Many years ago I worked as a greens keeper at a golf course. It was a great summer job that kept me fit and happy as long as there was lots of daylight. One year management decided to have a writing contest to encourage the staff to interact more with the golfers. We were encouraged to get life stories, write them out, and send them to the GM. Typically the only interaction the grounds staff had with guests were unpleasant, so the odds were stacked in the favor for thenpeople that had daily positive interactions with the gustes, like pro shop staff or marshalls. At the time my rebellious streak was a little wider, and I decided to fabricate an elaborate and dramatic story to win the prize of $50 at a local pub. Here is the email I sent:
I’m emailing you regarding the June employee contest. A couple days ago I had the opportunity to talk with a fascinating man whose life story is almost unbelievable. Reading the hot-sheet this evening I was reminded of this man, (I think his name was Johnny) and I realized that I should take advantage of one of the rare opportunities that allow a grounds keeper to converse with one of our guests on such a deep level.
Let me begin where most things start, at an unexpected beginning.
Last week I was spreading mulch in tree wells between 12 and 14. Not a very interesting or stimulating job, especially when we’re forced to work alone. I have a suspicion that Paul is performing social experiment on the young crew members…. But I digress, while I was working there, a man, probably in his late fifties, early sixties, came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. “I forgot my sun glasses in the men’s bathroom, do you mind driving me up there?” He was tall, slender, with bags under his eyes and a crooked nose. By looking at his face I could tell he had had a rough life. Being the always kind a vigilant employee, never thinking about a possible impact award (one of the consequences of working alone and largely out of sight) I said you betchya and we sped off towards the bathroom. On the way there I mentioned jokingly that he looked tired, and asked if was used to this early morning golfing stuff. He laughed. “You could say that” he nodded, making me wonder just what his deal was. As we approached the bathroom I asked him is name, “Johnny” he replied, “you can call me John if you want.”
I nodded. I’m pretty reserved when it comes to guests, I’m never sure if they’ve had a bad game. This is especially so in the back corner.
He came out of the bathroom with the glasses on his head, black and grey hairs sticking straight up in the wind. I asked where he was from.
“North of Yellowknife” he croaked. I said that’s a long way from here, “what brought you to Victoria?”
He said it was a long story, and that I probably didn’t want to hear it, seeing as I had work to do and all.
“On contraire!” (Paul, if you’re reading this, this is why I forgot to pick up those pinecones).
So we sat down in the shade of the chestnut tree and I asked him where it all began.
“Well” he breathed, “I used to live in a cabin about one hundred clicks north-west of Yellowknife, my own little paradise with my wife and my dog. We lived mostly off the land, only going into town for supplies and things like chocolate or news, not that I really cared that much for the rest of the world. Anyways, one of the downsides of living so far out in the wilderness is the lack of medical care. Cuts, scrapes, and headaches can all be cured by the stuff that crows around us, but things like cancer, high blood pressure, and mental illness” he coughs “things like mental illness can’t be caught or kept up on without the niceties of civilized living.”
I stared at him, and nodded slightly. He continues:
“My wife died as a result of complications related to schizophrenia. I did my best to help her, and for a while I thought my love would make her better. But the hallucinations got worse, and eventually she started raving around the little house like a lunatic.” Scoffing, “she was a lunatic at that point.”
“One night I forgot to lock the door, and since she got bad, we couldn’t sleep in the same bed anymore. Sometime during the night she woke up and wandered into the forest. Had it been summertime I would’ve found her the next morning, but it was December and snowing pretty hard. Tracking her wasn’t easy.”
“Three days later, our dog, Teri, found her frozen against a tree, fifty yards from the front door. Her nose was missing. I’ve never really forgiven Teri for that.”
“And so began my journey” he smiled, looking at me with slight pity, “After I buried her, I packed my things and went south, away from the cold and the snow. I had a camper, so I just went from campsite to campsite, walking the green trails of BC, doing my best to avoid any kind of snow. Unfortunately, my northeastern ignorance led me to believe that all of BC was a green paradise.”
He looked up at the tree.
“I spent a cold few months in Prince George, I don’t think I ever left my motel room. Poor Teri had to live off of hot dogs and cheese. Have you ever had to live with a dachshund with constant cheese farts? It’s terrible.” We laughed, shaking our heads at the awful smell.
“When winter finally ended we went for a hike, the first one since October. We were both excited, taking new trails and being far too carefree than we ought to have been. Eventually we entered a ravine, a fast moving creek flowing through it. Teri, being the good dog he was, led me to the edge, but sensed that something was wrong, and started barking. I think he could hear the edge collapsing or something. The edge collapsed and Teri was swept away. I shouldn’t have kept him in so long, I think I still resented him for chewing off her nose.” He shakes his head, “stupid.”
“After that I came straight here. I had heard this island has the mildest winters in Canada, so what better place to reside in solitude?”
At this point I’m speechless, twenty minutes ago I was cursing Paul for being speedy on the Tycrop, and now I’m listening to possibly the most heart wrenching story ever told. On our drive back to his group he tells me that the reason he picked up golf was because it gave him time to think and admire the green. His goal is to golf at every course on the island.
“After that?” I asked.
“We’ll see”
Thanks for reading, Jim. Amazing, huh? Don’t tell Dean I was listening to a lonely guy instead of working, though.
Chris
I won the contest. As soon as the story got passed around I immediately regretted submitting it. The front of house staff didn't talk to me for a very long time after, and I felt as though I took something from them that they thought they deserved. Now I'm glad I did it. It was the first time I had won anything by just writing, even if it's just terrible.
