Hero Lost
Ronald Brunsky
“How I hate cleaning windows,” Molly thought. “Up and down the stepladder in every room, and then do the whole thing all over again on the outside — these damn old windows.”
She was about to get another roll of paper towels, when she spotted her son flying down the street on his sixteen speed. Turning into their driveway, he jumped off the still moving bike, and sprinted to the front door.
“Goodness, Casey Allen Perkins, what is it?” she said, as they met in the foyer.
After stopping momentarily to catch his breath and wipe his brow, he blurted out. “Mom, a professional golf tournament, because of the flooding — and Homer Boggs — his caddy can’t make it ...”
“Slow down, you’d think you were still ten years old, babbling away like that, instead of going on seventeen and captain of the debate team. Sit down — let me get you something cold.”
Returning with a glass of water, she asked. “What has got you so excited? Will you please settle down and tell me again.”
“OK, ... well, first of all, this September, they’re going to hold a professional golf tournament at Silver Lake.
“Casey, they’re always having tournaments there.”
“No mom, not the local professionals, the P.G.A., the best golfers in the world. The tournament was supposed to be played somewhere in southern Kentucky, but the ... I think they said the Salt River, yea that was it. The Salt River has flooded and the course that was going to hold the tournament has been under water for over a week. They asked the P.G.A. officials if they could hold the event somewhere else, because they would never be able to get it ready in time.”
“Casey, that is big news — imagine, right here in Cortland.”
“Yes, right here, and you know what that means?”
“No, what does that mean?”
“DUH ... that means Homer Boggs will be playing golf at Silver Lake.”
“Homer Boggs, Homer Boggs why do you idolize him so? He’s just another overpaid athlete.”
“He’s the greatest athlete there ever was. Mom, you know he does do a lot for under privileged kids — he’s not at all like some of those superstars, and he’s happily married with two kids.
“Sure ... I guess you’re right Casey.”
But, anyway, I forgot to tell you the best part.”
“OK, before you bust.”
“Mom, Homer Boggs just announced his regular caddy will be in England that week, and he asked John Randolph, our club pro, if he could hire the top caddy at Silver Lake. That means one of us caddies will be carrying Homer’s clubs in an official P.G.A. tournament. This is unbelievable. I can’t wait to tell dad.”
Casey don’t get your hopes up. There must be some fifty boys who work at Silver Lake.”
“Seventy-one to be exact, but Mr. Randolph always assigns me the top club golfers. I think I have a good chance mom; I know the course better than anyone.”
#######
May and June came and went, and John Randolph still hadn’t announced who would be carrying Homer Boggs’ clubs in September.
Casey and his friend Will had just finished working 36 holes, and were coming out of the clubhouse.
“Did you hear what Homer did yesterday?” asked Will.
“Of course I did. Only shot a seven under 64, that’s all. He’s got a nine shot lead going into today’s final round. If he wins ... I mean when he wins, that will make seven for the year, and five in a row.”
“Yea, Casey, when he’s on, there’s no stopping him.”
“Boy, what a super guy,” said Casey. “Whoever gets that caddying job is going to be the luckiest kid ever.”
“That reminds me,” said Will, “Mr. Randolph wants all of us caddies to meet at the clubhouse tomorrow, right after school.”
“Really,” said Casey, “maybe he’s going to tell us who he picked?”
“That’s what I’m thinking too.”
#######
“Fred, dinner’s ready,” said Molly.
“Aren’t we waiting for Casey?”
“No, he said that he might be late. The caddies were having a meeting.”
“Say,” said Fred, “you don’t suppose they’re going to get the big news, do you?”
As the front door opened, Mrs. Perkins said, “I think we’ll be finding out soon. And Fred, please don’t bring up any of those tabloid stories. We really don’t know if they’re true.”
Casey walked into the dining room. “Mom, Dad, I have news.” With his head down and a somber look on his face he sat down at the dinner table.
“Son,” said Dad, “it’s not the end of the world.”
“And Casey, you’ll still get to see Homer in person,” said Mom. “We’ll make sure you get tickets to all four rounds.”
Casey looked up with a pixyish grin that rapidly turned into an ear to ear smile. “I got the job. Mr. Randolph said so in front of all the other caddies. Yippee, I can’t believe it, I’m going to caddy for Homer Boggs in an honest to goodness, real P.G.A. event.”
Mom and Dad both grabbed Casey and hugged him.
“Way to go son, we’re both really proud of you,” said Dad.
“And you’ll be on national TV, too,” said Mom, “wow, how exciting.”
“Dad, can I skip supper? I’m too excited to eat. I want to call all my friends and tell them the news.”
“Sure, go ahead, something like this doesn’t happen every day.”
#######
The previous summers had always flown by for Casey. Most Septembers only brought the dreaded school year, not the opportunity to caddy for the greatest golfer of all time.
The twice circled date on Casey’s calendar was now less than a week off. Homer would soon be arriving in Cortland. John Randolph told Casey that Homer had rented the Cortland mansion for the whole week. It was located about a mile from the golf course and was usually used as a tourist golfing vacation hotel. But this week the entire one hundred room establishment, would be home for Homer Boggs and his entourage.
The grounds crew had worked feverishly over the last four months to bring Silver Lake up to P.G.A. tournament specifications. Several new tees had been added to lengthen the Silver Lake layout, and it now measured over 7,300 yards. Ten new sand traps were placed strategically around the links, and the greens had never been faster — averaging over 12 feet on the stimpmeter.
The eighteenth was turned into a real finishing hole masterpiece. The par five was stretched from 460 to a respectable 550 yards. This in turn made good use of Ryan’s Ravine a fifty yard wide 100 foot deep crevice which crossed the fairway. It was a 300 yard carry that only the big hitters would challenge. With the slope of the fairway, a successful drive would leave only a middle iron into the lake guarded green.
A qualification round was held on Monday, for the five openings left in the starting field. The course showed its worthiness as the low medalist could only muster a two over seventy-three.
Tuesday the pros would have their first look at Silver Lake, with another practice round to follow on Wednesday. Casey was to report to the driving range at nine AM sharp, where he would meet the great Homer Boggs.
#######
Casey tossed and turned all night; it was like Christmas when he was young times ten. Finally, seven AM came and after showering Casey put on his caddy uniform, consisting of khaki shorts and short sleeve shirt and a vest with Boggs written in huge red letters on the back.
Casey was out the door by seven thirty to register at the caddy tent. He then joined the other caddies for breakfast.
“You can sit at this table, if you like,” said one of the caddies.
“Thank you, ... aren’t you Sticks Malone, Bert Chaucer’s caddy?”
“That’s me. And you must be the lucky lad, who’ll be carrying Homer’s bag.”
“I sure am, nice to meet you.”
After having a little informal chit chat, Sticks got serious.
“Casey, do you mind if I give you a little advice?”
“No, I’d appreciate it.”
“Homer is a great golfer, perhaps the greatest ever, and I don’t want to dampen your enthusiasm, but he has another side. A side the general public never sees. So, just mind your Ps and Qs and you’ll be all right.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll find out ... it was nice meeting you, who knows we might be paired up before this thing is over.”
With Sticks’ warning still ringing in his ears, Casey headed for the clubhouse. “Was he really concerned for me, or was it just sour grapes because he doesn’t caddy for the best?”
He opened Homer Boggs’ locker with the key he was given during registration. Hoisting the clubs — they were heavy, a good thirty pounds more than he was used to. He placed them in a comfortable position across his back and headed for the practice range.
Promptly at nine AM sharp Casey saw the black limousine pull up, and Homer step out. Surrounded by several men, one of whom was John Randolph, he walked towards Casey.
John spoke first. “Casey, I want to introduce you to Homer Boggs.”
“Good morning Mr. Boggs.”
“Homer will do just fine, Casey. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Well, let’s get started shall we.”
The other men left and Homer started his warm-up routine. Starting with his wedge Homer worked his way up to the longer clubs. Casey couldn’t help but say, “wow,” as Homer’s short iron shots dropped consistently near the target. But when Homer got out the big stick, Casey was really in for a show. One after another of the big fellow’s drives took off like rifle shots. Casey estimated, even though Homer was obviously holding back a little, that most of his drives were carrying well over three hundred yards.
They then went to the putting green, and after about fifteen minutes, the starter yelled. “Boggs, ten minutes to tee time.”
The practice round went smoothly. Homer had several interruptions with cell phone calls, they’re allowed during the practice rounds, and frequent waves and chit chat with the gallery. Casey, could hardly not notice an attractive blond who followed Homer the entire round.
Casey thought, “wow what a life he has, admired by kids, adults and beautiful women.”
Despite these lapses in concentration, Homer was a respectable one over par after seventeen holes. Would anyone in Homer’s group challenge the ravine on eighteen? Homer would go last, having lost the honor with a bogey on fifteen. The other players in the group pulled out three woods and laid up short, but Homer didn’t hesitate and asked for the driver. He made his best swing of the day and cleared Ryan’s Ravine easily. With the roll he wound up no more than 170 yards from the hole — perfect distance for his seven iron — the only time he would use that club all day. He proceeded to knock it stiff — went on to eagle the hole and finish with a one under score. Not bad for his first round at Silver Lake.
As they walked off the course, Homer said, “Good job today Casey. By the way, do you know what my caddies get paid?”
“No idea, Homer.”
“Well, it’s ten percent and if I win I throw in a little more, and do you know what winning this tournament is worth?”
“No, I’m not sure.”
“An even one million — do the math. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Casey couldn’t wait to see his parents and tell them about the day and what Homer had told him. He knew his parents were struggling to save for his college expenses. Was this really happening? Imagine caddying for Homer Boggs and earning enough for his college education all in one week.
#######
The second practice round was well under way when a thunderstorm rolled through Silver Lake. Homer and Casey were sharing an umbrella in the middle of the seventh fairway, when Homer’s cell phone rang.
“Say Casey, you wouldn’t mind giving me a little privacy would you?”
“Sure thing Homer.”
Casey moved off under a nearby tree. He could still faintly hear Homer’s side of the conversation. One ugly word, barely distinguishable stood out.
“Blah, blah, bitch ... ... don’t call me, blah, blah, ... you bitch!!”
Wow, Casey thought, “must be some irate fan, I guess it comes with the territory. You’d think his number would be hard to come by.”
The rain eventually let up, but it was obvious Homer’s concentration wasn’t there. He struggled in at three over par.
#######
Thursday was the first official round of the tournament. Casey arrived at the practice range, and reviewed the yardages and club selections in his notebook. He couldn’t help but reflect on the call Homer had received. For some reason, it just didn’t set right with him. Was that the other side that Sticks had warned him about?
But, the feelings of uncertainty about his hero were quickly dispersed, when Homer appeared.
“Are you ready to get ‘em, Tiger?” Homer said.
“I sure am, Homer.”
A very good practice session followed. Homer looked ready, and Casey was too. Casey was embarrassed to even think he had doubts about his idol.
It was exactly two, when Homer’s group was announced. The crowd applauded loudly when the three-some walked up to the first tee.
Homer’s playing partners were the first to hit — former U.S. Amateur Champion Sam Gardner from Flint, Michigan, and Europe’s leading money winner, from Manchester, England, Bristol Williams.
With both Gardner and Williams safely off the tee, the gallery began a chant, “Homer, Homer, Homer” that steadily increased in volume until it was almost deafening. The announcer tried his best to be heard.
“The final player in the two PM starting time, from Bellville, Texas, the world’s number one ranked player, Homer Boggs.”
The crowd’s roar continued for several minutes, before officials finally asked for quiet.
Finally, Homer addressed the ball, and with his full fluid swing, ripped a drive right down the middle. It looked to Casey like it would never come down, but eventually it came to rest almost 350 yards out and nearly splitting the fairway.
Homer took huge strides, and it was all Casey could do to keep up. He hoped his fee would be big, because he was definitely going to earn it.
Coming down the fairway, Casey stopped to ask Williams’ caddy a question about etiquette on the green, when he overheard Gardner and Williams talking.
“Five thousand dollar Nassau,” said Sam, is he nuts, we ought to report him.”
Bristol shook his head, “the arrogant bastard would just deny it.”
Casey knew who they were talking about, but shrugged it off, not wanting anything to spoil the week. “Homer would never bet on his match,” he thought, “that’s illegal.” Dismissing the conversation, he moved on down the fairway and caught up with Homer.
After nine holes, Homer was at even par, having missed good birdie opportunities at two, five and eight. He was hitting every green in regulation, but had not, as yet, figured out the slick Silver Lake greens.
It became obvious to Casey, that neither Gardner nor Williams were big fans of Homer, and that was demonstrated further when Sam mentioned to Bristol as they left the thirteenth green.
“Did you see who he was with last night?” said Bristol.
“I know,” said Sam, “seems like a different woman every tournament.”
“You’d think he’d be more discreet?” said Bristol.
“Not him, he thinks that he can do whatever he wants. With no consequences, someday ...”
As Casey looked their way, they quickly stopped their conversation and moved on to the fourteenth tee. Boy, Casey thought. “I guess it goes with the territory of being number one, a lot of people are going to dislike you.”
On the fifteenth hole as Homer was lining up a putt, Casey saw that same woman that had followed Homer around during the practice round come to the front of the gallery. She was only a few feet from Homer. He looked up at her, and they exchanged smiles.
Once again those feelings of suspicion ran through Casey’s mind. He had always held Homer in such high regard, and suddenly so much proof was mounting that he wasn’t the man Casey thought he was.
A lackluster round was saved when Homer eagled eighteen. He had cleared Ryan’s Ravine, while Bristol had failed in an attempt to do so. Homer then hit a brilliant seven iron second shot to within five feet. Casey, who kept track of his club selections, noticed that once again, for the third straight round, Homer had only used his seven iron once, on the eighteenth hole.
Homer’s two under round left him three back of Bert Chaucer, the big hitter from California.
That night Casey found it difficult to sleep for an entirely different reason. He was a very confused young man. Something just wasn’t right. His whole world evolved around his worship of Homer Boggs. He wanted to be just like him, but now, somehow, he wasn’t sure.
#######
Friday’s round saw Homer grinding at his best throughout the first fifteen holes. He made critical putts of eight feet or longer on four occasions to save par. His opportunity to score finally presented itself on the long par three sixteenth. His tee shot hit ten feet behind the pin and almost backed up into the hole — stopping just six inches short of a hole-in-one.
After the birdie at sixteen, he proceeded to birdie seventeen and nearly eagle eighteen again. He wound up the day three under and his five under total was only one back of Chaucer.
The round was pretty uneventful for Casey. He had pretty much forgotten about his suspicions, until the seventeen hole. Homer was putting and Casey was unaware that his shadow fell across Homer’s putting line.
Homer glared at Casey pointing to his shadow. Casey quickly stepped back and Homer continued putting. After finishing the hole, Casey heard Homer mutter to himself.
“Stupid kid.”
#######
Saturday morning at the Perkin’s breakfast table, Casey’s parents quickly noticed how suddenly subdued he had become.
“Something bothering you, son,” said Mr. Perkins.
“No, I’m ok.”
“You sure look down in the dumps,” said Mrs. Perkins.
“Well, the truth is, Homer may be the greatest golfer, but he’s a big disappointment as a human being. He’s not at all what I had pictured. He can be mean, he gambles on his matches, and I think he cheats on his wife.”
“Son,” said dad, “we’ve heard some rumors to that effect too, but we didn’t want to say anything to you. We know how much you idolized him.
Don’t let him get to you. You agreed to do the job, so do the best you can.”
Saturdays round saw Homer paired with leader Bert Chaucer, and for the first time in his life, Casey was actually pulling for someone other than Homer.
During the round, Casey again saw the same girl in the front of the gallery she had been there every day this week. Casey could tell from the way they looked at one another, that there was something going on more than fan admiration.
The two players were playing great and quickly distanced themselves from the field. Coming to eighteen, Homer at seven under led by one, they both pulled their drivers out. Homer cleared the ravine, but Chaucer didn’t. Chaucer had to scramble for a bogey, while Homer two putted for a birdie, and took three shot lead into Sunday’s final round.
Casey thought to himself, “that makes five straight rounds where Homer has hit a seven iron into the eighteenth green, and those were the only times he has used that club.
#######
Casey left very early Sunday morning for Silver Lake even though Homer’s starting time wasn’t till 2:30 — once again he would be paired with Bert Chaucer.
Homer played very well — going out in a one under 34, and with nine holes to play, he was ahead of Chaucer by five shots. But all of a sudden, Homer began spraying his tee shots, leading to three consecutive bogeys. Bert Chaucer meanwhile, found the range with his putter, and before you could say Arnold Palmer we had a match again.
When the pair reached eighteen, Homer’s lead had dropped to one. Once again both pulled out their drivers, and this time Bert cleared easily. It was the best drive he had hit all week on eighteen, but he was still away, as Homer had absolutely crunched his.
The gallery, at least 20,000 strong completely encircled the remaining 170 yards of the eighteenth hole. TV cameras closed in, from every angle, on the two last golfers on the course.
Chaucer wasted no time, hitting a towering six iron that nearly holed out, winding up just seven feet away. He had definitely applied the pressure to Homer.
All eyes were now on Homer. Everyone was ready for what was sure to be another great finishing shot by the best player in the world.
Homer had hit his best drive of the week on eighteen, and the yardage left was right in between clubs. He hesitated then said. “eight iron, Casey.”
Casey fumbled for the club, thinking, “not the eight, you’ve hit the seven all week.”
Homer asked again, “eight iron, damn it!”
Casey finally handed Homer the eight iron, lifted the bag and moved off, giving Homer room to swing.
Homer addressed the ball, but then backed off as the wind started to pick up. He handed it back to Casey, asking for the seven. Casey smiled, and handed it to him.
Homer lined up his shot, and stepped away to make several practice swings. He then assumed his classic address position. Wasting no time, he started his back-swing with his normal smooth flowing shoulder turn. After a slight pause at the top, the power built up in his coiled muscles was ready to be released. He started down to impact; the swing looked perfect as contact was made. Everyone looked up to spot the ball, but it was nowhere to be found.
“There it is,” someone shouted.
It was rolling along the ground going no more than fifty yards and ending up in the lake. Homer was holding his seven iron looking down at the shaft. It was bent almost ninety degrees, where the clubface attaches to shaft. He looked at Casey sensing something was up, and Casey responded with a puzzled expression.
Homer had to take a drop with a penalty stroke. He was now hitting four, realistically the best he could do was make a par, while Chaucer had an eagle putt. He wedged the ball just outside of Chaucer’s, about ten feet.
The embarrassed superstar took the long walk up to the green, keeping his head down, and not acknowledging the fans. The events left the gallery stunned and perfectly quiet.
Homer would be first to put. He needed this putt for par to have any chance of tying Chaucer. He was still obviously upset about the fairway disaster, and took no time at all to line up and stroke his putt. It was online all the way, and Homer had his par. It was now up to the Bert to win outright, or be forced into a playoff.
Bert Chaucer took plenty of time, lining up his putt, from all angles. His caddy took a look, and then Bert addressed the ball. He stepped back and gave it one more look using the plumb bob technique. He was finally ready and applied a very smooth stroke sending the ball like it has eyes of its own to the center of the cup.
Bert Chaucer threw his hat into the air, and hugged Sticks, his caddy. He had eagled the eighteenth, and won the Silver Lake Open.
The crowd erupted in a cheer for Bert, who then walked over to offer a consoling handshake to Homer. Homer, who was still livid over the turn of events, turned his back on the victor, and walked away. Immediately, a chorus of boos began to cascade throughout the vast legions of golf fans.
Then a chanting began “Bert’s number one, Bert’s number one, was followed by, “Homer go home” as he walked off the green.
The TV commentators were stunned by the sequence of events that had played out on the eighteenth hole. Homer refused to give an interview, and quickly left the course and soon after Cortland.
No one could give a good explanation of what happened to Homer’s seven iron, they were totally in the dark.
Eventually, the golf club manufacturer would explain the club’s malfunction. There were two likely scenarios. One being, a flaw could have existed in the shaft, creating early metal fatigue that was brought to failure after countless swings of the club. That was one theory. The other was: that the shaft had been exposed to extreme heat.
Casey received a check for a little over ten thousand dollars. That was nowhere near the ten percent of Homer’s six hundred thousand that he had been promised, but a good start on his college education just the same.
Casey would always treasure the opportunity he had. The experience helped him learn who his true heroes really were.
#######
It was the first Monday after the tournament, and Casey had been in his bedroom all day.
Mrs. Perkins just returned from some errands.
“Casey, what are you doing up there, you’ve been in your bedroom all day?”
“I thought it was overdue for a good cleaning.”
Amazed by his sudden interest in cleanliness, she rushed up the stairs to take a look.
“What happened to your walls and shelves? They’re all bare.”
“Not quite Mom.”
Then she spotted on Casey’s night stand a picture of her and Fred that had been on the mantle in the living room.
A trash barrel in the middle of the floor was stuffed full of Homer Boggs memorabilia: posters, magazines, auto-graphed pictures and right on top was the vest he wore during the tournament.
“Mom, I think I’ve kind of out grown this stuff. I think some pictures of our family and friends would look better, don’t you?”
Giving him a hug, she said, “You certainly have grown up this past week.”
“What’s everyone doing up here?” said Fred, who had just gotten home.
“Just a little housecleaning,” said Casey.
“Well, do you still want to join the P.G.A. someday?”
“Sure do Dad, but as a player.”
“By the way son, now that you have a little free time, would you help me with a little plumbing job? I’d like to get started right after dinner; I think I’ve got everything I need, except you wouldn’t happen to know where my blow torch is?”
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