G$$$$O$$$$L$$$$F Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden

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Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden

Or how I learned to live and love while playing golf!

A novel by

Antonio J Sanchez

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 by Antonio J. Sanchez

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ISBN 9781301607730

Table of Contents

MY WORD

PROLOGUE

I WON ONE! I LOST ONE!

EPILOGUE

MY WORD

The times they are achanging and somehow things remain the same. We have been hitting rocks or animal skins bound with sinew with a stick for so long and we call it guf which in time became golf the game we now try to play. We had leather bound balls stuffed with feathers, rubber and cork, and triple layers of silicone and other man made materials. The golf ball has not change much in shape and size since the early days of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club who decreed it so in 1891 or some such year. We now live in an era in the United States that has a sitting Black American president (almost) and we also have a Black American Masters Champion (almost) and for sure we have a Black American First Lady of the good ol' US of A. I am just saying!How times have changed!

The rules of golf have not changed much and the game is pretty much the same - the pin, the ball, the fairway, greens and the cup. One player with a specific number of clubs (fourteen) with one playable ball has a specific number of strokes (par) to get the golf ball from point A to point B and keeping a record of strokes affirmed that this is a true and accurate score. There is a rule that each player must abide by and any violation or infraction must be called on by yourself or others and you will be penalized with added strokes or up to and including disqualification from play. An infraction is an infraction whether the infraction was unintentional or inadvertent - this is a game played with honor and integrity and mostly played by pale aristocratic gentlemen but, I am just saying, again!

However, to my point of view golf has its bastion of good ol' southern boy elite mentality with a few token people. I can still remember and recall that in the not too distant past, there were no Catholics, Jews, Blacks, and Mexicans allowed to enter (unless you were cutting the grass) and much less play golf in certain hallowed golfing grounds.

So, when the heavens open up and the hunter is home from the hills, when the Catholic church enthrones a female pope in Rome, and we have a female president, I am fairly certain that the gates of all those infernal male conclaves will spring wide open and everybody will have the right to play golf at AJS GOLF of TEXAS, Whispering Dunes and that one in Atlanta.

A female golfer, whoever heard of such a thing? The explanation given by the leadership of these golf clubs is that they have reason and common sense and since they are private clubs, they have the legal right (?) to determine, who and how many can be allowed to play the game of golf in their garden in Paradise…but, I am just saying.

Antonio J Sanchez

Rosebud, Texas 2013

PROLOGUE

DALLAS, TEXAS - THE LONE STAR STATE

DEALEY PLAZA

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER. 22, 1963 - ANNO MIRABILIS

12:05 - 12:30 P.M.

November is the month when winter gets a head start. The flower for the 11th month of the year is the Chrysanthemum and the birthstone is the Topaz. In addition, the zodiac sign is Sagittarius (the Archer) from Nov. 22 to Dec. 21 ruled by Jupiter. I am but a common person with very primal needs and wants in this walk we call life. It's really simple, let me eat, drink, have sex, and smoke some baccy - you know, the basics of life. Remember what they say: You don't have to be happy to be gay. At this moment in downtown Dallas, I am coming out of a smoke-filled hall across the street from the old redbrick (red Pecos sandstone and Arkansas blue granite) Dallas courthouse.

I am back in the Lone Star state at my fourth meeting here and I have yet to stand up and say anything about my situation, other than having introduced myself at the start of my initial meeting. My ever-faithful companion and caddie, Charles, has remained with me throughout this entire ordeal.

There are dozens of gray painted, dingy, metal-folding chairs that are circled three deep in the far left corner of the conference hall. Charles is still straddling one of the chipped battleship-gray chairs. His arms folded over the back of the chair, with his chin resting on his arms, he peers intently at the man who is jabbing his left forefinger toward the ceiling and stabbing himself in the chest with his right forefinger at the same time. It looks like he will be staying here for a while longer listening, thinking, talking, and drinking more of that stale coffee. It now seems like the right time for me to go out for the short drive to Love Airfield and pick up my Blondie steady. I just have to walk over and get my car that I had parked a couple of blocks away.

I am once again, finally home, in Dallas, Texas, the Lone Star State, to celebrate my Sagittarius birthday (today) with all my extended family and friends. All of them are present to help me celebrate this happy day in my life, and here is hoping for a better future. I won that last golfing tournament in New Mexico. How I won that championship, I will never know. I have no idea, because I was totally out of it.

A gentle reminder from my mother brings to mind - God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My Blondie had left me stranded on the very first day of the tournament. We got into a discussion about our future and it was not nice. We both said what people say when tempers flare and you lash out. It was the old cliché: You always hurt the one you love.

It was a very long and hot day at the office, if you know what I mean. I finally worked my way through the field of players on the golf course and posted a very good score-a score that was good enough for me to win the darn tournament.

I WON ONE!

I LOST ONE!

It was the worst of times during that golf tournament in New Mexico. As I say again, my Blondie had left me stranded on the first day of play. How I won that championship, I have no idea. It was the best of times.

However, that is all in the recent past, back to the telling. I am on my way to meet the Blondie. The plane will be at Love Field airport in an hour or so. We have met once again and are working on our relationship and hoping to make it work, one day at a time.

I have plenty of time to drive over since the plane is not landing until 2:28 this afternoon and from here, it is only 10-12 miles to the airfield. The light misty rain has stopped some time ago and the city is almost dry.

The city is all - abuzz what with the arrival of Jacqueline Lee Kennedy (neé Bouvier), this country's First Lady - Jackie, as the public likes to call her. I do believe she is bringing her husband with her, that husband being John (Jack) Fitzgerald Kennedy or JFK, as we affectionately call him.

I finally locate my car in the parking space on Elm Street, just across from the Dal-Tex Building, and I have decided that I have time to see a living president in person. I plug in a couple more of buffalo nickels into the parking meter and I'm all set. I walk down to Houston Street, trying to find a place to stand or maybe sit down and watch the presidential motorcade on its way to the business meeting.

I manage to find an empty space on the green, lush St. Augustine grass of the plaza on Elm Street, directly across from the Texas School Book Depository Building, which I know as the old Sexton Building and locally known as the TSBD.

It is a common red-brick Romanesque seven-story building at 411 South Elm Street - currently used for offices, collection, and distribution of schoolbooks and supplies. This old building on the corner of Houston and Elm streets has atop its roof a huge, old Hertz Rental Car sign with a digital clock-temperature display and is a signature landmark.

I'm in a nice, unobstructed spot on the south side of Elm Street. I am in the middle of the block between Houston Street and the triple railroad overpass is just ahead of me.

It's rather crowded with plenty of idle spectators such as myself amongst the ordinary, everyday working people of Dallas, some on their lunch hour or so it would seem. Just another day in the good ol' U. S. of A. Other people are taking the day off with their families and friends to witness such an historic moment.

I believe it's the first time a sitting president has visited Dallas since the 1940s. It's a fairly large crowd, and I can see one person pointing a moving picture camera, while most of the rest have still-picture cameras and others are just watching the event unfold.

Across the street, in my line of sight, is a man I mentioned before. He's atop the cement wall, holding a camera and a woman is holding on to his legs. He presses the camera to this left eye. It looks like a movie camera, similar to mine, an 8-millimeter Bell and Howell. It's a shame I did not bring mine with me.

However, I do have with me a brand-new Kodak Instamatic 126 and this camera is such a departure and new experience for me, very different from the old Kodak Brownie. As I recall, it was a dark shutter box with a black strap that I wore out in a couple of months as it dangled from my right wrist.

This is such a wonderful sunny day. My Blondie is coming to see me. It's my birthday, and I am going to get a close-up look at my president and his wife.

What a day!

What a gorgeous vantage point! There's no bubble top to obstruct my view as the motorcade rolls left onto Elm Street. I will now be able to observe the motorcade unimpeded.

It will worm its way downtown, turning and twisting to get to the Dallas Trade Mart where the President has a luncheon speaking engagement.

There, he will address the city's business and civic leaders. Maybe this is where he will announce his plans regarding our withdrawal from South Vietnam or maybe his intentions to run for a second term with LBJ as his running mate once again.

Later in the afternoon, they will take a short flight down the road to Austin for a $100-per-plate dinner.

Although somewhat surrounded by a sprinkle of people, I feel quite alone. As I look across the street, way up high from me is a grassy knoll that runs alongside the railroad tracks. I can plainly see way up on the knoll, a tall man in dark clothing silhouetted against the bright blue skyline. In this light, he seems to be walking a large black dog, which he has tethered on a leash.

Nearby is a solider in uniform and what looks to be a police officer without a cap walking around a wooden stockade commonly known as a picket fence. By this time, more people are wandering all around the plaza and surrounding area.

Getting restless, I walk down to the bridge abutment and I am now at a low spot in the terrain. There are some street signs obstructing my view. I walk back up to where I was, in the middle of the plaza across from the grassy knoll. As I walk back in the bright warmth of sunshine and into the crowd, I suddenly feel very much alone and cold. A very deep chill shadows me and envelops me in a shroud of coldness. I fear something inside of me is shriveling, leaving a void in its stead, and all I see is a bright red mist and then darkness.

The person nearest me is a Negro groundskeeper, judging by his greenish-gray coveralls and nametag. He nonchalantly rests his chin on folded arms on the tip of a straight metal-rake handle, patiently waiting for the crowd to disappear so he can continue his job. Funny how, down here in this part of the country, the South, some people still cannot look you in the eye. I know that I am not that imposing, but maybe it's because I'm a white person. It's a hard thing to comprehend, much less try to solve today.

Nevertheless, let me get back to the telling of this bright sunny day in Dallas and the main event of the motorcade. The limousine turns down Main Street in downtown Dallas where a throng of more than 2,500 people is straining to get glimpse of Jackie in her bright pink Chanel suit, trimmed in black wool and pillbox hat. It is curious: For some unknown reason, the bubble top on the limo was not re-installed or just forgotten.

Other occupants in the presidential limousine include a Secret Service driver and another agent as a passenger in the front seat while Gov. Connally and his wife sit side by side in the middle row passenger seats. JFK (code name: LANCER) and Jackie (LACE) are in the rear seat, with the president on the right by the window waving to the cheering crowd. Jackie is cradling what seems to be a bouquet of red roses and is smiling quite happily.

Since it is a convertible and it is a nice, bright sunny day. I will be able to take some great pictures at this angle.

There are several Secret Service agents running behind the presidential limousine - a dark blue 1961 Lincoln Continental. Following them is a Secret Service vehicle crammed with Secret Service agents while some are outside riding on running boards, and some are hanging onto window holders. It would seem that the motorcade is well protected.

Meanwhile, vice president Lyndon Baines Johnson (code name: VOLUNTEER), the former governor of Texas (LBJ, as he likes to be called), and Lady Bird Johnson (code name: VICTORIA) are in the third motorcade vehicle behind the Secret Service follow-up car.

There is so much to see, to wander about in and around the plaza, like the white, concrete open-air structure known locally as the Bryan Colonnade, and the courthouse, and the pool of reflecting cool, crystal-clear water.

They had left Ft. Worth at 11:10 a.m. and arrived at the Love Airfield at 11:25 a.m. The light rain that had fallen earlier disappeared, so the bubble top was not re-installed.

The youthful First Lady was presented with a bouquet of long stem red roses as feasible possible when she deplaned and that seem to greatly please her. The motorcade left Love Airfield at 11:40 a.m. for the trip through downtown Dallas while an enthusiastic crowd cheer it on with Lancer and Lace happily waving back to the adoring horde.

The procession enters Dealey Plaza at 12:30 p.m. CST, by my watch and the Hertz clock, and I am smack in the middle of an historic event. I don't want to miss what is probably my only real chance to see a sitting president up close and personal. At the same time, I am still reeling from that cold shudder that swept over me a short while ago. It dampened my spirits somewhat, but not entirely.

However, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Let's go back to the first major tournament that I won this year in Houston.

It was one of the most exciting and enjoyable golf course as I have ever played. It was as to be expected—formidable opponents and a grueling golf course.

I don't want to lose you in the telling. But, facts are facts.

This is one of my favor-rite golf tournament seeing that it is played in the great state of Texas and so close to home in Dallas.

How cool is it to be a Texan?

How cool is it to be in Texas? Get it? Cool in Texas.

Crazy, man, crazy! I am in the groove, man. But, I am getting ahead of myself here.

HOUSTON, TEXAS - THE LONE STAR STATE

GREAT TEXAS OPEN

AJS AGUA DULCE GOLF COURSE AND CC

THURSDAY - APRIL 25 - DAY 1

The practice putting green is much too soft and sopping wet. My metal spikes keep kicking up huge tufts of Bermuda green. This green has been watered too much and too often. Have I mentioned that before? The weather around the city of Houston, the Big H or the Bayou City, as it's referred to in some circles of the populace, is very humid this time of year. What with all bayous, waterways, with rain and moisture coming in from the Gulf of Mexico, it is very humid. The city is on the southeastern side of Texas. It sits like a transplanted LA, and I don't like it one bit.

Jeez, Louise!

Just kidding!!

I just drove in from Atlanta Georgia, where the temperature was not this bad, nor was the humidity as high as it is here in Houston today.

Anyway, who cares about that? The main thing is that I almost won that elusive green jacket, as I came in a close second or maybe it was third place. I really don't remember, and, as usual, I'm getting ahead of myself. Although, I'm getting better at this game and playing quite well, I still didn't win at the Masters in Georgia. Maybe next year. I surely hope so. It seems like time is running out on me and I'm getting older by the minute.

It has been said that April is the cruelest month and to what purpose does it come to breed lilacs out of dead land. But I, for one, do like April, as it has the daisy for the flower of the month and the Diamond as its birthstone. You are Taurus (the Bull) on your birth date from April 20 to May 20 with Venus ruling.

At this time of the year, Houston should be nice, clean, and fresh, what with all the rain to cleanse it. Not to mention friendly. You should somehow be able to recognize and see the blue in the sky. No chance today. The city and surrounding communities are all full of stinky, dirty, pewter-gray skies, with acid-like rain from the refineries. Yes, you know the ones I am talking about, the ones that are on the edge of the Pasadena Freeway. You can trace, see, and smell the pace of progress just off the 225 going into Deer Park, La Porte, and Baytown. Farther down, the highway hooks up in Texas City and ends at the clean, sandy beaches of Galveston to complete the vicious circle of our dependency on oil and gasoline.

The acid rain has eaten through the three coats of lead-based blue paint on my car. In one day, the paint had spots on it like teardrops and splashes over the entire car. The baby blue paint on my two-door, Super Sport (SS 350CI) Chevrolet Camaro was completely ruined. Luckily, I have another Chevy, a red 327 V8 Corvette as a backup under wraps in Dallas.

The hot, sticky, humid air was doing nothing for my game. I shot a 2 over par during the last practice round at What's his name, Sweetwater Golf Course.

Boy! Was I ticked off? I was the No. 1 player in the world with the most money won, most tour wins (in a row), and still vying for player of the year.

OK, so what if it was last year? It still counts, don't it? I'm doing my best to win, while I still have the ability and desire to win.

Boy! Am I ever so thirsty? That is not a question!

My caddie is really trying to do a job for me by reading the yardage book, pin placement sheet, and reading the putting greens, but it's not easy working for me.

I have a feeling about this Great Texas Open tournament. It feels like it's time for some good things to happen for me. It's been a long time coming, now that I am on the trail - love that sweet smell of success and winning at golf.

Well, maybe not that long ago. Back to the beginning of the month.

Let me make it short and sweet about my golf game in the Big Peach, as the locals call it, or as I call it HOT LANTA!

The city is inundated with thousands of fans (patrons as they are called in this tournament) from all over the world and players as well. The entire state it would seem is also infused with the sweet, overpowering, lemony fragrance of magnolias.

It would make some kind of sense that the state flower for Georgia would be the magnolia, but it is not - it is the Cherokee Rose. I would then think maybe the magnolia tree is the state tree, but again it is not - the state tree for Georgia is the Live Oak.

Ain't that a kick in the head?

AUGUSTA, GEORGIA - THE PEACH STATE

AUGUSTA NATIONAL GOLF CLUB

THE 27TH MASTERS TOURNAMENT

THURSDAY - SUNDAY, APRIL 4-7

For my work week of April 4-7, during the 27th Masters, I was in the hunt for that ever-elusive green jacket, that jacket which I do so covet. The course for this, the 27th Masters Tournament, is playing at its official maximum yardage of 6,950 yards, par 72 (288).

Before I go into that story, let me briefly give you a short history of the Masters, which to begin with has been played exclusively at the Augusta National Golf Club in Atlanta, Georgia. Mr. Robert (Bobby) Tyre Jones Jr., an amateur champion, and Clifford Roberts, an astute businessman, along with other investors, purchased approximately 364 acres, a property formerly known as Fruitland Nursery, which had ceased operations. This would become the site of the Augusta National Invitational, which we now know as the Masters. Dr. Alister MacKenzie of Scotland was the architect of the course, which formally opened in January 1933. In 1934, the first Masters winner was William Horton Smith, the Missouri Rover.

In 1961, the permanent trophy was introduced and some other changes that will be implemented in the near future are apparently in the works. The trophy depicts the clubhouse and the winner's name is engraved on the permanent Masters trophy, which remains at the club. Maybe they'll create a sterling silver replica of the Masters trophy. Who knows what the future will bring to this wonderful game of golf? Just a word of caution, does not - I repeat, do not - ever forget that this is just a game. Yes, some gain fame and fortune, but golf is still just a game.

The winner is also awarded a gold medal and the aforementioned, highly coveted, emblematic green jacket. This bright sap-green blazer has the club's emblem embossed on the front-left breast pocket and it, too, should remain at the clubhouse. There are other awards, such as a silver medal for the runner-up (who also gets his name engraved on the permanent trophy) and a silver salver. There are other awards, including a silver cup for the low amateur and a silver medal for amateur runner-up. More awards follow…such as for the day's low score, and a hole-in-one gets a larger crystal vase, and for an eagle, you receive a pair of crystal goblets.

Maybe in the near future it will be deemed appropriate to present an award to Mr. Gene Sarazen for his famous shot heard 'round the world. The second shot he popped with a 4 wood to the 15th hole. The golf ball dropped into the cup for a double-eagle 2, thereby placing the Masters on the front page of national newspapers.

This tournament has had many firsts, among them a four-day format, two players, and a 36-hole cut. The best 44 golfers and all ties and those within 10 shots of the leader qualify for the final 36 holes.

One of my favorite moments in golf is seeing a winner of previous tournaments hit the ceremonial first ball. This year, it was Jock Hutchinson and Fred McLeod. I hope that tradition continues, as some traditions and customs tend to fall into that nostalgic void as time goes by and we forget. We do tend to forget our great past events, and an even greater sin is to forget our great golf players as people. Who knows how long these great men will be around to impart some of their wisdom on golf and about life in general?

Another most endearing, unique, and peculiar accent of the Masters is the naming of each of the golf holes in the tradition of the golf links most commonly found on the golf coasts of England, Scotland, and Ireland.

The course is manicured and clean, although the grounds are hard and dry, and the greens seem very fast. Patrons and members mingle along with all the rest of the Green Coats and the gallery is very quiet and in awe of their surroundings. It's almost like being at the Alamo in San Antone what with all the reverence and adoration being accorded.

What the heck! Here's all the golf holes and their names.

The front nine are:

No. 1 - TEA OLIVE,

No. 2 - PINK DOGWOOD,

No. 3 - FLOWERING PEACH,

No. 4 - FLOWERING CRAB APPLE,

No. 5 - MAGNOLIA,

No. 6 - JUNIPER,

No. 7 - PAMPAS,

No. 8 - YELLOW JASMINE,

No. 9 - CAROLINE CHERRY.

And, the back nine are:

No. 10 - CAMELLIA,

No. 11 - WHITE DOGWOOD,

No. 12 - GOLDEN BELL,

No. 13 - AZALEA,

No. 14 - CHINESE FIR,

No. 15 - FIRETHORN,

No. 16