A minute in time

Dan Frank was a buddy of mine when I was in the military. He was quite a character. He was mostly easy going with a quick wit and an intelligence which belied his youth on a Wisconsin farm.

Frank was unique in a number of ways, however. He was a wrestler in high school and was very quick and agile for a man of his weight to height ratio, which was not prodigious, but was a couple of decimals above the norm. He had a mean streak if you crossed him so not many did. He had a way with the women who loved his direct approach.

Frank and I played golf together on occasion. I was the hacker of the group and he was the long hitter who had a propensity to break the hallowed rules of golf. When we played together, I didn’t know many of the rules because I played what I and other hackers call recreational golf. We hackers smack it around awhile and declare a bogus score at the end, either too high to preserve an inflated handicap to help with betting, or too low to salve the ego.

Frank and I never really kept score when we played because he and I both knew that he was the better golfer so there was no ego involved. We just went out in the evenings when the clubhouse had closed to fill the time before the bars opened for him and the boredom again encased my being.

On one particular day, we had played seven holes behind a couple who were playing slowly and badly. That’s a terrible combination on the golf course. If you’re good, take your time. If you’re bad, get out of the way.

So, as Frank and I were standing on the eighth tee, a short par 4 dogleg to the left, I looked over at him and said, “Screw it, I’m hitting into them.” Now, a normal golf partner would have discouraged such malevolent behavior, but Frank being Frank said, “Yeah, go for it.”

So, I made a mighty swing and the ball looked to almost hit the lady in the behind but probably careened several yards from her. Frank said, “Nice shot!”, then teed one up himself. Frank’s ball rose majestically up and over the couple on the fly. It was a magnificent shot.

The male of the offending group had already been looking back at us, and upon Frank’s ball flying over his head, started jogging back toward us. He looked like an officer for several reasons. For one, he had actual golf shoes. Frank and I were wearing gym shoes. And, he had a short cropped, neat haircut. Frank and I hadn’t had a decent haircut since we had been at the base. We usually got ours cut after someone would yell at us for upsetting military decorum by looking like civilians.

I became a little freaked out as the officer jogged closer to us. Of course, in his ultimate cool, Frank said, “Don’t worry about it.” When the officer got within about twenty yards of us, he yelled, "Don’t you know you could hurt somebody by hitting into us like that?”

Frank replied, “Yeah, but what are you gonna to do about it.”

The officer spun around and headed back toward his companion as he said, “Nothing. Have a good day.”

So, Frank again had the ultimate cool under pressure, the officer saved face with his companion by pretending to protect her, and I was relieved that Frank was hitting with me rather then at me.