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Balls!
Confessions of a Rural Golf Course Owner
By Gail W. Braman
Xlibris Corp., 2000
0-7388-2708-8 $16
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A little investment property in bucolic Vermont,
a pleasant summer-time diversion. That was the plan anyway. Before opening day was flooded out. Before the backhoes cleaning up the debris inflicted further damage. Before the discouraging financial realities set in, running a remote homespun golf course overshadowed by two tony resorts (the Hertz and Avis to their little 9-hole Rent A Wreck). The claustrophobic Vermont golf season didn't help. Nor did the vagaries of New England weather, a shortage of tourist center bathrooms or characters straight from central casting. For nearly a decade it sure made life interesting for Herb and Gail Braman.
For many of their clientele, the avoidance of paying full retail was more compelling than the golf. There was the guy who insisted he only pay for half a cart because "I'm only going to sit on half of it." Another wanted a discount because his son had been in Desert Storm!
(I'm reminded of the now-retired municipal course pro who once overheard two elderly patrons grumble that the new patio outside the clubhouse was merely a plot to sell more spikes; the thought being that the new, rougher pavement, would wear down spikes faster thereby resulting in more sales. Not that it mattered, but the shop didn't even sell replacement spikes, as if there were huge margins in replacing spikes. One has to marvel at the richness of the conspiracy theorist who sees connivance of this kind behind basic improvements, but apparently they're out there. Scary. Even worse if you have to serve them.)
At White River the customers ran up the phone bill, bummed everything from aspirin to sunscreen and occasionally mistook the golf course for the parking lot. Then there was the issue of the bathroom. Some of the customers it sometimes seemed to the Bramans waited all week for the privilege of using the tastefully appointed White River facilities. (I won't even mention the lawsuits, the llamas or the Hell's Angels.)
The only salvation to retail, as anyone who regularly deals with the public knows, is a sense
of humor, that, counting to ten and prayer. Herb Braman would occasionally ask golfers if they needed a push or a pull cart. The difference? One was two dollars, he would say, the other three. Just kidding, he'd add to their inevitable astonishment.
"What did I tell you about these rubes?" an oaf belts out during a not-atypical tantrum. "We are out of here." So it turned out, unfortunately, were the Bramans - they couldn't make it go - but not before turning an introspective eye to a neglected side of golf, one that has more to do with perpetuating the game's spirit than we realize. No one who reads of their adventure will look at the business of golf as callously; the game begins long before anyone reaches the first tee. Balls! proves once again that truth is stranger (and often funnier, if more maddening) than fiction. Thankfully for the reader, they escaped with their sanity and powers of observation in intact. One wonders whether their successors read the book before signing the deed. The certainty if they hadn't is that they likely now wish they had.
Rating: Cat Stroker * * *
Duly Noted - Edition I - Shouting at Amen Corner
Duly Noted - Edition II - Precision Putting
Duly Noted - Edition III - In the Women's Clubhouse
Duly Noted - Edition IV - Royal and Ancient
Duly Noted - Edition V - Into the Bear Pit
Duly Noted - Edition VI - The Biography of Walter J. Travis
Duly Noted - Edition VII - Uneven Lies
Duly Noted - Edition VIII - Sir Walter & Mr. Jones
Duly Noted - Edition IX - The Golf Ball Book
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