Butch’s Golfing Trials And Tribulations

I know there are quite a few of you golfers here in Montgomery County. It’s a great sport that allows you to be outside in the fresh air, get some exercise, and be with friends. My Dad started playing golf at the Crawfordsville municipal course after he came home from WWII. He made the mistake of taking me with him one afternoon when I was about six years old. While he was paying his green fees in the clubhouse, I took his nine-iron and proceeded to chop holes in the putting green…not just a few holes…a LOT of holes. After that little episode, the municipal course banned youngsters under the age of 12. Yes, I was the culprit.

When I was older, my brother Gary and I mowed three greens in the pasture in front of our house. We used coffee cans for cups and obtained bamboo poles from the furniture store and cloth baby diapers for flags. For sand traps, Dad drove to Thorntown and brought home a load of sawdust. I made up scorecards, and we often played for hours and hours with Dad’s clubs. Eventually I bought my very own first golf club…a 7-iron from the Sportsman Shop…for $4.00. There were many times that I played in that pasture with only that 7-iron as my only club. However, for Christmas one year, I received a putter and a 3-wood. Dad gave me a few of his old clubs, and my uncle donated his old golf bag…and I was set to go!

The next summer, tragedy struck again. My little sister, Julie, was doing cartwheels in the pasture, pretending to be a cheerleader. I informed her that I was ready to tee off in the front yard with my new 3-wood, but she shrugged it off. Well, I certainly did not aim to…but I hit a line drive…right into the back of Julie’s noggin. I ran down the pasture as fast as I could to check on her. She had a knot on her head about the size of a golf ball, and she ran toward the house…crying all the way. I knew I was in deep trouble. I grabbed my 3-wood, found the golf ball, and ran down to the road at the end of the lane…and hid in the ditch. I was down there several hours, occasionally peeking over the rise in the ditch to see if my Dad was headed my way. A couple of cars stopped, and the drivers asked me why I was laying there in the ditch. I made up some story, but I’m sure certain they decided that I was just looney.

As dark settled in, I decided to turn myself in and receive my punishment…but I thought that I might as well hit the golf ball back up towards the house. Big mistake. I hit the ball solid. It ricocheted off the front porch cement floor and through the front window of our house. Two “whacks” later, and I had learned my lesson for that day.

Whenever I wasn’t helping Dad, playing baseball, or mowing yards in town, I practiced my golf skills. I began to think about playing at the municipal course. And that next spring, Dad loaded up the clubs, and picked up Eual McCauley, a friend of his (who was the Darlington prinicipal at that time), and we headed off to Crawfordsville to play nine holes. I had forgotten how nice an actual REAL golf course was. The greens were like carpet. The fairway grass was mowed nice and short. The sand traps had real sand. There were bridges across the creeks that ran through the course. But what I remember most was the smell of the new mown grass and the picturesque scenery…I loved it!

At the age of 13, I was just hoping to break 50 on the par 36 course my first time out. I shot a 48…I did it! Dad finished with a 43, and Mr. McCauley ended up with a score of 51. I think he was a little aggravated that a 13-year old had done better than him, but he laughed it off and told me that I would be a really good golfer some day. After that, I was addicted to golf. During college and during the years that I taught school, I played every Sunday at a golf course near Lebanon with a group of 25-30 men from the Darlington area. Many times I arrived early and played nine holes before the group chose teams and played their regular 18 holes. One Sunday, my Dad accidentally struck me in the head with his ball. I was knocked unconscious and required three stitches. I guess God had evened things out for the time I hit my sister! When I started working two full-time jobs, my golfing days were few and far between. I have not played for many years, as I have other hobbies now, but my brother plays golf three or four times a week when the weather is good…and many times when it is not so good! He and Rich Douglas are great golfing buddies, and they are very good…but I think they just enjoy having fun and being with their friends…and that’s what golf should be all about.

John “Butch” Dale is a retired teacher and County Sheriff. He has also been the librarian at Darlington the past 32 years, and is a well-known artist and author of local history.