn't seem like much, Chet, had started off his day, with his Mom's, stick-to-your-ribs, Irish breakfast, consisting of a pound of bacon, a dozen eggs, a tub-full of oatmeal & enough French Toast to feed an army. Only kidding Chet, we know, for sure, you would give Kobayashi & Joey Chestnut a run for their money, and then some, at any "Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest", on Coney Island, in NY...anytime...especially, back in your STARVING HUNGRY, don't-throw-that-in-the-garbage...I'll-eat-that, CARE-FREE, YOUTH...)