When I told Timmy about my brother making money caddying on the golf course he sounded very interested. I told him they said I was too young and skinny to caddy. His only response was “Bull!”
The next day he called me on the phone and said, “Come on, follow me. I got this all figured out. Meet me at my house—we’re going to the golf course. We’re going to make some money for your radio fund.”
Caddying? I told him I was too young, but I was running out of time and ideas. I still needed more money to pay for the radio. I only needed seven dollars more. I used it every night when the skies were clear. I talked to somebody I met on the radio who lived in Australia and he said it was winter there and very cold. It was hot in Saint Louis. Go figure. I loved my radio.
Timmy was waving for me to hurry up as he stood in front of his house. “Come on, slowpoke. Hurry up if you want to make some money.”
I ran to catch up. It was hot, and I was glad I brought my canteen. I took a sip and gave it to Timmy. He drank half of it, but I didn’t say anything. We walked down Brown Road towards the golf course and took a shortcut through some woods towards the back of the course. My brother Jack called it the back nine.
It was a long hilly golf course, and as we trampled through the tall weeds through the woods, we could see the fairway over the tall scrub grasses and bushes. Soon we saw golf balls rolling down the hill in front of us. Some golfers had hit golf balls over the hill and they rolled down about fifty feet away. Timmy ran through the woods, over the fence and grabbed one of the golf balls before returning to where I was standing.
“Get down, jerk. Hide or they’ll see us,” he yelled pulling me to the ground behind the tall grasses. Within minutes, four golfers and four caddies appeared over the hill looking for their golf balls down near the gully.
“I know it’s around here somewhere,” I heard the heavyset golfer in an argyle shirt say to his friends. He was smoking a smelly cigar and moving the tall grasses with a golf club looking for his golf ball. He came closer.
“Lost ball, Hank. Two-stroke penalty on your scorecard,” said the other golfer in bright green pants. He could not stop laughing. “Come on; let’s go. Your time’s up,” he said with a laugh.
The disgruntled golfer muttered some curse words under his breath and leaned into the brush to look for his ball. His eyes squinted through the fence and I could have sworn he saw us there hiding. I held my breath.
“Come on Hank, give it up,” the other golfer said to him diverting his attention.
Ten minutes later, four more golf balls came flying over the top of the hill, rolling down to the bottom of the gulch. Again and again golf balls rolled down the hill. Timmy ran out each time until he had more than two dozen golf balls.
“I thought you wanted to earn some money for your damn radio, Davey boy. Aren’t you going to get any balls for yourself.”
“Not this way. I’d rather wash Mr. Jost’s car then steal something that isn’t mine.”
He grabbed the front of my t-shirt and looked me right in the eye, his face inches from mine, “I didn’t steal anything. And don’t you be telling anybody that I did. You got it?”
I dropped my head and shrugged off his grip, “I got it.”
“Come on. Let’s go sell some golf balls,” he said with a laugh running ahead of me before stopping at the big red golf building. He stood underneath the sign that said, Sherwood Golf Course- Members Only.
He held all the balls in a pouch he made at the front of his t-shirt. We walked around to the front of the building they called the clubhouse and Timmy hollered to the golfers leaving to go to their cars on the parking lot: “Golf balls for sale!” He shouted to a group of them. “I got golf balls for sale, water golf balls. Used golf balls. Good balls. Twenty five cents each, five for a dollar.”
Soon a large group of men surrounded him, picking over the golf balls he had in his t-shirt. One threw a dollar into his shirt after taking five balls.
He kept yelling, “Golf balls for sale.” Then a hand reached through the crowd and fingered one of the balls. “Where’d you get this ball kid?”
“I found it, mister. What’s it to you?”
“Because I lost one just like it on the eighteenth hole today that’s why.” The crowd parted revealing the big man wearing the argyle golf shirt.
“Not this one. This one’s mine,” Timmy said defiantly.
“Then tell me kid, why does it have a green dot and the initials, HS, written on its side? Huh, kid? That stands for Hank Sawyer, that’s me—you little thief.” He went to grab Timmy.
For a big man he was quick but not as quick as Timmy who dropped the front of his t-shirt and all of the golf balls started bouncing and rolling onto the asphalt parking lot. Timmy began yelling, “Free golf balls. Free golf balls. Big sale!” He screamed at the top of his lungs then took off running, leaving me standing there. I watched the men as they tried to grab the bouncing white golf balls and Timmy ran down the hill back into the woods. He was fast.
The big man turned and reached out to grab me. I ran. He chased me.
“Come ’ere kid,” he yelled as tried to grab me again. He missed. I ran quick as I could amongst the cars on the parking lot and dodged his every move. The sound of his metal golf spike on his shoes echoed behind me. Closer.
Run, Davey.
“Stop, you little runt. I’m going to get you and when I do…” I heard him wheezing and coughing but I ran past the clubhouse and past the big trees and jumped over the fence scraping my arm as I made my way back into the safety of the woods. I soon found Timmy waiting in the brush.
“That was close,” I said as I caught up with Timmy lying down in a spot in the woods.
“Not even close there, Davey boy.” He lit a cigarette and took in a huge drag. It didn’t smell like menthols. “That big jerk cost me three bucks. Come on, let’s go home. Maybe we can find some money by the railroad tracks.”
We walked down by the railroad tracks looking for money or “squished” coins that other kids would put on the rails to be flattened by the heavy locomotives as they raced by. Kids would then either sell them or drill a hole in the top and make a necklace out of it. You could always find some dimes, nickels, and sometimes quarters lying along the tracks swept up by the train. You could sell the squished ones for twice the face value to other kids.
“Got one!” he said loudly. “Another one!” he said stooping over. “Two nickels!”
Then I saw it, a shiny dime, next to a quarter. “Me too! I got a dime and a quarter!”
“Copycat,” he retorted redoubling his efforts to find more coins. “How much did you find?”
“Thirty-five cents. And not squished either.”
“You’re just lucky, that’s all.”
I beamed, thinking it was a compliment. We didn’t find any more coins that hot August afternoon. I really wanted to take a drink from my canteen, but I only had a little water left and I knew Timmy would want some and drink it all… so I left it in my backpack. I was hot and thirsty and just wanted to go home and cool off. I wanted some of my mom’s cherry pie leftover from dinner the night before.
Timmy began to walk on the center of one of the railroad tracks, balancing himself so as to not fall off. “This is not easy to do,” he said with his hands stretched out to his side to help him balance himself. “Try it.”
I stepped onto the other rail, moved my backpack to the center of my back to help my balance, and soon was walking side by side with him. Both of our hands were outstretched to our sides to help us keep our balance.
“Not so tough to do,” I said proudly, balancing myself on the center of the shiny metal rail. We walked in silence, both wobbling while concentrating on staying on the tracks.
“Let’s see who can stay on the longest,” he finally said as a challenge. We continued to walk shifting our weight from one foot to the other. It wasn’t easy.
“You know I think Sunny really likes me,” he said, a comment coming from nowhere. “I know she likes you, but now with her new boobs, I think she really has the hots for me. Whew! One night, just one night, her and me. Wow!”
I stopped him. “Timmy, Sunny’s our best friend; don’t forget that, okay? Let her choose who and what she wants.”
He turned to look at me and a chill ran down my spine. It was a dark, evil look.
“Yeah, okay,” he said. We walked in a strange silence, still balancing ourselves on the rails.
We both heard it at the same time and looked up. The thunder of the locomotive whistle broke the quiet that had surrounded us. Whoooooo. Whooooooo, it sounded loud, and it was moving fast. I could see huge freight train coming further down the tracks and felt the rumble beneath my feet as the train shook the rails underneath.
Timmy reached out with his right hand and grabbed onto my left hand. He held it tight.
“Stay on the rails, Davey. Let’s play chicken,” he said with that strange look on his face. “Whoever lets go first is a chicken and loses, loses everything. Okay Ddddavey boy?”
“You’re nuts,” I told him. “Let go.”
“You want Sunny, ddddon’t you? Well, show me how badly you want her,” he tempted me again with that same evil look on his face. “Whoever let’s go first loses Sunny, got it?”
Looking up I saw the enormous dark blue and white Missouri-Pacific train bearing down on us. Coming closer, and closer, its shrill deep-throated blast horn filled the air. I could feel the rolling thunder of the massive diesel train rock under my feet as the earth shook and it got closer. And closer. And closer. The horn blasted the air. I could see the panic on the face of the locomotive driver, I tried to pull my hand from Timmy’s grip, but he wouldn’t let go. He was strong, and his grip was powerful. He was so strong, he kept holding on.
“Let go of me, Timmy!” I shouted trying to free myself from his hold.
I looked at him and his expression was calm with not a hint of fear on his face. “Chickenshit?” He jeered.
The train was now so close I could feel the heat from the engine before I shoved him away and leaped into the ditch beside the tracks. Just in time. The draft from the passing train nearly pulled me back onto the tracks. I grabbed the trunk of a small nearby tree and held on.
As he passed us, the driver let loose with a gutsy deep-throated whistle again and again to show his disapproval.
That was close I thought—way too close.
Once the long train had gone by, I saw Timmy standing there with a huge grin on his face. “Wow what a rush, huh man?”
I brushed the mud and grass from my jeans and grabbed my backpack and ran to confront him. “You shit, you almost killed me! What the hell were you thinking?” I shoved him and felt my face turning red with anger.
He stood there looking at me. His face had a black glow to it when he said, “I won, you chickenshit. I won now, didn’t I?” His eyes grew wide as he moved his t-shirt aside, and I saw his brother’s pistol tucked under his t-shirt. “Come on, man. I won, didn’t I?”
“You’re crazy, man. I’m goin’ home for dinner.”
He stopped walking, grabbed me hard by the shoulder and growled, “Don’t you ever call me crazy again.”
“Go to hell,” I told him and walked away. My heart was pounding so fast and hard I thought it was going to explode inside my chest. I couldn’t stop my knees and hands from shaking. What the hell was he thinking? He’s my best friend and he tried to kill me. Or is he just trying to kill himself?
“Wait, you little jerk,” he hollered and grabbed my arm, spinning me around. I had never seen his eyes so full of rage as I did on that day. “Listen, you little chickenshit, Sunny is mine. I won her fair and square. You jumped off the rails, so I win and don’t you forget it!”
“What the hell are you talking about? Yours? This was not some goddamn contest, and she’s not some goddamn baseball card that you just won. She’s Sunny, my best friend, and I’ll do exactly as I please.”
He lowered his voice, looked at me and said, “Careful Davey boy, be very careful.”
My legs began to shake again. Maybe he was crazy. Or maybe he had been swallowing some of those drugs he stole from the old ladies medicine cabinets. I was angry and scared after what had just happened. All I wanted to do was to get away from him.
I started to walk home, leaving him there by the railroad tracks. He hollered something to me as I climbed up the hill, but I couldn’t hear what he said… the four o’clock train was coming down the railroad tracks blowing its whistle to clear the way. I turned and saw Timmy standing there in the middle of the tracks, watching it as it came closer, and closer. I turned away, I couldn’t watch.