Author Notes

Golfing terms Birdie: A score of one stroke under par on a hole. Bogey: A score of one over par on a hole. Bunker: The proper name for a sand trap. Draw: A shot that curves gently from right-to-left for a right-handed golfer and the opposite for a left-handed golfer. Fade: A shot that curves gently from left-to-right for a right-handed golfer and the opposite for a left-handed golfer. Hook: A shot that curves a lot from right-to-left for a right-handed golfer and the opposite for a left-handed golfer. Fairway: The closely-mown area of grass on a golf hole where you attempt to land your ball. It gives an excellent lie for hitting your next shot. It is surrounded by the rough which is mown much higher and is more difficult to hit the ball from. Gold tees: The place on the tee box where senior golfers typically tee off from, with tee markers painted gold in color. White tees are for average-length golfers, while blue tees are for the big hitters. The shortest tee markers are usually red and are often called the forward tees or the ladies' tees. The different tee markers allow the same golf holes to be played longer or shorter to accommodate all length players. Honors: To have the honors means to have the right to be the first one to tee off on the next hole. This 'honor' is given to the golfer who has the lowest score on the previous hole. Par: The score a golfer should get on a hole if all the shots are well-hit. Par-5 hole: A long golf hole in which it normally takes three strokes to reach the green and two putts on the green for a score of five. Par-4 hole: A medium-length golf hole in which it normally takes two strokes to reach the green and two putts on the green for a score of four. Par-3 hole: A short golf hole in which it normally takes one stroke to reach the green and two putts on the green for a score of three. Skulled: Hit a bad shot in which the bottom of the clubface contacts the ball somewhere around its equator, yielding a very low shot. They often run far, though. Slice: A shot that curves a lot from left-to-right for a right-handed golfer and the opposite for a left-handed golfer. Sunday bag: A small, light, canvas golf bag used for carrying usually just a few golf clubs. Tee box: The closely-mown area where golfers tee off from. It is often slightly raised and somewhat boxy in shape. Vertical mower: A type of mowing equipment with many thin, close-together blades that spin vertically and is used to cut thin slices in the turf. In this case, it is being used as a cultivator for weeds. Characters Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius.

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters

 

Recap of Part 1: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

 

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

 

 

Seeing my intention, old Art Calvin said to me, “Have a care when you are there. We’ll see you back in no time.”

I thought this a rather peculiar remark. Have a care when I was there? Where? On the other side of the trestle? And wasn’t it rather obvious I’d be back in no time? I was just going to pop on through, retrieve my ball, and be right back. The others probably wouldn’t even notice my being gone. As I pondered this, I carefully made my way down the bank, passed under the old trestle, and…

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Near Amsterdam, Holland

1247

 

 

“Come back here, Kilian Pauls. Just wait ‘til I get me mitts on you, you klootzak!”

I had just exited the wood and was running at a moderate clip, but I wasn’t worried that those oafs would capture me. They may have been big, but they weren’t very fast. As I turned to see just how far behind they were, I didn’t notice a rut that was a few steps in front, and when my left foot hit it, I went down hard. I couldn’t stay down long though, or they would surely catch up, and who knows what kind of pounding I would receive if they caught me?

As I started to scramble up, I heard a high-pitched voice calling, “Boy! Boy! Over here.” I didn’t see anyone, but I made for the voice. There was a large hill over on the right about 30 steps ahead with a band of trees near the bottom of it, and I figured the voice came from over behind the trees. I rounded the trees and saw a small head disappearing into a hole in the ground at the base of the hill. It turned around, facing me and said, “Down here. Quickly.”

I scrambled down the hole and came face-to-face with a red-haired girl. Instantly, her arm flew up, grabbed some branches lying on the surface of the ground next to the hole and pulled them across, covering it up and blocking out most of the sunlight. I was pressed tightly up against her in the narrow space, but I couldn’t see her very well as my eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark.

“They’ll never find us down here,” she said.

“Are you a wood elf?” I asked her.

“No, silly. I’m a girl. Sshh, now. I hear those boys clomping about nearby.”

Standing next to her in the near-dark with our bodies pressed together like that, I began feeling all fluttery inside. I had never stood so close to a girl before. Her hair smelled like lilacs, and her breath was sweet. A stirring began taking place in my breeches.

Just then we heard a muffled, “Beats me where the little varmint went. I thought we’d see ‘im when we made it ‘round these trees, but mebbe he turned and ran up through the woods.”

“Shall we chase ‘im up the hill?”

“Nah, forget ‘im. I’m too tuckered.”

“Why we chasin’ ‘im anyway? What’d he say to ya when ya pinched that scroll off ‘im?”

“He says ‘You need a scroll about as much as a fish needs klogs.’”

“I don’t get it.”

“Never mind, you booby. C’mon, let’s go back.”

I could feel the girl shaking with suppressed laughter, and I started shaking too. We tried holding it in as best we could, but we kept silently laughing in the dark for another minute or so until we were convinced that they were gone. Then she reached up and removed the branches covering the hole we were in and we both burst out laughing.

I pulled myself up out of the hole first, then I reached down, grabbed her hand, and helped pull her out. We both brushed ourselves off, then I stood and just looked at her.

 
She was like a little gamine—lean and wiry with a pixie face. Bright, long red hair, a scattering of freckles across her little nose and cheeks, and lovely green eyes that sparkled when she laughed. She looked about my age, perhaps 13 or 14. It was hot out, this being mid-summer, and she wore only a short, brown, sleeveless tunic and was barefoot. I had never seen her before.

“Who are you?” I asked her.

“A wood elf,” she said and began laughing again. I started laughing along with her.

“Well, my name is Kilian Pauls, even if you won’t tell me yours. Where do you live? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I live on that farm over there,” she said, raising her thin arm and pointing vaguely to the east. “We used to live north of here. Arie Papin is my name.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Arie. I am Kilian Pauls.”

“Yes, you said that. And I am Arie Papin again.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled that, why did you call out?”

“I was exploring, and I saw those big boys chasing you. When you fell, you looked like you needed help. I knew of this narrow entry to a cave, which I had been in before, so I called to you to hide in there.”

“I’ve been all over these hills and never knew of a cave here.”

“That’s because you’re a boy and don’t notice things like girls do. I have to go home now, Kilian Pauls; I have chores to do, and my pa will be angry if I am not home soon. Maybe we shall meet again.”

And just like that, she ran off leaving me standing there.

What to make of this? I forgot all about my sheep or the scroll I had been writing on, which had been so rudely snatched from me by that oaf, Lard Jansen. Instead, all I could think about was Arie Papin and that exciting way she made me feel when we were pressed up against each other in the cave entrance.

I didn’t have any experience with girls my age. I was a shepherd boy and spent most of the day with my flock and with the other shepherd boys like my brothers, as well as Lard and Rube, the two boys who were chasing me. I had a baby sister at home, and there was my mother of course, but they were about all I knew of girls.

I watched her fleeting little figure as she crested a hill in the distance and was then lost to sight. My goodness, how I hoped we would meet again. I was determined to make that happen.

 

Author Notes

klootzak: roughly translated as asshole. CHARACTERS Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian.

Chapter 4
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 4

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar golf terms.

 

Recap of Part 1: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

 

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

 

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Holland in the year 1247

 

 

I slowly walked the three furlongs back to the hill where my sheep were grazing. The day was very warm, and there were only a few clouds in the sky to provide occasional shade. We had had much rain in the spring, and the countryside was green and lush with grass—a veritable feast for the sheep. How wonderful to be a sheep and be able to graze all day in a sea of food, where your only responsibility was to eat and crap and eat some more and grow your hair.

After taking a quick inventory and finding nothing amiss, I sat down in the shade of a black walnut tree and thought about Arie Papin. I started laughing to myself as I pictured the two of us trying to keep from laughing down in that hole. My sides had actually begun to hurt, I remember, from trying to hold it in.

Just then I thought of writing a poem about her, but I had no scroll to write on, as Lard had snatched it from me earlier. I decided to go over to the next hill, where I hoped he had returned, and get it back from him. I knew it would take a contest, but I wasn’t worried about that.

I looked around on the ground for a suitable black walnut husk, but all those had started turning brown and mushy, so I shinnied up the tree a ways, grabbed a few green ones, and slipped them into my pocket. They were nice and hard and made a perfect ball that would last a good while before splitting apart. When I got down, I picked up my kolf that I had fashioned from a beech tree branch. I carried it over my shoulder to an open area, pulled one of the round, green walnut balls from my pocket, and set it on a tuft of grass that had been grazed short by my sheep. I took a stance to the side of the walnut ball with my legs spread apart, aimed for the hill where Lard and Rube probably were, and placed the head of the kolf behind my ball. Then I raised it up and back before swinging it down and into the ball, which went sailing off through the air with a solid whack.

I had thought of this idea a couple of weeks ago when the walnut husks first started achieving a suitable size. I had been kolven reluctant sheep in the rump for some time to get them moving when my dog was not around, and out of boredom one day, I decided to try kolven a walnut husk. I found that I could strike the nut more solidly if I gripped the kolf with two hands rather than just one. A sheep’s bottom was a large enough target that a one-handed whack was sufficiently accurate, but the walnut required two hands to be able to hit such a small target squarely. Plus, I found that I could swing the kolf with more power using two arms than just one and thus hit the ball farther.

It was fun to just whack them, but then I decided I needed a target to aim for and made a game out of it—to see how many strikes at the ball it would take to reach and then to hit a boulder 300 paces away. It took five strikes to reach the vicinity, then perhaps another one or two to strike it.

I showed this new game to Lard and Rube and my two younger brothers, and they were eager to try it out themselves. They fashioned their own kolfs, and we began aiming at all kinds of targets spread through the meadows and fields—mostly boulders and tree trunks. It was great fun and passed the time remarkably well. Shepherding can be a boring job, with short spells of frenzied activity as the sheep are moved to the field and moved back again in the evening, with long, idle hours in between. We had decided to call our new game “kolven” then abbreviated it to simply "kolf" after the kolfs we used to strike the balls.

Lard and Rube’s hill was two furlongs away, and it took me six or seven strikes to reach the bottom, then another two or three to reach the crest. I found them just on the other side, with their backs against a sturdy walnut tree trunk. They appeared to be asleep.

I quietly walked up while pulling another nut from my pocket. With that one plus the one I had been using, I stood over the slumbering figures and dropped a nut onto each of their hatless heads.

Lard woke with a start and blurted out, “Hello, hello, what’s this?” He started rubbing his head, and when his eyes focused on me, he said, “Eh, what are you up to, Kilian? And where did you get to earlier?”

“I vanished like a wraith. I was there all the time; you just couldn’t see me.”

“And yer fulla’ sheep shit!”

The nut seems to have had no effect on Rube, who kept snoring away. Lard poked him in the side and said, “Wake up, you big lunk. Look who’s here.”

Rube opened his eyes and began rubbing them. It took him a bit to focus, and when he finally realized who was standing before him, he said, “Me an’ Lard thowt ya disappeared.”

“I did.”

“See, I told ya,” Rube said to Lard.

Rube, whose full name was Ruben Meijer, was 17 years old and not overly bright, but he was huge and very strong. He was Lard’s constant companion. Lard’s real name was Lars Jansen. He was 15 and also quite large for his age, although he tended more towards fat than muscle. He was bright enough—much brighter than Rube—but illiterate. We were all friends, but Lard and Rube were never seen apart.

“I’ve come to get my scroll back from you, Lard.”

“Why should I give it back after you insulted me the way you done?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry now about that, but I really need it back, so how about a competition at kolf? If I win, you give it back, and if you win, you still give it back, but I teach you to read and write.”

He thought it over for a moment. “Alright. Teach Rube too, and you got a deal.”

I looked over at Rube, who wasn’t paying any attention. He was pulling wax from his ears and putting it in his mouth.

“Uh… okay,” I said. “I’ll throw that in too, though I don’t think it’s possible. Go ahead and pick a target.”

Lard pointed to a copse of cottonwood trees about three furlongs away to the south. The day was clear and bright with no hint of haze, so the target was quite visible. “Hit that last one on the right with the least strikes, and that’s the winner. Rube, you keep score on Kilian’s scroll.”

“Ya knows I dunna count sa good, Lard.”

Lard handed him the scroll he had tucked in his breeches and a small charred stick he found in the remains of a fire they had made the previous evening. “Just make a stroke with this stick for each strike we take. At the end, we’ll see who has the least strokes. You think you could manage that?”

“I’ll do me best, Lard.”

Lard retrieved his kolf and pocketed a few walnut balls he found on the ground that hadn’t started to turn brown yet, and we headed over to a clear area away from the trees. He went first and whacked a good one down the field where his sheep were grazing, taking care to aim away from them. I put my walnut ball down on the short grass and hit a similar shot. We had decided to call them “shots” for the way they shot away when well-struck. Rube faithfully recorded each one on the scroll with a stroke of the burned stick.

I normally hit my shots farther than Lard, but because I felt badly for insulting his inability to read earlier, thus provoking the chase with a threat of pounding, I decided to let him win and help him learn to read. My mother had patiently taken the time to teach me and my brothers to read and write, but I guess Lard’s ma or pa never had. There was no other way for him to learn, and I felt sorry for him.

I kept pace with him and did not put any extra effort into my shots to pull ahead. Toward the end, as we neared the goal, I purposely “topped” a shot or two by consciously striking the ball near its top rather than the middle or bottom. They skittered along the ground and lost a lot of distance in the process. It took me an extra shot to make up the distance I had lost, and we knew Lard was the winner when his final shot hit the trunk. We asked Rube to show us the scroll to see the final tally, but the ninnyhammer had made all the strokes in a single line, so there was no way to distinguish whose were whose. It didn’t matter because we both knew that Lard had won by a single stroke.

When Lard saw what Rube had done to the score tally, he said to me, “Forget the second part of the bet. Teaching me to read will be good enough.”

“That’s a relief!”

He snatched the scroll from Rube, handed it to me, and I told him I’d start teaching him on the morrow.

 

 

Author Notes

kolf: a club in ancient Dutch, although today it means "flask" kolven: verb form of kolf, i.e. clubbing. CHARACTERS Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian.

Chapter 5
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 5A

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar golf terms.

 

Recap of Part 1: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

 

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

 

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

 

Kilian devises a plan to get his scroll back from his friend Lard who stole it. He will challenge him to a new game he devised called kolf, named after the club he uses to hit black walnut husks—the green ones that are perfectly round balls. He and Lard and another friend, Rube, have been playing the new game for several weeks, aiming at various targets in the meadows and fields. Kilian proposes that the prize for winning the game will be getting his scroll back if he wins, and getting his scroll back if he loses too, but then he will also have to teach Lard to read and write, as making fun of Lard’s illiteracy the day before is what led to the chase. They play the match, but Kilian lets Lard win because he felt badly about insulting him.

 

Chapter 5A

This morning, I guided the sheep closer to where I had met Arie Papin the previous day. I wandered down to the wood, but there was no sign of her. I sat down with my back against a tree. Out of a sack that I carried, I pulled the scroll I had gotten back from Lard yesterday, as well as a quill pen and ink, and began composing a poem.

The subject was clear, and the words came easily to me. Before I knew it, I had penned four stanzas and felt it was complete. I had only a title to put on it when, all of a sudden, my quill was snatched from my hand. I turned quickly around to find Arie Papin looking down at me. She was wearing a mischievous grin.

“You were very quiet; I didn’t hear a thing,” I said to her.

“We wood-elves can appear just like that,” she said as she snapped her fingers, “with no one the wiser. What are you writing?”

I quickly rolled up the scroll and tucked it in my sack. “Just a bunch of nothing. You’d think it’s silly.”

“Well, I already saw a little of it, and I don’t think it’s silly. Won’t you read it to me?”

“So, you can read too?”

“My pa taught me. I thought I saw my name,” she said as she sat down next to me.

“I’m embarrassed.”

“I won’t tell anyone about it. Please read it.”

“You won’t laugh?”

“I can’t promise that, but read it anyway. Please?”

She said the last so coyly that it was impossible to refuse her. I removed the scroll from my sack and unrolled it. “It’s a poem. It doesn’t have a name yet.”

“Maybe I can help you think of one.”

“Maybe you can. It’s about you.”

“I gathered that from seeing my name. Now read.”

And so I began:

    Like an elf within the woods
    Who’s full of merry-making,
    There’s a girl with long red hair
    Whose name is Arie Papin.

    With a smile that radiates,
    She laughs with great abandon.
    Mysterious she seems to me,
    This girl named Arie Papin.

    Coming somewhere from the north
    Her prior home forsaken,
    She lives here now within my realm,
    The elfin Arie Papin.

    With freckles on her little cheeks
    And sparkling eyes, I’m taken.
    I hope that I will meet again
    The comely Arie Papin.

I looked up at her. She smiled, grasped my hand between her two small ones, and said, “That’s beautiful, Kilian. Are they true words?”

“Yes. I couldn’t stop thinking about you since we met yesterday.”

“Nor I, you.”

We sat looking into each other’s eyes. “So, what shall I call the poem?”

“How about ‘The Elfin Girl’?

“’The Elfin Girl.’ Why, that’s perfect.”

“May I have it?”

“Of course.” I wrote the name of the poem at the top and handed the scroll to her, and as I did so, she lifted her head up and gave me a quick kiss upon the lips. I was so startled by this that I let out a laugh. She smiled and laughed too. We stood, then she placed the scroll in a pocket of her tunic, and we started walking together.

“Where do you live?” she asked me.

“I live in a small hut by that house you see off there in the distance,” I said, as I pointed to the west. It was a long structure with several porticos and gables. “We are tenants of the owner of the land surrounding that house for many hectares in each direction. We mostly manage the sheep and other animals, and we have a small plot that we farm for our own food. I spend much of my day tending to the sheep.”

“What do you have to do?”

“Well, in the early spring, we help with the birthing of the lambs. It’s quite exciting. Then, when that’s all done, we shear the sheep for the wool. In the summer months, we mostly just take them out to graze and bring them in again in the evening. We have time aplenty to ourselves then, as there isn’t much to do except guide the occasional stray back to the flock. That’s when I get together with me mates, Lard and Rube.”

“They are your friends? Why exactly were they chasing you yesterday?”

“Oh, that was nothing. I had just thrown an ill-advised insult Lard’s way, and he took great offense to it and vowed to pound me. We are often up to such shenanigans.”

“I guess he can’t read, and he didn’t like being teased?”

“You gathered that from my joke about the fish, eh? You’re very clever, Arie Papin.”

“That’s what Pa says. Too clever for my own good sometimes, and with too much sass.”

We walked for a bit more, then I turned to her and said, “Do you like to run?”

“Yes, and I’m very fast. Faster than you, it would seem from yesterday’s chase.”

“Do you see that large walnut tree about 200 paces ahead? I’ll race you.”

“Just try and catch me,” she said as she took off like a shot.

She had a good five-pace start on me before I took off too. Indeed, she was very fast, and it was all I could do to catch her up by the end as we raced by the tree together. We stood there panting and laughing.

When we’d caught our breaths, I said, “Would you like to play a game I invented a few weeks ago? It’s really fun. I call it kolven, or just kolf for short. You play it with one of these walnut husks you see here on the ground and a kolf that you can whittle from a branch. A beech tree seems to provide a sturdy enough branch for whittling. Here’s the one I made.” I reached behind the tree and grabbed my kolf, which had been leaning up against it, and showed it to her. Then I picked up the greenest nut I could find on the ground, walked over from beneath the tree, and set it on a tuft of grass.

“What you do is strike the ball with the kolf, aiming it at a tree or a rock in the distance, and try to hit it in as few strokes as you can. The person with the least number of strokes is the winner.”

“Shouldn’t they be called ‘strikes’ instead of ‘strokes?’” she asked.

“You’re right, but we started calling them strokes because we sometimes keep score by making a stroke with a bit of charcoal on a piece of birch bark or a scroll for each strike we make.”

“A stroke for a strike. That’s clever. Can I try it?”

“Shouldn’t I show you how to do it first?”

“How hard can it be? The nut is right there on the ground, not moving. Let me try it.”

“Okay, but I’m warning you. It isn’t that easy to strike it well.” I handed her the kolf then, and she held it in her right hand as she stepped up near the ball.

“Hold it in two hands. You’ll hit it much farther.”

She put her left hand on the kolf next to and above her right hand, and started by hoisting the club as high as she could without first having set it on the ground behind the ball. Stepping into it, she took a mighty downswing at the ball… and missed it completely. The momentum of the swing was so forceful, though, that the kolf came right around and smacked her on the back. She lost her balance and fell down on her butt. Rather than being embarrassed, she burst out laughing, looked up at me, and said, “I missed!”

She was so cute there on the ground, laughing, that I laughed too as I extended a hand to help her back up. With an attitude like that, this was going to be fun teaching her to play!

 

To be continued...

 

 

Author Notes

kolf: a club in ancient Dutch, although today it is translated as "flask" kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing CHARACTERS Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian.

Chapter 6
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 5B

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

 

Recap of Part 1: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

 

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

 

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

 

Kilian devises a plan to get his scroll back from his friend Lard who stole it. He will challenge him to a new game he devised called kolf, named after the club he uses to hit black walnut husks—the green ones that are perfectly round balls. He and Lard and another friend, Rube, have been playing the new game for several weeks, aiming at various targets in the meadows and fields. Kilian proposes that the prize for winning the game will be getting his scroll back if he wins, and getting his scroll back if he loses too, but then he will also have to teach Lard to read and write, as making fun of Lard’s illiteracy the day before is what led to the chase. They play the match, but Kilian lets Lard win because he felt badly about insulting him.

The next day, Kilian moves his sheep closer to where he met Arie in hopes that he will see her again. He sits down to write her a poem on the scroll he got back from Lard. She shows up before he has quite finished, and he reads the poem to her. She is touched by it and kisses him. They begin playing together and run a footrace back to the walnut tree where his kolf is stored. He teaches her to hit a walnut ball with it, and she is instantly delighted by the new game.

 

 

She put her left hand on the kolf next to and above her right hand, and started by hoisting the club as high as she could without first having set it on the ground behind the ball. Stepping into it, she took a mighty downswing at the ball… and missed it completely. The momentum of the swing was so forceful, though, that the kolf came right around and smacked her on the back. She lost her balance and fell down on her butt. Rather than being embarrassed, she burst out laughing, looked up at me, and said, “I missed!”

She was so cute there on the ground, laughing, that I laughed too as I extended a hand to help her back up. With an attitude like that, this was going to be fun teaching her to play!

 

 

 

Chapter 5B

 

“Why don’t you let me show you how I do it? I’ve been working at it for a few weeks now, and I think I’ve developed a good way to hit the ball—without falling down.”

“Alright. Show me how.” She handed the kolf back to me.

I took a stance next to the ball and placed the kolf on the ground behind it. “See, it works better if you start with the kolf where you want it to end up—back at the ball. Then you flex your knees, stand with your feet apart, and try not to move them around; otherwise, it’s very hard to hit the ball cleanly. Now, you just swing it back, not too fast,” I said, as I did these motions, “and then… whack it,” as the kolf came back down and struck the ball cleanly. Off it shot into the air and landed gently about 70 paces away. The momentum of the kolf had brought my body around, facing the shot. My weight was all on my left leg, and my right heel was off the ground. My arms were folded, and the kolf hung down my back. I was in complete balance on my left foot and right toes.

Arie looked at me in awe. “That was wonderful! Let me watch you again, then I will try it.”

I pulled another ball from my pocket and set it on the turf. I demonstrated the swing again and sent another ball sailing into the sky. “Do you think you have the idea now?”

“Maybe. Let me try it again.” First, she ran back and picked up a few nuts from the ground.

“Only the green ones,” I said. “The others aren’t solid enough.”

She picked up a few, placing them in the pocket of her tunic, and ran back. She pulled one out and placed it on a tuft of grass. Then I handed her the kolf. She gripped it the way I had, with her hands closer together, and took a stance beside the ball, setting the kolf lightly on the ground behind the ball the way I showed her. She flexed her knees slightly then she drew the kolf slowly back, much more controlled this time, but way around her neck so that the kolf was pointing almost to the ground while she bent her left elbow. Then she brought the club back down with a lot of speed and gave the ball a glancing blow, which sent it along the ground about ten paces to the left. The club wound around her body again, but she was able to stay on her feet this time—just barely.

She looked at me with a smile and said, “At least I struck it a little this time.”

“Yes, that was much better, but let me try to help you some more. Put another one down, and I’ll get behind you, hold the club lightly with you, and guide you through the swing.”

She put a ball down and made a stance, then I stood right behind her back as she bent over the ball, and I slipped my hands over the top of hers. My arms were much longer than hers, and I stood nearly a head taller, so this was not hard to do. “Now as we swing back, keep your left arm straight, but bend your right.”

We started the club back together, and she did what I said. When we got the kolf almost back to parallel with the ground, I stopped her from swinging any farther back. “Now we start back down by sliding our hips to the left a little, and then swing down into the ball.” As we did this, we gave it a nice whack, and it flew up into the air—not too far, but at least it was a solid hit.

“We did it!” she cried. “Now let me try it by myself.”

I stepped away and returned to facing her from the front as she placed another ball on the tuft. She bent over the ball again and started swinging back, this time keeping her left arm straight and stopping at the top, well short of where she had previously stopped. She started down again, forgetting to thrust her hips and perhaps straightening her wrists too early, but she hit the ball squarely this time, and it flew 25 paces in the air.

“Good shot!” I said. She was beaming.

“I really did it! It wasn’t as far as yours, but I got it in the air.”

“You sure did. It takes some practice to hit it farther, but you’re on the right path now.”

“I wanna try it again.” She took another ball from her pocket and put it down.

“Arie, did you ever beat a rug with a stick to get the dirt out?”

“Of course.”

“You know how your wrists are bent back when you take the stick back? You don’t then straighten them right away before coming back to the rug; you kind of wait until you’re almost at the rug, then you whip your hands through by straightening your wrists for more power. Same with this. Keep your wrists cocked for a while on the way down and let them whip through at the ball.”

“Got it.” She followed my directions and this time whacked the ball about twice as far.

“Good shot. See how much farther that went?”

She was beaming again. She put another ball down to try it once more. At the last second before she struck the ball, I noticed it was a brown one. When the kolf struck it, it smashed into hundreds of pieces, which flew everywhere. Some hit her, some hit me, but most just dispersed in a cloud of particles. She burst out laughing, and so did I.

“I just wanted to see what would happen,” she said as she pulled bits of it off her face and out of her hair, and I did likewise.

“Now you know. You are a pip, you know that?”

“Thank you. Maybe tomorrow we could try a game, but I think I’d better be heading home again. It’s getting near the noon hour, and I’ve chores to do. I don’t want Pa or Ma chastising me for being gone all day.”

“Yes, a game tomorrow would be wonderful. Can I walk you home?”

“No, but you can run me home.” She dropped the kolf and raced away.

I followed her and soon caught up. We jogged along, laughing together and just enjoying each other’s company. The meadow grass was fairly short for having been grazed by the sheep, and there were wildflowers everywhere. It was easy going, and we jogged steadily all the way to her farm. We agreed to meet again tomorrow at the cave entrance, when the sundial said 10 o’clock. She thanked me for the poem, and we said goodbye.

 

Author Notes

kolf: a club in ancient Dutch, although today it is translated as "flask" kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing topped: a mishit shot that is hit on the top of the ball CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian.

Chapter 7
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 6A

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of Part 1: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian devises a plan to get his scroll back from his friend Lard who stole it. He will challenge him to a new game he devised called kolf, named after the club he uses to hit black walnut husks—the green ones that are perfectly round balls. He and Lard and another friend, Rube, have been playing the new game for several weeks, aiming at various targets in the meadows and fields. Kilian proposes that the prize for winning the game will be getting his scroll back if he wins, and getting his scroll back if he loses too, but then he will also have to teach Lard to read and write, as making fun of Lard’s illiteracy the day before is what led to the chase. They play the match, but Kilian lets Lard win because he felt badly about insulting him.

The next day, Kilian moves his sheep closer to where he met Arie in hopes that he will see her again. He sits down to write her a poem on the scroll he got back from Lard. She shows up before he has quite finished, and he reads the poem to her. She is touched by it and kisses him. They begin playing together and run a footrace back to the walnut tree where his kolf is stored. He teaches her to hit a walnut ball with it, and she is instantly delighted by the new game. She is a quick study and picks up the swing very fast. At noon, Arie must return home, and Kilian runs with her.

 

Chapter 6A

 

On the way back from Arie’s farm, I stopped by my home to retrieve the slate that my ma had used to teach us our letters, as well as a couple pieces of chalk. I headed for the meadow in search of Lard.

I found him knocking a walnut ball back and forth with Rube. “Are you ready for your first reading lesson?” I asked him.

“Do you really think you can teach me, Kilian?”

“I’m going to try. That was the bet after all.”

“If I’m just too thick and can’t seem to catch on, I won’t hold you to it any longer.”

“I’m not worried about that. Look at it as a challenge, Lard. We’ll get you reading and writing too. It will just take practice. My ma made some easy scrolls she would use to teach me and my brothers, and I’ll lend ‘em to you. You’ve got to be serious about it, though, if you really want to learn.”

“I don’t want to chase sheep around all me life. I’ll put in the work alright.”

“Okay, let’s get started then.”

 

 

It was harder than I thought. I tried to remember how Ma had taught me, so I started by teaching him a few of the more common letters and the sounds they make. I demonstrated how to make them on the slate and had him copy them. By the end of the lesson, he was reading and writing a few simple words. His hand was shaky, but we were able to read them back.

“That’s enough for today, Lard. Keep the slate and practice them tonight, and we’ll try some more tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Kilian. This was a little frustratin’ but kinda fun too. Now let’s find that doofus Rube and play some kolf.”

 

 

The next morning, with my kolf over my shoulder and a few green walnut balls in my pocket, I headed down to the cave to meet Arie. It was a beautiful summer morning. It was not too warm yet and not overly humid, and the day promised to be a good one. Arie arrived shortly, carrying what looked like a kolf of her own.

“Well, look at that! Did you make it yourself?”

“I got my pa to help me with it. I described it to him and told him what it would be for. He thought it sounded like a waste of time, but I told him it was really fun whacking those balls and that you were going to teach me a game today. He said he would help me make a kolf, but told me I must be back by noon to do my chores. He wants to meet you, by the way.”

“Okay. Maybe when we are done with the game. Let me see the kolf you both made.” She handed it to me, and I studied it closely. It was shorter than mine, but otherwise looked much the same. “This looks well-made. What type of wood did you use?”

“We had a pile of branches from an ash tree Pa had chopped down recently. He said ash was a good, strong wood like beech that yours is made from, and he helped me shape it like yours.”

“Yours has a steeper angle to the face than mine.”

“Pa said I would be able to hit the ball higher that way.”

“I think he’s probably right. Let’s try it out.”

“I was practicing with it some last evening, trying to remember all the things you taught me. I was able to hit a few nicely up in the air. My hands are getting scraped from the bark, though, and I wish it was thinner, as my hands are small.”

“I can fix that.” I pulled a blade from a short scabbard I wore on my belt and began peeling the bark off the handle where her hands would grip the kolf. After peeling it all off, I let her try it.

“That’s much smoother. Could you make it thinner still?”

She handed me the kolf, and I whittled some more off until she was able to grip it comfortably. “Let’s try it out,” she said.

Together, we walked away from the trees, and I pulled a few walnut balls from my pocket and threw them to the ground.

 

“Let’s take a couple of practice strikes first, then I’ll show you the game we play. But before that, try making a few swings without aiming for a ball. Just hit the top of the grass to warm up.”

She began swinging, and it was immediately evident she had been practicing. Her swing was much slower and smoother than yesterday—more controlled. There was no danger of falling on her butt now.

“Your wrist motion is much better now, Arie; you’re going to hit the ball a lot farther. Can I make one more suggestion before striking a ball?”

“Of course.”

“Remember the tip about starting to swing down by moving your hips first? Just a little toward the target before starting down with the arms. That will give you even more power. Like this,” and I demonstrated the move for her. “Try it.”

It looked awkward at first, but with a little more demonstrating and coaching, it smoothed right out. “Now try striking a ball that way.”

She set a ball up on a tuft and took a swing with the new hip action, and away the ball flew in a high arc. It landed some 60 paces away. “Look at that, Kilian! I really smacked it. Look how high it flew.” She was just beaming.

“That was an awesome shot! Look at the distance you hit it. That’s farther than Rube hits it, and look how much bigger he is than you. Oh, wait, you haven’t met him yet—just heard his voice that time and saw him from a distance. I will have to introduce you soon. To Lard too. Why don’t we hit a few more, then I’ll show you the game we play.”

She topped the next couple and frowned, but then she hit another good one that landed as far as the first one, and she was beaming once again.

“Let’s play now. What do you do?”

“We pick an agreed upon target off in the distance and try to reach it in as few strokes as you can. Then you must strike it with the ball. The one with the fewest strokes wins. Simple enough.”

“Yes, it is.” Her eyes began scanning the terrain. “How about that outcropping of rock over there? It looks to be around 200 paces from here.”

“Let’s narrow it down some,” I said. “How about the jagged rock on the end?”

“Okay. Can I go first?”

“Sure, you can.”

She let out a squeal of delight, then reached into her pocket for another ball and placed it on a tuft. She took a practice swing first, then stepped up to the ball and whacked it 50 paces down the field.

“Good shot, Arie!”

She let out another squeal. She was absolutely delighted with herself. “See if you can beat that, Kilian.”

I grinned at her and tufted my ball. She had just challenged me, and I thought I would show off by hitting it as far as I could. I took a massive swipe at it and topped it. It only managed to bound and roll maybe 30 paces along the ground.

“I’m winning!” she said with a laugh.

 
“Not for long, missy. We’ve still got several shots to go. Don’t be too cocky, or you’ll regret it.”

“Hmmpf! Don’t you be too cocky either, Kilian Pauls.”

I just smiled. We reached my ball first, and this time I hit a good one, which sailed 60 paces in the air and rolled another 10 or so on the ground. Determined not to be outdone, she took a huge swing at the ball, just nicking the top, which caused it to roll a mere five paces. I was now well ahead of her after two strokes. “See what I mean about being too cocky?”

She stuck her tongue out at me, walked ahead to her ball, and swung much more smoothly this time, striking a good one.

“Good shot. Slow and steady wins the race.”

“I like to really whack it, though I do see it’s harder to hit it squarely that way.”

“A good lesson. Once you play more, you’ll be able to whack it harder and squarely.”

A few strokes later, after we had both hit the rock, I said, “How many strokes did it take you? I managed to hit it in 6.”

“Oh, no. I forgot to keep count. I think it was about 6 or 7.”

It was 9, but I said, “Doesn’t matter. We’re just playing for fun. Why don’t we aim for that big walnut tree over the hill there. Maybe we’ll see Lard and Rube. I’ll introduce you.”

“Okay.”

“If we do meet up with them, try not to laugh too hard at the silly things Rube says. He’s as dumb as this rock here, but he’s sensitive about people laughing at him.”

“I wouldn’t do that. Is that his real name?”

“His real name is Ruben, and Lard’s name is Lars, but we’ve been using the nicknames for years.”

“What’s your nickname?”

“I’m just Kilian.”

“Well, I’m going to use their real names, Just Kilian.”

“Suit yourself.”

 

 

To be continued...

Author Notes

kolf: a club in ancient Dutch. It is also used as the name of the game that uses it. kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing or golfing topped: a mishit shot that is hit on the top of the ball. CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian.

Chapter 8
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 6B

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of Part 1: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian devises a plan to get his scroll back from his friend Lard who stole it. He will challenge him to a new game he devised called kolf, named after the club he uses to hit black walnut husks—the green ones that are perfectly round balls. He and Lard and another friend, Rube, have been playing the new game for several weeks, aiming at various targets in the meadows and fields. Kilian proposes that the prize for winning the game will be getting his scroll back if he wins, and getting his scroll back if he loses too, but then he will also have to teach Lard to read and write, as making fun of Lard’s illiteracy the day before is what led to the chase. They play the match, but Kilian lets Lard win because he felt badly about insulting him.

The next day, Kilian moves his sheep closer to where he met Arie in hopes that he will see her again. He sits down to write her a poem on the scroll he got back from Lard. She shows up before he has quite finished, and he reads the poem to her. She is touched by it and kisses him. They begin playing together and run a footrace back to the walnut tree where his kolf is stored. He teaches her to hit a walnut ball with it, and she is instantly delighted by the new game. She is a quick study and picks up the swing very fast. At noon, Arie must return home, and Kilian runs with her. On Kilian’s return he has his first lesson with Lard, teaching him to read.

The following morning, Kilian meets Arie at the cave. She has her own kolf now, made with the help of her dad. She had been practicing with it and hits the ball well. Kilian is impressed. They then play their first hole of kolf together and begin another.

 

 

Chapter 6B

 

We began our route to the walnut tree in the distance. There were a number of hills to go over before reaching our goal. We came to the top of a hill, and who should be coming up the other side toward us but Lard and Rube. When they reached the top, they just stared at us. After a few seconds, Lard said, “Morning, Kilian. Who’s the little lass you’re playing with?” Rube just stood staring at Arie with his mouth open.

“Mates, this is Arie Papin. Arie, this big guy is Lard, and that bigger guy is Rube.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lars and Ruben. Kilian has already told me your real names.”

“You’re a cute little thing. Where did you come from?” asked Lard.

“I live on a farm over that way,” she said, pointing off to the east. “We recently moved here from up north a ways.”

Rube continued to stare with his mouth open. Lard punched him in the arm and said, “Say something, ya big galoot. Don’t just stand there gawking.”

“Um… hullo, Miss Arie,” he finally managed. “Are you a pixie?”

“Well, I’ve been called an elf and now a pixie, but I’m just a farm girl, Ruben, and now I’m a kolfer too. Kilian’s been teaching me.”

“Oh, really? I’d like to see this,” said Lard. “Care to join us, you two? We were shooting for those rocks down there.”

I looked at Arie, and she said, “We’d love to. Can I go first?”

I said, "Why don't we let Rube show us the way? Rube, you hit first."

Rube had fashioned a very long kolf to match his size. His upper body was so muscular, though, that it was difficult for him to make much turn. Plus, he tended to swing stiff-armed without any wrist action and consequently couldn’t hit the ball as far as you might expect from a boy his size. Of the three boys, he was the shortest hitter among us. He placed his ball down, took a swing, and managed about 50 paces with it. Not a bad shot, just not very far.

“Arie, why don’t you go next?” I said. I sidled over to Lard and said quietly, “Watch this. She’s going to outhit him.”

She placed her ball on a tuft of grass, took her stance, and with a smooth, unhurried swing with her much shorter kolf, she struck a perfect shot. Her ball lofted high into the air and landed way down the hill, at least ten paces farther than Rube’s ball. Rube’s eyes bugged out, while I said to Lard, “Didn’t I tell ya?”

Rube turned to Arie and said, “How do a wee thing like you hit it sa far, Miss Arie?” He was flabbergasted.

“Here, let me show you, Ruben. See, you have to hit it like you were chopping wood. You don’t split a log with stiff arms. You have to bend your wrists and then whip your hands and arms to split a log. It’s the same here. Bend your wrists some as you take the kolf back, then hold on like that on the way down, and at the last second, whip your hands through. That’s what Kilian taught me, and it works.”

He put another ball down and took his stance. “Wait a second,” she said, walking over to him. She took his big right hand in her two little ones and moved it up to meet his left on the grip end of the kolf. “You’ve got to put your hands closer together too, so they can work together. You’ll see.”

Lard and I were very amused by little Arie coaching the big oaf, and we chortled quietly to ourselves.

“Try a few practice swings first until you get the hang of it,” she advised Rube.

He did as she instructed, and after a few swings, he was able to whip the head of the kolf through much faster than before. He looked down at her with a big silly grin on his face. “Can I try to strike it now, Miss Arie?”

“Have at it, Ruben.”

He addressed his ball again. He was able to take the kolf quite a bit farther back now that he was bending his wrists, and he took a mammoth swipe at the ball, sending it way down the hill, landing it at the bottom, and rolling for another 20 paces. This one ended up nearly 100 paces away—an awesome strike. Rube was grinning from ear to ear, and Arie began clapping for him. “That was smashing, Ruben! You struck it way farther than mine.”

“I did, didn’t I? Did’ja see that, fellers?” he said to Lard and me. “And thank ya’ kindly, Miss Arie.”

After that, she was his new best friend, and he walked beside her every chance he got, chattering away. I could tell she was very amused by him, but she treated him with the utmost respect. They laughed a lot together, but she always laughed with him and never at him. They went off together to shoot for a couple of targets while Lard and I stood talking.

“I think the big lunk has found himself a girlfriend,” said Lard to me. “He’s two heads taller than her and four times her size. Quite a pair, eh?”

“Looks like they adore each other, but I found her first.”

“Oh, she’s just funnin’ with ‘im. She’d never go for a big doofus like him.”

“She sure is good with him, though,” I said.

“Aye, that she is. Where did’ja find her anyways?”

“She actually found me. Remember a couple of days ago when you and Rube were chasing me, and I was just gone? Well, she had seen it all and called me over behind those trees, and she was down in a hole. I got down with her, and she covered it over with branches, and you were none the wiser.”

“So, you did disappear after all? Huh. Yer a lucky feller; she’s a dandy, she is. Did’ja kiss her yet?”

“No, but she kissed me.”

“You hang onto that one, Kilian.”

 

 

Pretty soon, Arie and Rube were back, and we decided to all play toward an ash tree 220 paces away. Arie said that it was getting on toward noon, and she would have to leave for home after that. She struck her ball first and hit a good shot, then Rube placed his ball down.

“Now, remember to thrust your hips toward the target a bit before you start down like I showed you, Ruben, and you’ll really smash it,” she said to him.

“I’ll do me best, Miss Arie,” he said, grinning at her.

“Been playing one day and already giving Rube lessons,” I said to Lard, shaking my head. Lard smiled and shook his head too.

Rube reared back with a big turn as his left heel came off the ground. He paused for a fraction at the top before starting down, and with a thrust of his hips and a whipping of his hands through the ball, it virtually exploded into hundreds of pieces as he made contact with it, just as Arie’s had done yesterday.

Laughing, Arie said, “I think we’re going to have to come up with a different ball for you from now on, Ruben. You smashed that one to bits! I don’t think walnut balls will be sturdy enough for you anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I dinna mean to bust it up.”

“That’s okay, Rube,” I said. Green walnut season is almost over now, and I have the feeling we’re all going to start busting them up soon enough. Arie and I will think of something else to use.”

Rube put down another ball and hit it at only about half power, then Lard and I both hit our first shots. By the time we reached the target, we had all made it in either four or five strokes, and it was time for Arie to say goodbye. I told her I would walk home with her, and Rube asked if he could come too.

“Leave ‘em alone, Rube. You and me gotta go move them sheep to a new spot now,” said Lard.

“Goodbye, Ruben. Goodbye Lars. It was fun kolven with you. I’ll see you again sometime,” and with that, she turned around, took my hand, and we started toward her home.

 

 

Author Notes

kolf: a club in ancient Dutch. It is also used as the name of the game that uses it. kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing or golfing CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian.

Chapter 9
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 7

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of Part 1: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian devises a plan to get his scroll back from his friend Lard who stole it. He will challenge him to a new game he devised called kolf, named after the club he uses to hit black walnut husks—the green ones that are perfectly round balls. He and Lard and another friend, Rube, have been playing the new game for several weeks, aiming at various targets in the meadows and fields. Kilian proposes that the prize for winning the game will be getting his scroll back if he wins, and getting his scroll back if he loses too, but then he will also have to teach Lard to read and write, as making fun of Lard’s illiteracy the day before is what led to the chase. They play the match, but Kilian lets Lard win because he felt badly about insulting him.

The next day, Kilian moves his sheep closer to where he met Arie in hopes that he will see her again. He sits down to write her a poem on the scroll he got back from Lard. She shows up before he has quite finished, and he reads the poem to her. She is touched by it and kisses him. They begin playing together and run a footrace back to the walnut tree where his kolf is stored. He teaches her to hit a walnut ball with it, and she is instantly delighted by the new game. She is a quick study and picks up the swing very fast. At noon, Arie must return home, and Kilian runs with her. On Kilian’s return he has his first lesson with Lard, teaching him to read.

The following morning, Kilian meets Arie at the cave. She has her own kolf now, made with the help of her dad. She had been practicing with it and hits the ball well. Kilian is impressed. They then play their first hole of kolf together and begin another. They continue playing and encounter Lard and Rube also out playing. Kilian introduces Arie to them, and Rube, especially is enamored with her. They decide to play together, and Arie outhits Rube on the first shot. She then instructs him on what he should do to hit it farther, and he begins blasting it. He finally hits one so hard that it busts apart, so Kilian and Arie tell them they will come up with a new, sturdier ball. They finish playing, and Kilian walks her home.

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

As we walked into her farmyard, hand-in-hand with our kolfs over our shoulders, I spotted Arie’s father making some sort of repair on the nearby barn. The position of the sun indicated it was the noon hour, and it was almost as if he were waiting there to see if Arie would return on time. I started to remove my hand from hers, but she maintained a tight grip on it. He was a big, burly man with a short, scraggly beard and a frown at the moment, but when he noticed us approaching, his face melted into a big grin.

“Papa!” she cried out. “This is Kilian Pauls, who wrote that lovely poem and is teaching me kolven.”

I started to blush. Apparently, she told her parents everything about me, and I felt uncomfortable, especially about the poem, which she said she wouldn’t share with anyone. Perhaps she meant anyone but her family.

“Welcome, Kilian. I am Hendrik Papin. It’s nice to meet the lad Arie has been talking non-stop about.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Dhr Papin.”

“Did you learn how to play the new game then, Arie?”

“Yes, Papa, and it is so much fun! You would like it, I’m sure.”

“You will have to teach me to play too then, Kilian.”

“Arie could even teach you, sir. She has been giving lessons to one of my friends. She is already very good at the game.”

“Yes, she is quite skilled at most everything she attempts, and lets you know about it too. She is difficult to teach anything to, though, insisting that she knows what to do already,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, Papa! I’m not that bad. Kilian was able to teach me quite easily, I think.”

“Yes,” I said. “She is a very quick student and now a teacher of the game as well.”

“I’m not surprised by that. Won’t you stay and join us for our noontime meal, Kilian?”

I looked at Arie, whose face lit up.

“That is very generous of you, sir. I would be honored to share a meal with your family.”

Once inside, Arie introduced me to her mother, her younger sister, and her two little brothers, Arie being the oldest child. We all enjoyed a meal of mutton stew and a coarse peasant bread.

During the meal, the talk mostly concerned the new game Arie had been telling them about. Her little brothers were eager to try it themselves and begged their father to make them kolfs too.

“Papa, we’ve a bit of a problem,” said Arie. “One of my new friends smashes the walnut ball so hard that it breaks apart on him and flies off in all directions. We need something sturdier that won’t break so easily. Have you any ideas?”

“Hm, you probably would want something round and hard, but not as hard as a stone, which might crack your kolf. How about a good, sturdy wooden ball?”

I thought about that for a moment. “I could see sawing off a short length of a branch, but that would be a cylinder. How would we get it rounded into a ball— whittle it?” I asked Dhr Papin.

“I’ve got several rasps of different coarseness that we could also use to round the edges. It would take a while to get it perfectly round, but it could be done. Let me work on it, and next time you come, Kilian, I will have one to show you.”

Next time I come? I liked the sound of that. Apparently, I was making a decent enough impression on Arie’s folks. I looked at Arie, and she was smiling. “That would be splendid, Dhr Papin!”

After the meal was over and the womenfolk had cleared the dishes, I thanked the Papins heartily and said that I must return to do my chores, but I hoped to see them again soon. As I started to leave, Mevr Papin took me aside. She was a small, attractive, red-haired woman whom Arie favored a great deal. She said, “That was a very sweet poem you wrote to Arie yesterday, Kilian. You made her very happy with your beautiful words.”

“Thank you, Mevr Papin. I meant every one.”

“Well, I have a good feeling about the two of you,” she said with a smile. “You’re a nice young lad.”

I blushed when she said this. “Thank you once more for the meal. I hope to see you again soon.”

Outside the house, Arie was waiting for me. “I have to begin my chores now too, Kilian, but I will walk with you as far as the cave, then I must return.”

We held hands again as we walked along leisurely. Neither of us was in a hurry to leave the other.

“I think my folks like you. What did my ma say to you when she took you aside?”

“I like them too, but what she said is between her and me. I will have to introduce you to mine one day soon,” I said, quickly changing the subject.

“That would be nice, but please tell me what she said.”

Arie was difficult to say no to. “Alright. She said she had a good feeling about us.”

She smiled at that and gave my hand a squeeze. When we arrived back at the cave, she turned to me and said, “Can we play another game of kolf tomorrow morning? I have an idea I would like to try out.”

“What might that be?”

“Never you mind. I want to surprise you with it.”

“I’m sure it will be an uitzonderlijk.”

We said goodbye until tomorrow, turned, and walked our separate ways. After about 10 steps, I looked back over my shoulder at her. She had done the same, and we waved goodbye to each other.

 

 

 

After I checked on my sheep, I hiked over to where I saw Lard’s flock. He and Rube were there, hitting walnut balls. Rube was covered with bits of husk—in his hair, and all over his face and arms and clothes—but he seemed to be having a wonderful time pulverizing the walnut balls.

“Are you ready for another reading lesson?” I asked Lard.

“I am, and I’ve been practicing too.”

He had the slate with him. We sat down beneath a tree, and I began the lesson.

An hour later, when he’d had enough for the afternoon, I told him about the noon meal at the Papin’s.

“Ah, it’s getting serious now, Kilian, when you meet the parents. What’s her pa like? Can you tell how he feels about you courting his daughter?”

“I think he likes me. He wants me to teach him kolf. He also said he would help fashion a wooden ball because Arie told him how Rube’s had exploded on him. Look at the big dope over there, covered with the stuff.”

“He’s been swiping at ‘em all day since you left, practicing those moves Arie taught him. He hasn’t found a ball yet he could hit without smashing it to pieces.”

I laughed and shook my head. “I better get back to my own sheep now, Lard. I’ll try to dig up those scrolls my ma made up with the easy stories on them. I’ll bring them by tomorrow if I can find them. Keep practicing, and you’ll be reading and writing in no time.”

“Thank you, Kilian. You’re a good mate.”

 

 

Author Notes

Dhr: Dutch for Mr. (Abbreviation for Meneer) Mevr: Dutch for Mrs. (Abbreviation for Mevrouw) uitzonderlijk: Dutch for a doozy CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian.

Chapter 10
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 8

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the story so far: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian devises a plan to get his scroll back from his friend Lard who stole it. He will challenge him to a new game he devised called kolf, named after the club he uses to hit black walnut husks—the green ones that are perfectly round balls. He and Lard and another friend, Rube, have been playing the new game for several weeks, aiming at various targets in the meadows and fields. Kilian proposes that the prize for winning the game will be getting his scroll back if he wins, and getting his scroll back if he loses too, but then he will also have to teach Lard to read and write, as making fun of Lard’s illiteracy the day before is what led to the chase. They play the match, but Kilian lets Lard win because he felt badly about insulting him.

The next day, Kilian moves his sheep closer to where he met Arie in hopes that he will see her again. He sits down to write her a poem on the scroll he got back from Lard. She shows up before he has quite finished, and he reads the poem to her. She is touched by it and kisses him. They begin playing together and run a footrace back to the walnut tree where his kolf is stored. He teaches her to hit a walnut ball with it, and she is instantly delighted by the new game. She is a quick study and picks up the swing very fast. At noon, Arie must return home, and Kilian runs with her. On Kilian’s return he has his first lesson with Lard, teaching him to read.

The following morning, Kilian meets Arie at the cave. She has her own kolf now, made with the help of her dad. She had been practicing with it and hits the ball well. Kilian is impressed. They then play their first hole of kolf together and begin another. At noon, Kilian walks Arie home and meets both her parents who invite him to dine with the family. Over the meal, they explain to Arie’s father the problem with the ball they were using, and he promises to help Arie make a new wooden ball. After the meal, Kilian must leave. Arie hints that she has a new idea to try out the next day. Kilian returns to his sheep and gives Lard another reading lesson.

 

 

Chapter 8

 

I met Arie at the cave entrance this morning at approximately the same time as yesterday. She had brought with her not one, but two kolfs. The new one was even shorter than the one she used yesterday, and the shaft was at almost a right angle to the head of the kolf, which also appeared to be very straight-faced. You would have to stand very close to the ball and would not be able to lift the ball into the air very much, if at all, when you struck it—a most unusual-looking kolf that must be the surprise she hinted at yesterday. She also held a round ball in her hand.

“Look what Pa and I made,” she said, holding out the ball for me to inspect. It was about the diameter of the length of my pinky finger, very round, and made of wood. I marveled at how firm and round it was.

“This is wonderful, Arie. How did you get it so round?”

“Pa cut a cylinder from a branch as you suggested yesterday, and with a combination of whittling and rasping, which he showed me how to do, I just kept working at it until it was as round as I could get it. Pa had made a template for me by cutting a round hole the size of the ball in a thin board, and I kept whittling and rasping until I could pass the ball through the hole in any direction. It showed me where I needed to shave it some more.”

“Very skillfully made. How long did it take?”

“It took some time, perhaps three hours, to get it just so. I’m hoping it will work well and not split apart so easily.”

“It looks quite sturdy. Now how about that other kolf you have? It doesn’t seem very well-suited for any kind of distance.”

“I made this myself. It’s what I want to try out today, and if it works well, it might add more interest to the game. I didn’t make it to hit the ball far.”

“What do you do with it, then?”

“Help me find a rabbit hole, and I will show you.”

I began to get an inkling of what she had in mind. With a bit of searching, we found one that was perhaps the length of my foot across.

Arie said, “Now let’s go back 10 or 15 paces and aim for the hole.” This we did, then turned around, and she placed the wooden ball on the ground. With her new kolf, she stood with the ball practically at her feet and gave it only a half strike, sending it bounding over the ground in the direction of the rabbit hole. She struck it a little too hard, and it rolled about 3 or 4 paces past. She ran up to the ball with me following, took her position beside the ball, and rapped it into the hole.

“That’s amazing,” I said. That adds another whole game to the game. It’s much more subtle than just whacking it hard all the time.”

“Yes, it is,” said Arie. “You can’t just get close to the target—a tree or a rock—and whack it as hard as you want. You must use more skill than that. The target is smaller, and you must be more patient and precise to hit it. It’s a different set of skills.”

“I love it, Arie! There’s only one problem with it that I see.”

“What’s that?”

I looked down into the hole, and there was no ball at the bottom. I got down, stretched out on the ground, and reached my arm into the rabbit hole. It was all the way up to my shoulder before my fingers felt the ball in the tunnel, and I was able to get them around it and pull it out again.

“I think we’d better dig our own holes. Some of these rabbit warrens are smooth, and the balls might roll too far out of reach. Wouldn’t want you to have spent all that time whittling a ball only to lose it down a rabbit hole.”

 She laughed at this. “Good point.”

“Perhaps we will also need to mark the location of the holes we dig so we know where to aim too.”

“How about if we use a branch with leaves on the end that we stick in the ground by the hole, kind of like a flag?” Arie suggested.

“A flag stick. That’s a good idea.”

“Oh, this is exciting, Kilian. I can’t wait to show Ruben and Lars these new ideas. Do you think they will like them?”

“Well, I think Lard will for sure. I don’t know about Rube, though. I’m not sure he’ll have the patience or the feel for it. He likes to whack everything, and this takes a gentler touch. Let’s dig our own hole, and let me try it now.”

We proceeded to do that using a combination of sticks, hands, and my knife for digging. When we had finished, we had a good round hole about 10 inches deep and a foot across. Then I picked up Arie’s new kolf and tried it out from a number of locations, as far away as 30 paces from the hole.

“So, the idea,” said Arie, “is that you play the game as usual, whacking it as far as you can with the longer kolfs, then when you get near the hole, you switch to the shorter kolf and put it in the hole from there. Every stroke counts the same, whether it’s 100 paces or 6 inches. Now let me try it again.”

I handed the kolf back to her, and she proceeded to hit shots from various locations.

“Kilian, look at how the ball curves away from the hole when you hit it from this spot.” She was aiming directly for the hole, but when she struck it, it veered off to the right and missed by a foot or two.

“That’s because the ground is sloping from the left to the right. You must compensate by aiming a little left and hope you’ve judged it correctly, and it will curve into the hole. That’s another nice thing I like about this. More judgment is needed. There is a lot more skill to this game than simply hitting an upright target in the air with no concern for how hard you hit it. This was brilliant, Arie.”

“Thanks!”

“Now I’m curious to see how this new wooden ball will fly when we really whack it. Let’s try it out.”

“Me first,” she said and proceeded to place it on the ground. She picked up her longer kolf, took her stance quite a bit farther from the ball than with the shorter one, made a good swing at it, and struck it beautifully. The sound of the strike was much different from the sound a walnut ball made, and it sailed higher and farther too. “Look at that! I hit a beauty.”

“Wow! Much farther than the walnut balls.”

“You stay here, Kilian, and I’ll run to it and hit it back to you. Then we can hit it back and forth.” She turned then and sped after the ball.

What a clever girl, I thought to myself. She has really taken to the game and is even thinking of ways to improve it. This latest idea was a wonderful addition to the game. We seem to be very much alike in our way of thinking about things, and it’s such fun to come up with new ideas with her. I just love being around her.

She reached the ball some 90 to 100 paces away, which was a good 30 or 40 paces farther than she had been hitting the walnut balls. She took her stance and whacked it back to me. It wasn’t quite as solid a hit as her first shot, but it still flew at least 60 paces and rolled another 10. I went and retrieved it, then ran back a ways because I was certain I would be able to hit it well over 100 paces now after seeing her shot. I smacked a good one with my kolf, and it went sailing away. What a sound it made when I struck it! It flew over Arie’s head and rolled another ten paces—a well-hit ball that was probably 140 paces all told. I could hear Arie applauding from a distance.

We went back and forth like this for another 20 or 30 shots and had just a smashing time with this new ball. She hit another shot, and I heard her yell to me, “Leave this one lay, Kilian.”

“Okay,” I hollered back.

She struck it well and came running up. “Now I want to put it in the hole we made,” she said. She couldn’t quite see where it was, so I walked back and stood by it. It was just a little too far away to use her short kolf yet, so she hit a medium-length shot with a half swing and knocked the ball 5 paces away from the hole. Now it was time for the short kolf, which she had left lying near the hole, and she was able to put it in with two more strokes.

“Nicely done,” I said.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said as she made a little curtsy. “Kilian, I have to go home now, but I will make another ball this afternoon so we can both have one to play with. You can keep this one to show Lars and Ruben. Do you think it will be sturdy enough for Ruben, now that he’s smashing it so hard?”

“I think so. That was incredible how he improved after you taught him how to swing properly. I’ll let both of them hit this ball, and we’ll see if it holds up. Arie, do you think we could meet again this evening after the evening meal? If the new ball you’ll be making is ready, perhaps we could play a few different holes?”

“I would love to. I’ll see you later then,” and she took off running back to her farm.

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother

Chapter 11
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 9

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

 

Recap of the story so far: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian has invented a new game in which he hits a ball with a “kolf” which is Dutch for “club.” He plays this game, which he calls “kolf,” with his friends, Lard and Rube—fellow shepherds like him. He teaches Arie the game and together the four of them devise new ways to play it including putting the balls into holes on greens that the sheep have grazed smooth. They create different kolfs for different shots, and make wooden balls.

Kilian and Arie take a real fancy to each other, and Arie introduces him to her parents who also like him instantly.

 

 

Chapter 9

 

I made my way back to where I had left my sheep early this morning and made sure nothing out of the ordinary had happened in my absence, then went in search of Lard and Rube.

I found them knocking walnut balls back and forth to each other, but they were not very far apart and could only hit the balls softly now to prevent them from flying apart when struck. It was getting harder and harder to find green ones as the days went on. Rube still managed to explode at least half of the ones he hit.

“Hey, fellas, look what Arie made,” I said, holding up the wooden ball. They both came over to see what it was. I handed it to Lard first, and he turned it over and over in his hands. “I think this might work,” he said to me. “It’s very round and hard.”

“Lemme hold it,” said Rube, and Lard handed it to him. He marveled at the hardness of it. “Mebbe this one won’t break like them others. Can I try it out?”

“That’s why I brought it to you. Go ahead and smash it as hard as you can, big fella.”

“Oh, boy!” he said with a huge grin on his face. He placed it on a tuft of grass, stepped to the side, and whaled away at it. With a loud CRACK! it sailed off, arcing through the sky almost out of view and landing perhaps 200 paces down the field. Rube gaped at it in amazement. “Look what I done. Look what I done, guys!”

“You sure did, Rube!” I said. “And it looks like it stayed in one piece. Arie’s making another one for herself, and maybe we can begin making them too now that we know it works. I think she used ash for it, but beech would probably work too. You just cut a cylinder off a branch as wide across as the length of your first finger and whittle it down ‘til it’s as wide as the length of your pinky finger. She said she used a rasp too. Does anyone have one of those?”

“My pa has a few,” said Lard. “A saw too. I’ll bring ‘em tomorrow, and we can make some ourselves. You going to help us, Rube?” but Rube had vanished. We saw his fleeting figure running down the field, apparently in search of the ball he had just struck. We saw him find it, take a stance, and knock it back to us. It was another beautiful, high shot that landed ten paces beyond us. We heard a whoop! and saw him leap into the air, then come running back toward us.

“Look at that big oaf. He’ll be babbling on about this the rest of the day,” said Lard, who went and picked the ball up, deciding it was his turn to give it a try.

Rube came running up. “Did’ja see it, fellers? I smashed it, I did!” He could hardly contain himself and sprang off the ground like a frog after a fly.

We arranged ourselves in a huge triangle then and batted the new ball around and around to each other for over an hour. Still, the ball held up with no sign of cracking or chipping. It was going to do the job for us.

When we finally tired of this, we joined up again and talked some more about our plans to make these marvelous balls for ourselves. I also told them about the new part of the game Arie had devised, including the target being a hole you knock the ball into. I told them I would make a different kolf for this and that we could try it out tomorrow.

“How about another reading lesson now, Lard?”

Rube wandered off when he heard this, and Lard and I walked over to the tree where he had set down the slate that I had lent him yesterday. Then we began today’s lesson.

 

 

After the evening meal tonight, I put a piece of flint into my pocket, grabbed my kolfs and the wooden ball, and set out to meet Arie. I had spent a few hours this afternoon fashioning a new, upright, shorter kolf like the one she had made. She was already at the cave, practicing knocking a ball into the hole we had dug this morning. She had been busy, too, making a new ball this afternoon.

“Kilian, do you know of any areas in the meadow where the grass is extra-short, where perhaps the sheep grazed it very close? If you do, I think we should try digging a hole there. That way, we won’t have to hit the ball quite so firmly when we get near the hole, and it will help the ball roll more smoothly to the hole. It will take away some of the chance that it will be knocked crooked by a large tuft of grass in the way.”

“That’s a good thought. I think I know just such a place.”

She had brought a small trowel with her for digging holes, and I led her to a place that had been recently grazed by my sheep—just yesterday, in fact. They had grazed it rather short because I had been away so long kolven with Arie and having a meal at her house, and I hadn’t moved them to a new area in some time. We dug a new hole in the middle of it and practiced knocking balls into it from all sides.

Arie appeared to be much more accurate than me in this part of the game. It would usually take her two strokes—sometimes even one—to put a ball in the hole from more than, say, 10 paces, whereas it would often take me three and only sometimes two strokes. We held a competition, and she beat me handily at this short game.

Truthfully, I was very happy for her for discovering an aspect of the game at which she could excel because she would never be able to hit the ball as far as I could, and this would help equalize us to an extent. Plus, I just loved seeing how happy it made her to have mastered this skill, which she had invented, so readily.

“Arie, I know of a different area with shorter grass where we could make another hole. Then we could play back and forth between them.”

“Good idea. Don’t make it too far away, though, or you’ll always win because you can hit the ball so much farther than me.”

“It doesn’t have to be a competition between us. We can just play our own way.”

“No, it’s more fun if we compete—as long as I have a chance to win.”

“Alright then. You see that cluster of rowan trees over there? I think there’s some short grass in front of those. Why don’t we aim for them, and we can dig another hole when we get there?”

“Okay. Can I go first?”

“How come you always want to go first?”

“Because I like to.”

That seemed like a good enough reason. “Have at it, then.”

She picked up her long kolf, took her stance, and whacked a fair one toward the rowans. I knocked a pretty fair one myself, and we were off. When we got to the rowan trees, sure enough, the grass was shorter in front, so we dug another hole. While Arie was trimming it nice and round with the trowel, I looked for a branch with leaves on the end that we could use for a flag stick. I found one and sharpened the point with my knife, then jammed it down into the hole we had dug. After that, we both stroked our balls into this hole, with her taking one less short stroke to accomplish the feat than me.

“Six for me,” I said. “How many for you?”

“Eight. See? It was too far. I hit as many good shots as you did and even took one less short shot, but you just hit your ball so much farther than me because you are bigger and stronger. I’ll never be able to win!” she groused.

“I’ll tell you what. How about if you play it from a shorter distance? Suppose I hit from here back to the first hole we made, and you can start from that alder tree over there on the right?” I said, pointing about 100 paces away. “That ought to even things up.”

She thought about it for a moment. She seemed to be debating with herself, but in the end, she said, “Okay. Boys are naturally bigger than girls, so I guess that’s only fair.”

 
I walked a little way from the current hole and set my ball down. Then I smashed a long one that landed well past the alder tree on the right that Arie would be hitting from. When we got to the alder tree, she likewise smashed a good one that ended up more than 60 paces beyond my ball. It took me two more shots to pull even with her ball after the same number of shots. We both laid three with just a half shot until we reached the short grass. By the time we were in the hole, we had each taken six strokes.

“Now I’ve got a fighting chance to beat you,” she said.

“Yes, it’s much fairer now,” I agreed. “Want to play them again?”

“Yes!”

After first making another flag stick for this hole, we ended up playing to these holes three more times each.

“You know, we ought to give names for these areas that we play,” I suggested.

“You mean like Pieter or Astrid?”

“No, silly. I mean something general like ‘We played eight… somethings tonight.”

“I know. I was kidding around. How about if we just call them 'holes' since they all end with a hole as the target. So, if you say, ‘We played eight holes tonight,’ that means we played eight different times from a starting point to a target hole.”

“That makes sense. I like it. Maybe we should also name the short grass area where the actual hole with the flag stick is located too.”

She thought about this again. “How about a ‘green.’”

“But the entire field is green.”

“Exactly. So, it wouldn’t make sense to call it a ‘blue’ or a ‘red,’ would it?”

“Um… no, I guess not.”

“So, let’s just call it a ‘green’ then.”

There was no arguing with that logic, so a “green” it became.

 

 

By this time, it was beginning to get too dark to play anymore. “This was so much fun, Kilian. I can’t wait to play again tomorrow. Maybe we can make some different holes too. And maybe we can invite Ruben and Lars to join us?”

“I’m sure they’d love that, especially Rube. He seems very fond of you.”

“And I’m fond of him too. He’s like a big, gentle bear.”

“I think a bear might be a little smarter.”

“Don’t be mean… though I think you might be right,” she added with a chuckle.

“Why don’t we relax for a while before heading home,” I suggested. “We could sit down over by the cave entrance, and I could make a fire.”

“I’d like that.”

Together, we gathered some firewood and kindling and made a pile. Then I found a rock against which I struck the flint I had brought from home, and in no time, we had a roaring blaze going. Except for the bright fire, it was quite dark out now. We sat next to each other, close together, and I took her hand. She looked up at me then, and we just stared into each other’s eyes. My pulse quickened, and before I knew it, I removed my hand from hers, placed both of my hands on the sides of her face as I leaned toward her, and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. She closed her eyes as I did so.

“I really like you, Arie. I can’t stop thinking about you,” I said, almost breathlessly. The feelings stirring inside were so strange and exciting to me—like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

“Shhh,” she said as she leaned her face up, and we kissed again—much longer this time. Our arms found their way around each other in a tight embrace.

I don’t know how long this lasted, but I was in ecstasy, and my heart was beating furiously now. After a while, we broke apart, both of us seeming to pant a little.

“I really like you too, Kilian, but I think we should say goodnight now,” she said softly.

“Let me walk you home at least.”

“Alright, but then it’s goodnight.”

I went into the trees and found a long stick to stir the fire with and separate the flaming branches so that it would burn itself out quickly. We decided to leave our kolfs and balls and the trowel behind a tree and agreed to meet here again at 10 o’clock after we had both done our early morning chores.

As we walked along to her farm, very close together, I put my hand around her thin waist, and she grasped mine as well. A halfmoon had arisen, which gave us some light to navigate by, and soon we were at her farm. At the door to her house, she turned to me, stood on her toes, and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. “Goodnight now, Kilian. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and before I knew it, she was inside, and I was left standing there at the closed door.

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother

Chapter 12
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 10

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the story so far: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian has invented a new game in which he hits a ball with a “kolf” which is Dutch for “club.” He plays this game, which he calls “kolf,” with his friends, Lard and Rube—fellow shepherds like him. He teaches Arie the game and together the four of them devise new ways to play it including putting the balls into holes on greens that the sheep have grazed smooth. They create different kolfs for different shots, and make wooden balls.

Kilian and Arie take a real fancy to each other, and Arie introduces him to her parents who also like him instantly.

As the game of kolf advances, with Arie’s introduction of holing (putting), so too does the relationship between Kilian and Arie as they share their first real kiss.

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

It was another beautiful morning—not overly warm yet—and the sun was shining brightly through a clear sky with few clouds. I got to the cave first this morning, and after tidying up the area a bit by gathering together the remnants of the wood that comprised our fire last night into a pile again, I retrieved the kolfs, balls, and the trowel that we had secreted behind the tree. When I came out of the trees again, Arie was there.

We spent the rest of the morning laying out and playing new holes through the meadows, trying to stay mostly in the areas where the sheep had grazed because the grass was shorter there. We didn’t want to risk losing one of our balls, that took so long to make, in the long grass and weeds, so we made every effort to stay away from those areas.

We began to build some variety into the holes we made by aiming them around trees, running them close to creeks, and placing the greens on top of high ground; however, this presented a new problem.

Standing atop one hill, I said to Arie, “If we place the green up here, look how difficult the shot to the green becomes. The hill up to the top has a lot of weedy grass and crags in it, as well as some whins. It’s not smooth at all. If you’re down at the bottom of the hill, you won’t be able to run the ball up; you need to lift it up high and over this stuff. But we don’t have a kolf capable of doing that. I think we need to make one for just such occasions as this, and I think I know how to do it. Do you remember when your pa said that the extra angle on your kolf would make the ball fly higher?”

“Yes! So, we make one with much more of a slant to it to hit the ball high. That’s brilliant, Kilian.”

“So, you figured it out too!  Why don’t we finish up by playing back to the green by the cave, and then we can find a good branch in the trees behind it?”

“Oh, this is so exciting coming up with all these ideas with you. I love this game! I love—”

Then she stopped and looked down.

“What? What were you about to say?”

She was blushing. “Nothing. Let’s just play back to the green by the cave,” she said, changing the subject. Then she turned and ran back down the hill.

I just stood there, watching her. I had a feeling about what she was going to say. I’m not exactly sure what “love” is when it comes to boys and girls, but if it’s the exciting feeling I get when I’m around her and the constant thinking about her when we are apart, then I certainly love her. And it’s not just the way she looks, which I find adorable, but the way she laughs, and makes jokes, and sticks her tongue out at me, and is so kind to Rube, and how she always wants to go first because she likes to—all of those things. Plus, she loves to play kolf. I just love everything about her.

“You hit from up there, Kilian, and I’ll hit from down here,” she called to me.

“Alright,” I shouted back as she was still walking forward. She turned then and watched me hit a beauty. It seemed to soar forever, sailing down that hill, and landed almost 200 paces away.

“Awesome shot!” I heard her cry. When I got down to the bottom of the hill and started forward to catch up to her, she turned and said, “Here?”

“You could move up a little bit more if you want.” We had been negotiating the shorter routes to the holes that she would take all morning.

“How about here?”

“That looks fine. Go ahead and smash it.”

As I walked up, I watched her take the kolf back slowly, but when she got to the top of the swing, she put everything into the shot, and it sailed a good 140 paces in the air and rolled another 20. She was improving rapidly. Like Rube, I was amazed at how such “a wee thing” could hit it so far. She was gifted at this. But her biggest strength came at holing the ball when on the greens. She had a fine touch and seemed to be able to judge slopes and their effect on the roll of the ball very well. She needed that ability at the end, as she holed one from six paces away to win the last hole by a stroke.

“Five strokes. I won!”

I was already laying five and not in the hole yet, so I just picked up my ball and congratulated her. “You’re getting so good now, Arie.”

“Thank you. I like to win the holes.”

I chuckled at that. I love the way she speaks her mind—just says whatever she’s thinking. We walked back to the cave then, put our kolfs and balls down behind the same tree, and started searching for a suitable branch to make our new angled-face kolf with.

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Dhr Papin: Arie's father, Mr. Papin (Fredrik) Mevr Papin: Arie's mother, Mrs. Papin

Chapter 13
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 11

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the story so far: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian has invented a new game in which he hits a ball with a “kolf” which is Dutch for “club.” He plays this game, which he calls “kolf,” with his friends, Lard and Rube—fellow shepherds like him. He teaches Arie the game and together the four of them devise new ways to play it including putting the balls into holes on greens that the sheep have grazed smooth. They create different clubs (kolfs) for different shots, and make wooden balls.

Kilian and Arie take a real fancy to each other, and Arie introduces him to her parents who also like him instantly. They continue to develop the game by creating more interesting holes to play and new clubs like the equivalent of today’s pitching wedge. Their romance also grows with the game.

 

 

Chapter 11

 

When I got back, after checking my sheep, I went to find Lard and Rube. I showed them the new angle-faced kolf Arie and I had made as well as the holing kolf I had completed yesterday to hit the ball into the hole. On the subject of holes, I showed them how Arie and I had dug them. I had borrowed her trowel for this purpose. I also explained the new words we had come up with for everything. Rube got very confused by the fact that we would call the entire area, from the point where we started to the green where the hole was, a “hole,” but Lard had no trouble with that.

Both of them tried out the new kolfs, using wooden balls that they had been working on this morning. Lard was especially intrigued by the angle-faced kolf, which he named a “lifter.” We were all amazed at how high it could lift a ball into the air—much higher than our more straight-faced kolfs, but not nearly as far, though. All the distance seemed to be more up and down than forward.

We also tried out a few softly-hit shots with it, which still attained some height to them. They would be perfect for short shots to the green, which would need the ball to carry over rocks or a creek or some such hazard in front of the green and not roll too far by the flag stick and off the back. Lard took an immediate liking to this kind of shot.

Rube, on the other hand, liked to smash everything and didn’t seem to have the touch to hit these short shots. Now that we were naming everything, he suggested calling his long, straight-faced kolf a “smasher.”

I enjoyed hitting all of the different shots, but my favorite types were those that would land on the green from a distance. I had the ability to judge how hard to hit these shots, and I possessed the accuracy to hit them fairly near to the flag stick. I had carved a little bit more lift into my smasher to make it more like Arie’s. This enabled me to get more height on my shots and thus make the balls able to land on the greens without rolling too far and off the back of them. I called this kolf a “middler” because the angle I had built into it was midway between the almost straight face of the smasher and the extreme angle of the lifter. Thus, we had named three of the four kolfs. I suggested that we let Arie name the other one because she had invented it and was quite proficient at using it.

We took a break from practicing after a while and sat down in the shade of a tree. It was starting to get warm now, and we were all sweating. “Hey guys, Arie and I are going to play some holes again this evening. Do you want to join us? She’s looking forward to another game with you.”

Rube’s face lit up. “I’ll play. I like Miss Arie.”

I looked at Lard. “Sure, I’ll play too,” he said. “Where have you been playing?”

“We laid out several holes that start down by that cave I told you about—over there in the direction of her farm,” I said as I pointed to the east. “Why don’t we meet here after the evening meal, and we can all walk or run down there together. We’ll meet her at the cave.”

“Oh boy,” say Rube. “I’m going to show her the new ball I been makin’.” He pulled it out then and started whittling it some more, making it as smooth and round as he could. He would also scrape it on a sandy patch of ground he had found to further smooth it.

“Kilian, how about another readin’ and writin’ lesson now?” asked Lard.

He seemed to be taking this very seriously and was even practicing at home I could tell. Today I had brought a scroll from home that my ma had made. It was a simple story about a shepherd boy tending his sheep, who made up a fib about a wolf attacking the sheep. We got busy with it as Rube stretched out for a snooze.

 

 

 

We met up after the evening meal and jogged down to the cave together with our kolfs and balls. Arie was there already.

“Ruben, Lars! I was hoping Kilian would bring you this evening.”

Rube’s face lit up when he saw her. “Hullo, Miss Arie. Look what I made,” he said as he removed his ball from a pocket and handed it to her.

“Ruben! This is magnificent. How did you get it so smooth?”

“I done rubbed it in the sand, over and over. Then I rubbed mutton tallow all over it. Ain’t it a beauty?”

“Indeed, it is. Shall we go start a game now? Kilian and I have laid out some new holes with greens. He did tell you about the holes and flag sticks and the greens, didn’t he?”

“I told them all about it,” I said. “We’ve already dug a few ourselves and played them this afternoon.”

“Splendid. Then let’s go over to that green over there and play the first hole.” She led the way. When we arrived at the green, Arie demonstrated to Lard and Rube the method she had developed for stroking these short shots to the hole, explaining how you had to consider the slope of the green to determine where to aim.

“Arie,” I said, “since we’ve named the other kolfs already, we think you should choose the name for your new kolf, since you invented it.

She thought for a second. “How about “Gertrude?” she said.

Lars and I cracked up at that, and Arie laughed too at her joke. She had pulled this on me before, so I knew she was kidding around. Rube, however, didn’t see anything funny about it and said, “Me thinks Gertrude be a fine name, Miss Arie. Why does everyone laugh?”

“I don’t know, Ruben, but perhaps something else would be better after all. How about a ‘holer’ instead?”

We all agreed that made perfect sense. As we only had two holers among the four of us at present, we would need to share them today.

“Why don’t you boys hit first to that green way over by those elm trees?” she proposed then.

Eager to try out his new, perfectly smooth ball, Rube went first. He took a huge swing at it. It made a loud CRACK and flew up nicely, but then seemed to dive down suddenly and only landed perhaps 60 paces away. We all watched this in astonishment. With the way it had started out, it seemed like it should have soared a long way. We were all very puzzled by this. Rube hung his head and muttered, “I must not a made it too good.”

Arie was quick to reassure him. “I’m sure you made it just fine, Ruben. That was only a fluke. You’ll see.”

Lard and I both hit good shots, and we headed toward Rube’s ball where Arie said she would hit from. I explained to the others that Arie needed to play a shorter hole to be able to compete with us. Neither Lard nor, of course, Rube had any objection to that.

Rube set up to his new ball and swung again, even harder this time. Once again, the ball flew off smartly but dived down all of a sudden and only traveled perhaps 70 yards this time. Rube normally could hit a ball three times this distance. We were all dumbfounded. To add insult to injury, Arie proceeded to knock her ball twice as far as Rube’s with a good strike. Rube hung his head in shame.

She reached up and patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, Ruben. We’ll figure this out. Let me try hitting your next shot and see if it happens to me too.” When we got to his second shot, Arie took a swing at it and, sure enough, it started out well but dove down and ended up only 40 paces away.

“That’s interesting,” I said. “I’ll bet it has to do with the smoothness of his new ball. That’s the only difference I can see between his and the rest of our balls. Rube, why don’t you try taking the shine off and scuffing it up some and see if that has any effect?”

“Okay, Kilian.” He ran forward, picked up his ball, and returned with it, huffing a little from the run. We all took a turn roughing it up by scraping it with knives and jagged stones and rubbing it in the dirt until it was quite ratty-looking.

“My beautiful ball looks all ruined now,” he lamented, turning it over and over in his big hands.

“I know you worked very hard on that, Ruben, but if it goes farther now, isn’t that the most important thing?”

“I s’pose you’re right, Miss Arie.” He placed the ball on the ground then, took his stance, and whaled away at it once again. As before, it took off like a shot, but this time, it hung in the sky forever and gently fell to the earth some 230 paces away and rolled a few more. Rube’s face lit up. “I guess that was it alright.”

“See, Ruben? You taught us something interesting. A smooth ball does not fly very far. * (see note) We must make sure to roughen them up when we make new ones. This lesson might come in handy someday. You never know.”

Rube was over the moon, and for the rest of the evening, he outhit all of us by at least 40 paces. As well as he hit the long shots, though, he had no feel for the short ones and consistently hit these short shots, including the ones on the greens, way too hard. All of us were able to beat his scores for the holes for this reason. But he didn’t care. He just exulted in smashing the ball with his smasher as often as he could. That was his chief delight in the game.

Arie was one of us now. Lard and especially Rube were very fond of her, and she added just the right touch of seriousness and silliness to the game to make it so much fun for all of us to play together. Whenever she hit a bad shot, she just laughed about it. We played all of the holes she and I had created yesterday, and we laid out two others as well. The three of us boys vowed to keep the greens short by continually grazing our sheep in these areas.

When we were all done for the day, Lard and Rube left us, and Arie and I made plans to play together again in the morning. I walked her home and we kissed goodbye at her door.

 

Author Notes

* Note: Due to aerodynamics, a smooth ball will behave exactly as Rube's ball did, diving down and going a much shorter distance. This is the reason why today's golf balls are dimpled. kolf: a club in ancient Dutch. It is also used as the name of the game that uses it. kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing or golfing CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother

Chapter 14
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 12

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the story so far: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian has invented a new game in which he hits a ball with a “kolf” which is Dutch for “club.” He plays this game, which he calls “kolf,” with his friends, Lard and Rube—fellow shepherds like him. He teaches Arie the game and together the four of them devise new ways to play it including putting the balls into holes on greens that the sheep have grazed smooth. They create different clubs (kolfs) for different shots, and make wooden balls.

Kilian and Arie take a real fancy to each other, and Arie introduces him to her parents who also like him instantly. They continue to develop the game by creating more interesting holes to play and new clubs like the equivalent of today’s pitching wedge. Their romance also grows with the game.

Names are created for the different aspects of the game including each of the four kolfs (clubs). Kilian introduces Lard and Rube to the short game. They begin making more kolfs and balls, and learn an interesting fact about smooth balls (they don’t fly very far.) Arie joins the group, and they all become fast friends.

 

 

Chapter 12

 

Over the next couple of months, the four of us played together often. I now carried four different kolfs whenever I played, as did Lard. Rube only carried his smasher, which he used for every type of shot, even holing the ball on the greens. Arie carried three. The longest kolf she used was a combination smasher and middler (which she called a shmiddler.) Each of us has a specialty that we excel in. For Rube, it is obviously smashing. I am the best at middling, Lard at lifting, and Arie at holing.

One day, just for fun, I proposed that we combine our efforts for a single score. Each of us would hit the shots we are best at, using only one ball for the four of us. Rube would hit the initial shot with his smasher, then I would hit the next one with the middler, Lard would hit any lifter shots needed, and Arie would hole everything. Rather than competing against each other, we were simply trying to make the best total score we could for the entire set of holes. (We had 12 that we played regularly.) We would do this occasionally and try to beat our best team score for these holes.

This gave me an idea that I voiced to the group. “Wouldn’t it be fun if we could compete against another team of players in this fashion and come up with the best total score for all the holes?”

“But do you know of anyone else besides us who plays this game?” asked Arie. “We invented it, didn’t we?”

“Well, we’ll just have to teach more people to play then,” said Lard.

“I know how we can do that,” said Arie. “In a fortnight, there’s going to be a town fair in Amsterdam. My ma told me about it. My family was planning to go because there is great entertainment and food there, and lots and lots of people attend. There will be games and magic shows and jugglers and all kinds of fun things to do. Maybe we could go and teach people our new game and rouse some interest in it.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Arie,” said Lard. “I’m sure other people will love this new game. We could explain how to make the kolfs and balls and show them how to swing at them.”

“And I could smash some balls to show ‘em,” put in Rube.

“Then we could play a few holes and show them the whole game!” said Arie.

I said, “Hold on, group. I hate to crush a stink bug in our midst, but there’s a problem with that. There aren’t any holes to play there in Amsterdam.”

That sobered everyone for a while until Arie said, “Then we’ll just have to make a few first. I’ve been thinking. My Oom Gerrit owns a farm just a few minutes outside of Amsterdam. I’m sure he would let us put a few holes on his land. He might even provide a hay wagon to carry folk from the fair to his farm, where we could demonstrate the game. Kilian, why don’t you and I talk to Pa about this and see what he thinks? Oom Gerrit is his brother.”

 

 

Rather than go straight back to my sheep, I walked Arie home so that we could both propose this idea to her papa. We spotted him just coming out of the house when we walked into the yard. He waved to us.

“Papa! Papa! We have a wonderful idea to ask you about!” cried Arie.

“Let me guess. You want to marry?”

Arie and I looked at each other in surprise. “No!” she said. “Well, maybe someday,” she clarified. I smiled at this reply.

“What I wanted to tell you is that we plan to show people our new game of kolf at the Amsterdam Fair in a fortnight. We need more people to learn to play so that we can have a competition with them.”

“But how will you show people how to play if there are no, what did you call them—holes—to play?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you, Papa. Perhaps Oom Gerrit will let us make a few holes on his land. What do you think?”

“Hello, Kilian. Nice to see you again, by the way. Haven’t seen you in ages. Hmm, yesterday, wasn’t it?”

I laughed. “Good afternoon, Dhr Papin. Nice to see you again too, at long last.”

“So, what do you think, Papa?” persisted Arie.

“I think we should take a trip there, and you can ask him yourself.”

“Can Kilian come too?”

“Of course. Can you spare a few hours this afternoon, Kilian? It’s about an hour or so each way by cart to Gerrit’s farm.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Then, Arie, why don’t you go pack us a basket of food that we can eat along the way and tell Mama what we’re doing, and Kilian and I will hitch the horse to the cart. As soon as you’re done, we’ll set off for Gerrit’s.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

As Dhr Papin and I walked to the barn to fetch the horse and cart, he put his arm around my shoulder and said, “Listen, Kilian, I didn’t mean to speak out of turn when I made that crack about marrying. I don’t know what your intention is, and I’m sorry if I embarrassed you with that.”

“We haven’t talked about that yet, but I have most definitely had those thoughts. Would I have your blessing if I were to ask her?”

“You are a grand lad, Kilian, and I believe you would make a fine husband for my daughter. Mevr Papin and I have both grown very fond of you over the past couple of months. You would certainly have our blessing.”

“That is awfully good to know, sir, and I thank you. When the time seems right, I will ask Arie for her hand in marriage. I love her very much, sir.”

“I know you do. It is rather obvious that you two love each other. You and kolf are all that she talks about these days. I am happy for you both. Now, I am still waiting for you to teach me this game. Perhaps you and Arie could show my brother Gerrit and me what it is all about later on.”

“We’d be happy to.”

We hitched up the horse then, and Arie joined us with a big basket, which we loaded onto the cart. Her papa sat on a seat in the front and steered the horse, while Arie and I sat in the back of the cart and dished out the food. After eating, we began discussing our ideas for the fair with her papa.

 

Author Notes

kolf: a club in ancient Dutch. It is also used as the name of the game that uses it. kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing or golfing Dhr: Dutch for Mr. (Abbreviation for Meneer) Mevr: Dutch for Mrs. (Abbreviation for Mevrouw) Oom: Dutch for Uncle CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 15
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 13

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the story so far: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian has invented a new game in which he hits a ball with a “kolf” which is Dutch for “club.” He plays this game, which he calls “kolf,” with his friends, Lard and Rube—fellow shepherds like him. He teaches Arie the game and together the four of them devise new ways to play it including putting the balls into holes on greens that the sheep have grazed smooth. They create different clubs (kolfs) for different shots, and make wooden balls.

Kilian and Arie take a real fancy to each other, and Arie introduces him to her parents who also like him instantly. They continue to develop the game by creating more interesting holes to play and new clubs like the equivalent of today’s pitching wedge. Their romance also grows with the game.

Names are created for the different aspects of the game including each of the four kolfs (clubs). Kilian introduces Lard and Rube to the short game. They begin making more kolfs and balls, and learn an interesting fact about smooth balls (they don’t fly very far.) Arie joins the group, and they all become fast friends. As they improve in the game, and each ones has their own special skill, they decide they would like some competition but need to spread the game to achieve it. They decide to demonstrate it at the Amsterdam fair, and Kilian and Arie ride to her uncle’s farm near Amsterdam to see if they could create some holes on his property for the demonstration.

 

 

Chapter 13

 

 

Dhr Papin drove the cart into the farmyard, and Arie and I hopped out. Her uncle must have heard us drive up because he came out of the house. When Arie saw him, she ran up and jumped into his arms with her legs wrapped around his sides in an embrace. “Oom Gerrit, it is so good to see you again.”

“It is so good to see you too, schatje. You are getting more lovely every time I see you. To what do I owe this honor?” he said as he put her down.

“We have a favor to ask of you, Oom.”

“And who is this ‘we’?”

“This is my vriend, Kilian Pauls.”

I saw Oom Gerrit look up and wink at his brother. Then he said to me, “Welcome to my home, Kilian Pauls. I can see my nicht has good taste.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Come in, come in. It is too warm out here to palaver. We must sit inside, and I will bring you some refreshment.”

The brothers embraced then. They were about the same height, but Oom Gerrit was larger through the middle than Dhr Papin—not exactly fat, but tending that way. He led us inside his house to a room with east-facing windows, so that it was shaded and cooler than the outdoors. It was a well-appointed room in a spacious house, and it was obvious he was a man of some means. Arie had told me that his wife had died three years ago, and his sons were on their own now, so Oom Gerrit lived alone in this large house.

He brought us a pitcher of mead and some sort of sweet treats on a platter, and we helped ourselves to these tasty morsels while Dhr Papin and Arie caught him up on the recent happenings in their family. When this was accomplished, he said, “Alright, Arie, what is this favor you want to ask of me?”

“Oom, Kilian here has invented a new game called kolf which he taught me to play, and I’ve been helping him refine the game into a very wonderful one. We think other people would enjoy this game as much as we do, and we want to demonstrate it at the Amsterdam Fair that is coming up.”

“It is all they talk about these days,” said Arie’s papa.

Oom Gerrit turned to face me then and said, “Tell me about this new game, Kilian.”

“Well, sir, you take a ball, and then you strike it with a kolf, and then you go after it and strike it again. Then—”

“Wait a moment,” interrupted Gerrit. “You say you had the ball? And then you struck it away, only to chase after it. And then you struck it away yet again. Hmm. Now, you had the ball. So, why would you keep striking it away?”

“Well, so you could knock it into a hole in the ground.”

He frowned, then looked at his brother with a very perplexed expression. “And this is all they talk about? This does not sound like much of a game, Fredrik.”

“Oom Gerrit!” said Arie in exasperation. “The object is not to get the ball and hang onto it, but to put it in the hole with the least number of strikes. There is great skill involved in this! We must demonstrate this to you so that you can appreciate the difficulty and the fun of it.”

“Arie, he was having Kilian on,” said her papa. “Don’t you know your oom well enough by now?”

She looked at Oom Gerrit, who was trying to keep a straight face, when both of them burst out laughing, and we all joined in. “Dear Oom, you had us going there. Well done!”

He patted Kilian on the shoulder. When his mirth had subsided, he said to Arie, “So what is this favor you ask of me then?”

“We were wondering if we could make a few greens and lay out some holes on your land. Do you have any sheep?”

“They will be playing too?”

“Oooom! Of course not.” She made a fist and punched him in the arm. “We need them to make the greens—the areas where the holes will be dug. They need to graze the grass very close so that the surface is smooth. I was also wondering if you would be willing to provide a hay wagon and horses to carry folk from the fair to your farm, where we could demonstrate how to play the game.”

“I think we could manage all of that, schatje. But first, you must show me how this game is played so that I can judge for myself if this is a worthwhile enterprise.”

“Kilian and I will be happy to demonstrate. We will even teach you to play, and Papa, too, who says he wants to learn.”

“If everyone is finished with their refreshments, let us go out and do it then.”

He led us out to a large meadow, where we could see a flock of sheep grazing some distance away. This land would be perfect for laying out two or three holes to demonstrate the game.

“Can I show them how to strike it, Kilian?”

“Of course. I expected no less. I’ll go out there and hit them back after you strike them.”

I ran about 100 paces away and stopped. I knew Arie would be able to strike the balls over my head at this distance, but that would surely impress her papa and oom. I watched her explain a few things to them, then she placed a ball down and struck a beautiful shot, which flew well over my head and landed a good twenty paces beyond me. I could hear their exclamations of wonder from this distance. She struck another with the same result. I then struck these two balls back to them, making sure to land them short and roll up to them. I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone by striking them with a ball in case they lost sight of it. After these two shots, Arie waved at me and shouted for me to come back.

“Papa and Oom want to try it now,” Arie said as I came running up.

Dhr Papin said, “Kilian, perhaps you should work with me, and Arie can work with Gerrit. She is too impatient with me and will soon get frustrated and start fussing, I fear.”

She frowned and stuck her tongue out at him, and he winked at me. “Why don’t you and I go over there a few paces, and you can show me how to do this,” he said as he put his hand on my shoulder and started leading me away.

I stopped and picked out 10 balls that we had brought, leaving Arie and Gerrit with 10 others. We had made quite a few of them in the past few months and had brought 20 with us today.

Arie and I spent half an hour with the brothers, and by the end, each had struck at least one good shot that flew in excess of 100 paces. After picking up all the balls, we returned. Oom Gerrit boasted that his best shot went farther than Fredrik’s.

“Perhaps you didn’t listen to all of Kilian’s good advice very well, Papa, and insisted on doing it your own way. That would not surprise me,” she said to him.

“Do you see what I have to put up with all the time from her, Gerrit?” he said with a grin.

Then, we began demonstrating the short lifter shots. Arie and I had developed a neat trick where I would stand about four paces directly in front of and facing her, and she would take a big swing with a lifter and pop the ball right over my head. I used to flinch at first when we tried this, but she never missed, and I had complete faith in her that she wouldn’t today. She didn’t, and the brothers were duly impressed. When this was done, we gathered up all the balls and walked back to the farmyard. Arie walked between the brothers and linked both their arms with hers, while I carried the equipment back. It was obvious they both adored her very much, and she them.

We completed the demonstration of the game with holing. For this, we dug a hole back in the farmyard that was well-shaded by trees and was bare dirt and quite smooth. After a few tries at this, Oom Gerrit said, “Arie and Kilian, this new game is everything you promised it would be. I would be glad to honor your requests to host a demonstration of it for the fairgoers, and I would be happy to provide transportation to and from the fair as well.”

Arie jumped into his arms again and gave him a big kiss on the forehead. “Thank you so much, Oom. That is very kind of you. Do you think it would be possible for Kilian and me to come a day before the fair so that we could lay out the greens, dig the holes and make flag sticks to mark them, and get the sheep to graze the grass short?”

“Absolutely, if that is okay with Fredrik. You can bring the entire family and stay here for the night. I’ve plenty of rooms now that my boys have all left for homes of their own.”

Arie looked at her papa inquiringly. “That’s a very generous offer, Gerrit. We will take you up on it. Thank you.”

Still in his arms, Arie squealed with delight and kissed him again. “Thank you, Oom.”

“You’re welcome, schatje. He put her down then, and it was time to bid him farewell.

I thanked him for his hospitality and for being willing to host the event, and we departed soon after. All-in-all, it was a very successful afternoon, and I couldn’t wait to tell Lard and Rube all about it.

 

 

Author Notes

Dutch words kolf: a club in ancient Dutch. It is also used as the name of the game that uses it. kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing or golfing Dhr: Mr. (Abbreviation for Meneer) Mevr: Mrs. (Abbreviation for Mevrouw) Oom: Uncle schatje: sweetie vriend: boyfriend nicht: niece CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 16
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 14

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the story so far: The year is 2032, and young Kevin Parsons, living in Santa Barbara, CA, has invited his two good friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski, for breakfast and a round of golf afterwards. Over breakfast, the three engineers lament the sorry state of golf courses in not only California but in the rest of the country, as presumably non-golfing environmentalists are destroying the game, without specifically banning it, by destroying its field of play.

They go to the golf course, which is in terrible shape due to the lack of water and other restrictions, and meet Art Calvin, a retired golf course architect who actually designed the course they are playing. He joins the boys, and they begin their round. When they reach the 7th hole, Kevin hooks his tee shot out-of-bounds. He can see it resting on the other side of an old railroad trestle. The chapter ends as he walks beneath the trestle to go retrieve his ball.

The railroad trestle is a time portal, and all of a sudden, we are in 13th-century Holland. Kilian Pauls, a 14-year-old boy, is running out of the woods and through the fields, being chased by two big boys shouting curses at him. He hears a voice calling to him and makes for it. It is a redheaded young girl who beckons him into the entrance to a cave to hide. It appears as though they have vanished, and the followers cannot find Kilian and give up the hunt. Kilian has just met a cute young girl named Arie Papin, and the two are instantly attracted to each other. She leaves for home soon after, and Kilian starts back to his hill, where he tends sheep.

Kilian has invented a new game in which he hits a ball with a “kolf” which is Dutch for “club.” He plays this game, which he calls “kolf,” with his friends, Lard and Rube—fellow shepherds like him. He teaches Arie the game and together the four of them devise new ways to play it including putting the balls into holes on greens that the sheep have grazed smooth. They create different clubs (kolfs) for different shots, and make wooden balls.

Kilian and Arie take a real fancy to each other, and Arie introduces him to her parents who also like him instantly. As the romance continues to grow, they continue to develop the game, creating names for the different aspects of the game including each of the four kolfs (clubs).

As they improve in the game, and each one develops his or her own special skill, they decide they would like some competition but need to spread the game to achieve it. They decide to demonstrate it at the Amsterdam Fair, and Kilian and Arie ride to her uncle’s farm near Amsterdam to see if they could create some holes on his property for the demonstration. Oom (Uncle) Gerrit welcomes them, and they show him the game, giving him and Arie’s papa a chance to try it themselves. Oom Gerrit is very agreeable to her request to create holes on his land and to provide transportation for the fairgoers.

 

 

Chapter 14

 

 

The days preceding the fair were days of great industry for the four of us. I should really say the five of us, but I will get to that in a moment. We discussed many ideas about how to introduce this game at the fair and decided that we would need to advertise it, demonstrate it to the fairgoers, and let them try it out. We met for several hours each morning and evening at Arie’s farm, where we each performed our assigned tasks.

Eager to show off his new reading and writing skills, which he had mastered quite well with continued lessons during the summer months, Lard volunteered to make a sign. He used a large sheet of parchment supplied by Mevr Papin as well as a stick of charcoal to make the large letters. It advertised the new game and invited the fairgoers to a demonstration. This is what the sign said:

 

 

KOLF

A NEW GAME OF SKILL
AND GREAT FUN!
COME WATCH A DEMONSTRATION
AND TRY IT YOURSELF
AT THE FARM OF GERRIT PAPIN.
RIDES TO THE FARM AND BACK AT

10 O’CLOCK
1 O’CLOCK
4 O’CLOCK

 

 

Marveling at the new sign, Arie said, “Lars, that is a wonderful sign! You learned well and must have practiced a great deal to have done such beautiful work.”

“Thank you, Arie. It was Kilian as taught me. I couldn’t have succeeded without his help.”

She smiled at me then with a hint of admiration.

Lotte Papin, who was 12 years old and very pretty like her older sister, was quite adept at drawing. We decided to have her make sketches of the different stages of the kolf swing for the interested fairgoers to take with them after seeing the demonstration. They would serve as good reminders of the proper way to swing a kolf. The aim of all our efforts was to quickly popularize the game in order to create some competition, so we did what we could to help people catch on quickly.

She sketched me in various positions, including the initial setup to the ball, the top of the swing going back, and the moment of striking the ball. Her pictures were amazingly accurate. Once she had drawn the initial set, she copied them again by hand many more times.

Working so closely on his sign next to Lotte, Lard grew quite fond of her, and the two of them talked and laughed continually as they worked.

Arie, Rube, and I, as well as Lars, when he finished the sign, spent our time making balls and kolfs. We planned to give the fairgoers who rode out to Oom Gerrit’s farm a chance to try striking balls themselves. We also figured we would sell both the equipment and the pictures to make some money for our efforts.

 

 

The eve of the fair was here before we knew it. It had been a frantic fortnight with all the preparations, but we felt ready to demonstrate our new game to, hopefully, an appreciative audience. All that was left to do was to create the actual holes that we would play, which entailed herding sheep and goats around to the green sites to graze the grass short, dig the holes, and insert flag sticks into them.

It was tiring work herding the sheep and goats, but in the end, it was done, and we sat down that evening to a very enjoyable meal of chicken stew with dumplings, fresh vegetables, loaves of bread, various cheeses, and plenty of mead to drink. Stuffed and happy, we went to bed early, looking forward to a great day tomorrow and the first step in spreading the game to our countrymen.

 

 

The day of the Amsterdam Fair dawned clear and bright. We all rose early, had a quick meal of bread and sausages, packed up the cart and wagon we would be taking to the fair, and headed out.

The Amsterdam Fair is a grand event held annually and is well attended by all classes of people. There are many folk who have prepared food and crafts for sale, and there are sporting competitions of all kinds, such as running races, archery contests, and hammer-throw contests. For the children, there are sack races and games of Knucklebones and Hazard.

We set up in an area with a large field behind it, where we would be able to demonstrate how to hit a ball with a kolf. The real demonstration of the game would take place at Oom Papin’s farm. Lard placed his sign in a conspicuous location, and it soon attracted a number of interested onlookers. We decided that Arie and I would be the ones to demonstrate and explain the swing at the start, while Lard and Rube would fetch the balls out in the field and hit them back to us. A surprising number of women and girls attended this demonstration, most likely because a girl was one of the demonstrators.

There was a flat, bare area near where we were set up that was relatively free of grass, and we decided to dig a hole there to demonstrate holing the ball. Following that, Arie and I did our trick with the lifter kolf, in which I stood a mere four paces in front of and facing her, and she would lift a ball right over my head. There were many bawdy cracks from the men present about the wisdom of this, along with encouragement to protect myself, and many flinched in horror when the balls were first struck. Arie never came close to missing one, and they all sailed harmlessly over my head, although one ruffled my hair.

We then had Rube demonstrate his massive swing and how far he could hit a ball, and that really awed the crowd. The spectators could hardly wait for the 10 o’clock ride to the farm, where they could watch the game played in earnest and have a hand at it themselves.

 

 

Author Notes

Dutch words kolf: a club in ancient Dutch. It is also used as the name of the game that uses it. kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing or golfing Dhr: Mr. (Abbreviation for Meneer) Mevr: Mrs. (Abbreviation for Mevrouw) Oom: Uncle Tante: Aunt schatje: sweetie vriend: boyfriend nicht: niece CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 17
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 15

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  As they improve in the game, and each of the four friends develops his or her own special skill, they decide they would like some competition but need to spread the game to achieve it. They decide to demonstrate it at the Amsterdam Fair, and Kilian and Arie ride to her uncle’s farm near Amsterdam to see if they could create some holes on his property for the demonstration. Oom (Uncle) Gerrit welcomes them, and they show him the game, giving him and Arie’s papa a chance to try it themselves. Oom Gerrit is very agreeable to her request to create holes on his land and to provide transportation for the fairgoers.

In preparation for the fair, they make many clubs and balls to sell, and Lotte draws pictures of the swing. They lay out the three demonstration holes, and it’s time for the fair. They put on a very successful demonstration of many shots at the fairgrounds. Now it is time for a demonstration of the game itself out at Oom Gerrit’s farm.

 

 

Chapter 15

 

A couple of young men asked Arie for another demonstration of how she hit a ball. When she first explained how to hold the kolf in her hands, one of them made a rude remark to her about holding his kolf anytime. She didn’t quite get it I could tell, but I did, and I didn’t like it at all. I decided to keep my eyes on these fellows. I watched them watch her begin to hit shots, and they weren’t watching the shots at all but kept their eyes glued to her the whole time. I hated those leering faces and the way they whispered and snickered to themselves.

When 10 o’clock came around, it was time to head to the farm for the first game demonstration. There was a sizable enough crowd who wanted to see it and participate that we needed both the cart and the hay wagon we had brought for transporting people to the farm.

We split up, and Arie and I rode on the smaller cart that her pa had provided, while Lard, Lotte, and Rube rode on the wagon. This way, we could talk to all the folks about the game and what we would be demonstrating as we rode to the farm. It was about a 15-minute ride. The two potential troublemakers rode on our cart as well, but seemed to behave themselves with other people nearby.

I said to those on the cart, “We’re going to play three complete holes that we have laid out previously to show you how it’s done. When we have finished playing the holes, we will give you a chance to hit some balls.

Arie then asked the folks, “Will anyone want to try it?” to which there was a rousing chorus of “Yes!”

We smiled at each other, acknowledging how well this was going. We arrived shortly, and we all made our way over to the hitting area for our opening shots. We pointed out the direction of the first green in the distance, and the four of us hit our shots to begin play.

When we got to the green, we demonstrated holing to the crowd. Arie dazzled them by holing her ball from 12 paces. She beamed because her score for the hole beat both Lard and Rube’s and was tied with mine. The crowd went wild with praise to see this wee young girl playing equal to and even better than the older and much larger boys.

At the next hole, as we were preparing to strike our shots, I overheard one of those two scoundrels say quietly to the other, “I’d like to put it in her hole.”

She had no reaction, so I didn’t think she heard that, but Dhr Papin heard it and went over to stand by the young men.

The next hole was a short one that we were all capable of reaching with our middler kolfs, which we proceeded to do. As we were walking to the green, Arie said to me softly, “Kilian, do you see those two young men over there to our right? I don’t like the way they are looking at me nor some of the remarks I’ve heard them make.”

“Yes, I noticed them back at the fair when they were watching you hit your smasher. Your father is keeping an eye on them. Don’t worry about those two, and just concentrate on kolven right now. We’ll deal with them later if they persist.”

“Alright.”

Lard had missed the green with his shot and was at the bottom of a steep hill, which gave him a perfect chance to use his lifter. He struck a beautiful high shot, which landed softly on the green and rolled up to one pace from the hole—an impressive shot. The crowd cheered, and Lotte, who was following Lard, raised her fingers to her lips and let out a loud whistle. We all ended up tying this hole with three strokes and then smashed our next ones for the last of the three holes.

Rube had reared back and smashed his ball with all of his might, which really awed the crowd. They applauded wildly and shouted words of praise at him as they watched his ball soar and land well ahead of the rest of ours. He grinned from ear to ear, as he had never had anyone praise him the way these folks did in all of his life.

“Beautifully done, Ruben,” said Arie. “Everyone is going to want to smash them like you just did.”

“Thank you, Miss Arie. I whaled on that one, I did.”

“Yes, you did.” She grabbed his big hand in her little one, and they walked together hand-in-hand all the way to Arie’s ball.

I couldn’t help but smile at the contrast between them and at how wonderful their relationship was. I grinned at Lard as he grinned back, watching those two together.

When we finished playing this hole, I shouted to the crowd, “We hope everyone enjoyed this demonstration of the game of kolf. If you would like to try it yourself, please follow us over to the practicing place. We have plenty of kolfs and balls for you to use.”

Arie shouted out, “We will gladly help you if you would like us to.”

Oom Gerrit and Dhr Papin walked a ways out in the field to knock the balls back after the would-be kolfers struck them. Everyone who wanted to got a chance to hit a few balls as the four of us players helped instruct them.

Without Dhr Papin watching over them, one of the two troublemakers shouted, “How about you come over here and show us how you stroke our balls, little Red?”

I started walking over to them, but Arie stopped me. “I can handle this, Kilian. You just keep your eye on us, though.”

I walked over to Rube then. “Hey, Rube, help me keep an eye on those two over there with Arie, would’ja? I don’t like the look of them.”

“They wouldn’t hurt Miss Arie, would they?”

“She says she can handle them, but I don’t trust ‘em.”

Rube started to walk over in their direction, but I grabbed his shirt. “Hold on, Rube. Let’s just watch for now.”

We watched them talking, and then Arie demonstrated a swing. Then we saw one of them shove a kolf between his legs with the grip end forward as he moved his hips straight forward and back rather than side-to-side while he said something to her. The other one began laughing, and I saw Arie blush, turn around, and head back in our direction. The two young men continued laughing and slapping each other on the back. Rube started forward again, but I held him back.

When Arie met us, I asked her, “What did he say to you?”

“I don’t care to repeat it, but it was very rude.”

“Well, let’s stay away from those two eikels.”

“Gladly.”

With that bit of excitement over, we all went back to helping those who were genuinely interested. When everyone who wanted to try it had a chance, I said to the group, “We have a few balls and kolfs for sale, as well as some instruction sheets with pictures of the swing to help you get started. At the fair next summer, we plan to conduct a competition, so bring a team of four players to compete.”

“And teach as many others as you can,” said Arie. “Spread the word.”

The group thanked us, and many of them looked over the wares we had for sale. A few purchased them. We set aside our demonstration equipment for use during the second and third demonstrations and would sell it to that final group. Then it was time to return to the fair.

The four of us split up again, and Arie and I waited until the two troublemakers boarded the cart before we took seats on the other one. On the way back, we discussed how to make balls and kolfs with the folks and how we went about creating holes with greens. People were very enthusiastic about all of it, and there were many questions.

Back at the fair, the four of us bid goodbye to the folks who attended and got together to discuss how it went. Lotte joined us and stood next to Lard. “I wish now we had made more balls and kolfs,” I said. “Quite a few were purchased, and they loved your pictures, Lotte. We are almost sold out of those.”

“Thank you, Kilian,” she said. “Perhaps I could draw a few more while you are putting on the second demonstration.”

“Well, only if you want to. I thought you might want to stay here with your ma and brothers and enjoy the goings-on at the fair.”

“No, I’d rather come with you.” Arie gave her a hug then, and Lard appeared delighted by this.

“We’d love to have you, and if you feel like drawing a few more pictures, they would be most welcome.”

“I will do it then.”

Rube said, “Kilian, do ya think we could get somethin’ to eat before long? I’m powerful hungry.”

“Good idea, Rube. Why don’t we meet back here at half past the noon hour to do our fair demonstration before we head back out to the farm at 1:00 o’clock?”

I passed out the money we had earned from the sales we had made, and we all headed out to purchase our noon meals from the many items being sold at the various booths.

 

Author Notes

Dutch words kolf: a club in ancient Dutch. It is also used as the name of the game that uses it. kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing or golfing Dhr: Mr. (Abbreviation for Meneer) Mevr: Mrs. (Abbreviation for Mevrouw) Oom: Uncle Tante: Aunt schatje: sweetie vriend: boyfriend nicht: niece eikels: jerks CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 18
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 16

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  As they improve in the game, and each one develops his or her own special skill, they decide they would like some competition but need to spread the game to achieve it. They decide to demonstrate it at the Amsterdam Fair, and Kilian and Arie ride to her uncle’s farm near Amsterdam to see if they could create some holes on his property for the demonstration. Oom (Uncle) Gerrit welcomes them, and they show him the game, giving him and Arie’s papa a chance to try it themselves. Oom Gerrit is very agreeable to her request to create holes on his land and to provide transportation for the fairgoers.

In preparation for the fair, they make many clubs and balls to sell, and Lotte draws pictures of the swing. They lay out the three demonstration holes, and it’s time for the fair. They put on a very successful demonstration of many shots at the fairgrounds. Now it is time for a demonstration of the game itself out at Oom Gerrit’s farm. This demonstration likewise goes well, although Arie is accosted by rude remarks of a sexual nature from two young men.

 

 

Chapter 16

 

 

The other two demonstrations went as well as the first and were even better attended. Word must have been getting out about this new game. We sold all of the equipment we had brought, with the exception of our personal kolfs and a few balls, as well as all of Lotte’s pictures. She had continued to draw but could not keep up with the pace at which they were being sold. She pocketed quite a few coins for her work.

To everyone, we announced that we would hold a competition at next year’s fair and that they should bring a team of four if they wished to compete. This news was well received by many.

When we arrived back at the fair after the last demonstration, we met up with the Papin family and decided to have a meal together. Oom Gerrit generously paid for all of the food and drink we shared. We sat at a large table beneath a tent with a hundred other people. The mood was festive, as we celebrated the success of the demonstrations. Except for the youngest boys, we consumed much beer, although their parents placed a limit on the amount Arie and Lotte could have.

We sat for a long time, enjoying the mood. Mealtime was winding down, and there was no need to vacate the table for other patrons as it was no longer crowded in the dining area. Already, we began making plans for next year’s fair and vowed to make lots of kolfs and balls for sale, as this had proved to be very profitable.

The beer continued to flow, which required occasional trips to the huts set up for relief during the fair. At one point, Arie and Lotte left together. While they were gone, a roving juggler performed his act inside the tent, and we watched in awe at his ability. We gave him five of our kolf balls to juggle, and he had no problem keeping them in the air. Arie’s little brothers were especially intrigued by this.

A few minutes later, when the juggler had left and Lard was in the middle of telling a joke, Lotte came running up by herself, shouting, “Papa, Arie’s in trouble! She’s being carried off by two men!”

All of the men and boys at the table were up in an instant. “Take us to where you saw her last, Lotte,” I gasped.

She turned back around and said, “This way!” as she headed out of the tent with all of us following. We ran for a minute when I heard in a faint, strangled voice, “Papa, Help, Pa—“ and we turned and headed in the direction of the sound. Near the very back of the fairgrounds, we heard a muffled scream and much commotion as we rounded a corner between two tents, and there at the back of the narrow alley near a fence was Arie, struggling with the two blackguards who had given her such grief earlier in the day.

She was down on the ground with her tunic pulled up to her waist and appeared to be gagged with a cloth. I could hear her squealing while one of the young men held her down with a knife to her neck. The other was next to them and in the act of removing his breeches.

I came flying down the alley and hurled myself at the fellow holding Arie down. He was so surprised by this sudden attack that he just had time to raise his knife from Arie’s throat and point it toward me, but with my hand out in front of my body, I was able to bat his arm out of the way as I crashed into him and began pummeling him in the face. He tried slashing me with the knife still in his hand and succeeded with a minor stick to my side, but Lard, who was right behind me, grabbed his hand and wrenched it loose, then joined me in pummeling him into unconsciousness.

 Meanwhile, Rube had gone for the other one, and it took only one massive blow from his large fist to similarly knock him unconscious. I did not actually see this, as I was busy with my man, but I was told this later by Dhr Papin, who was right behind him.

I removed the gag from Arie’s mouth and helped her up from the ground. She buried her face in my chest as I wrapped my arms around her.

Sobbing pitifully, she tried to speak. “Kilian, I… I… couldn’t—"

“Shhh,” I said as I embraced her more tightly and rubbed her back. “You can tell us about it later.”

She continued to sob, and choke a little, and we stood there for some time while I kept comforting her as best I could with whispered, soothing words. After a couple of minutes, when she’d gained some degree of composure, we headed out of the alley and back to the tent where we had been dining. We left the two thugs lying unconscious behind.

 
As we entered the tent, her ma came rushing up and took her in her arms and asked her if she was alright. She shed a few more tears, but nothing like the wrenching sobs from before.

Arie turned then and looked for her sister. When she found her, she hugged and kissed her saying, “Thank you dear sister for helping the others find me.”

Lotte smiled and returned her kiss.

Then Arie told us all about what had happened. Apparently, the two men had come up behind them as they were returning and grabbed them both from behind. Somehow Lotte was able to escape from her attacker and ran off, while Arie’s captor said, “Let that one go, and help me with this one. She’s a wildcat.”

He had clamped a hand over her mouth, which was a mistake, because Arie bit down hard and began yelling, “Help!” until he pulled a knife and threatened her. Although struggling mightily, they managed to lead her down an alley between two tents at the back of the fair. She fought with all she had, but was no match for the two burly men who kept threatening to stick her with the knife.

“You’re a feisty little one, aren’t you?” said the one holding the knife. “Now quit your yelling lest I carve up that pretty face with this knife.”

It was right about then that we came running down the alley to her rescue.

“I was so scared, and I didn’t know how to stop it, and then all of a sudden, you were there,” she said, looking at me, and we embraced.

“I’ll always protect you, Arie. I love you, you know?”

“You do? Well, I love you too.” She raised her chin up then, and I kissed her gently on the mouth. She buried her face in my chest again, and I could feel the pent-up tension flowing out of her as we just hugged. I looked up to see Dhr and Mevr Papin, looking at each other while smiling and nodding.

We stayed like this for a while, then Arie stood and went over and hugged both Rube and Lard, thanking them for their part in the rescue. She sat back down at the table between them this time and put her arms around each when she said, “I think I need some more beer!”

Dhr Papin said, “I think we could all use one!” and we laughed, helping to further relieve the tension that had been built up in all of us around Arie’s harrowing tale. As we enjoyed another round of beer, we heard a loud bang outside the tent, which startled us and prompted me to rush to the entry to see what it was. The sky was lit with many bright colors. It was the beginning of a fireworks display, and we hurried outside to watch. A fitting ending, indeed, to a very eventful day at the fair.

 

Author Notes

Dutch words kolf: a club in ancient Dutch. It is also used as the name of the game that uses it. kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing or golfing Dhr: Mr. (Abbreviation for Meneer) Mevr: Mrs. (Abbreviation for Mevrouw) Oom: Uncle Tante: Aunt schatje: sweetie vriend: boyfriend nicht: niece eikels: jerks CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 19
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 17

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  As they improve in the game, and each one develops his or her own special skill, they decide they would like some competition but need to spread the game to achieve it. They decide to demonstrate it at the Amsterdam Fair, and Kilian and Arie ride to her uncle’s farm near Amsterdam to see if they could create some holes on his property for the demonstration. Oom (Uncle) Gerrit welcomes them, and they show him the game, giving him and Arie’s papa a chance to try it themselves. Oom Gerrit is very agreeable to her request to create holes on his land and to provide transportation for the fairgoers.

In preparation for the fair, they make many clubs and balls to sell, and Lotte draws pictures of the swing. They lay out the three demonstration holes, and it’s time for the fair. They put on a very successful demonstration of many shots at the fairgrounds. Now it is time for a demonstration of the game itself out at Oom Gerrit’s farm. This demonstration likewise goes well, although Arie is accosted by rude remarks of a sexual nature from two young men.

The remainder of the demonstrations go well and the group is in high spirits following. While returning from a trip to the relief houses, Arie and Lotte are attacked by the two young men. Lotte escapes to warn the others who come to her rescue and save her just in time before she is violated. Fireworks cap off an eventful day at the fair.

 

 

Chapter 17

 

 

Buoyed by our success at the Amsterdam Fair and the fledgling growth of the game we had invented, the five of us, which now included Lotte, began our attempts to popularize the game in earnest. We redoubled our efforts to make balls and kolfs for sale as well as instruction scrolls.

Lard had officially begun courting Lotte, who had recently turned 13, and he started slimming down as he began to care more about his appearance. After a while, I quit calling him Lard, as the nickname was no longer appropriate. Now he is just Lars.

We taught Lotte the game, and although she was quite a ways behind us in her level of skill, her new understanding of the swing helped her a great deal in drawing more accurate pictures for her instruction scrolls. We all continued to play as often as time allowed, as we still had our shepherding and farm duties to perform, but our parents were generally supportive of our efforts. They understood that we would soon be setting out on our own to pursue our dream of a traveling kolven company with the intended goal of promoting the game throughout the land.

It was after Arie and I had finished a few holes one evening in October during a particularly nice summer-like period that I said to her, “Arie, I think we need to make a change.”

“What, to the game? You’ve thought of something new?”

“No, to us.”

A sudden look of dismay came over her face. “Kilian, I’ve beaten you before on occasion. You aren’t upset that I beat you this evening, are you?”

I laughed. “Of course not! I’m proud of you for beating me. I played well, but you played better and beat me fair and square. No, I think we need to make a different sort of change.”

“Well, don’t just keep saying that. Tell me.”

“No, I will ask you instead.”

“Kiliannn! Ask me what?”

I was enjoying this. “Arie, will you marry me?”

Her face lit up as the irritated look dissolved into a big smile. “Of course I’ll marry you! I thought you would never ask me. I was getting impatient with waiting and was thinking about asking you.”

I took her in my arms then, and we sealed it with a kiss.

“Let’s go tell our parents now!” she suggested.

“I think they will approve.”

“I know they will.”

 

 

 

We made the trip to her farm first. Dhr Papin was outside playing a game with his two young sons when we entered the farmyard. “Papa, come inside. Kilian and I have some news we want to share with you and Mama.”

I smiled at him, and he gave me a knowing wink. We found Mevr Papin preparing the evening meal with Lotte in the kitchen.

She looked up at us. “What are you two grinning about?” she said.

“Wait until Papa comes in,” said Arie.

When he and the little brothers had filed in, Arie and I smiled at each other and said in unison, “We’re getting married.”

Mevr Papin shrieked with delight and spread her arms around both of us in a grand hug. “Fredrik and I have been waiting for this news for a number of weeks now. We are very pleased to welcome you to the family, Kilian. It’s almost like you are a member already as much as you are here.”

“Thank you, Mevr Papin.”

“Why don’t you begin calling me Anneke?”

“And why don’t you call me Fredrik, Kilian?” he said as he came over to give us both a hug. “I’m so happy for you two.”

“Thank you, Dhr… I mean, Fredrik.”

“And you can call me Frans.”

“And I’m Hennie!” shouted Arie’s little brothers.

“I already call you those, you silly goofs. Come here.”

When they came close, Arie and I bent down and embraced them too.

It was Lotte’s turn, and she hugged Arie tightly and then me. “I’m so happy for you both and wish you the best. Now, if only Lars will ask me, I’ll be as happy as ever.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to wait long, Lotte,” I said to her, and she gave me a big smile in return.

Arie asked her ma, “Can Kilian stay for the meal with us?”

“Of course he can. Why don’t you help us finish preparing it, Arie? I’m sure the men have a few things to discuss."

Fredrik said, “Kilian, let’s take a little walk while they finish up with the meal.”

“Certainly, Fredrik.” We left together. The little brothers started tagging along, but Fredrik told them to stay where they were.

Once outside, Fredrik put his arm over my shoulder and said, “Kilian, I know you will make a fine husband for Arie. She can be a handful, though, and she never hesitates to speak her mind. Sometimes she might say things that could get her into trouble with folk, and I’m counting on you to remind her of this and to protect her from the consequences of an ill-fated remark. She tends to be overconfident at times and needs to be toned down a bit. I’ve seen you two together, and I think you are just the one to do this. You are an even-keeled lad and good for her.”

“Thank you, Fredrik. I’m aware of all these things you say, and I promise I will do my best to protect her and to help assuage her feelings when she gets her dander up.”

“She is a very passionate girl about everything she does, but she is also able to laugh at herself and see the humor in situations. A rare combination. And you’ll find no one more supportive and kinder to friends and family. But to her enemies, watch out!”

“All the things you just said are the things I love about her, Fredrik. I will do my best to be her partner in life, and I thank you and Anneke for your blessing of our marriage and your good advice. I probably would have asked for her hand sooner, but I was always concerned about our young age and whether or not I could support her.”

“Well, you needn’t worry on either count. Anneke and I wed at a similar age to you. It is not unusual for young people to marry. She has just turned 14, and you will be 15 soon. That is normal. As for supporting her, there will be a rather large dowry to give you a good start, and I have every confidence you will be successful in your new enterprise. You have developed a wonderful new game, and I’m convinced it will grow in popularity as you travel around promoting it.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Fredrik. I’m very encouraged by our success at the fair.”

“Yes, that was a big success, and I think your new trade will flourish. Now, if you can only get your friend Lars to similarly propose to Lotte, all will be right in the world. He is a fine lad too.”

“I think it will happen soon.”

“That is good news. And now I think it is time to head back for the evening meal.”

 

 

 

After the meal, we bade her parents farewell as we set out to tell my folks the good news.

 

 

Author Notes

Dutch words kolf: a club in ancient Dutch. It is also used as the name of the game that uses it. kolven: the verb form of the word, i.e., clubbing or golfing Dhr: Mr. (Abbreviation for Meneer) Mevr: Mrs. (Abbreviation for Mevrouw) Oom: Uncle Tante: Aunt schatje: sweetie vriend: boyfriend nicht: niece CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Frans and Hennie Papin: Arie's little brothers Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 20
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 18A

By Jim Wile

Recap of the past few chapters:  As they improve in the game, and each one develops his or her own special skill, they decide they would like some competition but need to spread the game to achieve it. They decide to demonstrate it at the Amsterdam Fair, and Kilian and Arie ride to her uncle’s farm near Amsterdam to see if they could create some holes on his property for the demonstration. Oom (Uncle) Gerrit welcomes them, and they show him the game, giving him and Arie’s papa a chance to try it themselves. Oom Gerrit is very agreeable to her request to create holes on his land and to provide transportation for the fairgoers.

In preparation for the fair, they make many clubs and balls to sell, and Lotte draws pictures of the swing. They lay out the three demonstration holes, and it’s time for the fair. They put on a very successful demonstration of many shots at the fairgrounds. Now it is time for a demonstration of the game itself out at Oom Gerrit’s farm. This demonstration likewise goes well, although Arie is accosted by rude remarks of a sexual nature from two young men.

The remainder of the demonstrations go well and the group is in high spirits following. While returning from a trip to the relief houses, Arie and Lotte are attacked by the two young men. Lotte escapes to warn the others who come to her rescue and save her just in time before she is violated. Fireworks cap off an eventful day at the fair.

The five (which now includes Lotte) begin actively making kolf equipment to sell in a fledgling enterprise. One warm October evening weeks later, Kilian proposes to Arie, and they tell the good news to their folks. Fredrik Papin gives Kilian good advice about his daughter.

 

 

Chapter 18A

 

 

The wedding took place in a month, and it ended up being a double ceremony, as Lars had also proposed to Lotte. The girls looked stunning in their finest dresses, and Lars and I also wore our best clothes. The ceremony was officiated by the Lord of the Manor and was attended by both our families and a few friends.

The Lord had freed our family some years ago, so we were no longer tenants and not indentured to him. He was a kind man and very generous to our family, and was more than happy to share his home with us for the wedding ceremony. It was held inside his beautiful house, decorated with many bouquets of fall flowers and colorful, dried corn.

The three mothers (mine, Arie’s and Lars’) prepared a wedding feast of a boar’s head, ducks, rabbits, and root vegetables in the Lord’s kitchen, and all of us celebrated with a sumptuous meal after the ceremony. Plenty of beer, wine, and mead were served, and a troupe of musicians serenaded us during the meal and led us in song and dance after. A merry time was had by all.

The Lord of the Manor had gifted Arie and me with a small cottage of our own, and as part of the dowry from the Papins, it was well furnished with many household goods and some furniture. This included a large bed in which the marriage was consummated in very short order following the wedding celebration. We did not leave that bed until noon of the following day, and we learned a great variety of new things from each other as we explored the pleasures of carnal desire.

After a meal of some of the leftover food from the wedding feast, we decided to go play kolf and headed to the holes we usually play. It was 10 furlongs from our little home to the cave, and we vowed we would create some more holes nearer to us some day.

 

 

 

As fall ended and we moved into the winter months, the sheep spent less and less time outside, especially when the snows came. Arie and I spent our workdays tending to the sheep in their indoor pens. This mainly entailed feeding, watering, and mucking out.

The weather curtailed our kolven but afforded us, when not caring for the sheep nor visiting the conjugal bed (which we did often), plenty of time to make kolfs and balls. They would be for sale, and they would be our source of income to support ourselves when we set out in the spring to promote our new game. Lars, Lotte, and Rube came over frequently and joined us in this effort. It would be an adventure for the five of us with no guarantee of success, but we loved the new game so much that we couldn’t imagine how others would not.

In addition to Lotte’s pictures, Lars decided to write instructions to go along with them now that he was so adept at writing. I helped him with the wording of the instructions.

 

 

The five of us set out on our first journey in the late spring, once the weather had turned consistently mild. We walked but were accompanied by a mule who carried our kolf equipment, some tools, foodstuffs, cooking gear, and bedrolls. We carried many other items, including our clothing and skins for water, in packs on our backs.

When we would arrive at a new town, we would post a sign inviting the townsfolk to come and watch a demonstration of a new game. We would put on this demonstration and ask one of the landowners who attended if we could set up and play a few holes on his land. These demonstrations were much like the ones we conducted at the Amsterdam Fair, and the interest they sparked was of a similar nature. We sold our wares and invited folks to the competition we would be holding at this year’s fair.

These owners would often invite us in for meals and would even allow us to sleep in rooms if they had spare ones or in their barns. We sometimes stayed at inns, both taking our meals and sleeping there. We were earning enough money through our sales to enjoy this luxury on a number of occasions.

We would stay for two days at most in each town we visited, then travel to the next town on our itinerary. We traveled north in a large circle around the countryside and eventually ended up back in Amsterdam by early August, where we arranged with the Fair Committee to conduct our kolven competition.

As we planned to compete in it, the committee insisted on conducting it but asked us to develop the rules of the competition and post them for all to see when signing up to play. We never before played by written rules; we just understood what seemed fair, but now we had to formalize them in a list. We were told to keep them brief and not attempt to cover every possible situation. There would be a rules official to decide on any dispute, and his word would be final.

This was more difficult than we thought, but we finally settled on the following eight rules for the competition, with the last four being for the game in general:

 

1)    Teams will consist of two to four players.
2)    Each team will play only one ball per team, and any team member may hit any shot with this ball during the play of a hole. There are 12 holes.
3)    Two teams will compete against each other in a match. Bracketed matches will yield the overall winning team.
4)    Holes are won by the team that holes the ball in the fewest strokes or is given a concession. The winner of the match will be the team that wins the most holes. If the match is tied at the end, teams will keep playing holes until a winner of the match is decided.
5)    Once a ball has been struck, it is not permitted by a player of either team to purposely touch the ball, with a penalty of one stroke to the team that touched it.
6)    If a ball is lost during play or deemed unplayable, it must be hit from the same spot as the original, with one penalty stroke added.
7)    The team that wins a hole shall play the first ball on the next hole. Once both balls have been struck, the ball farthest from the hole will be hit first. The penalty for hitting out of turn is one stroke.
8)    If a ball is struck by an opponent’s ball, the struck ball will be replaced in its original position without penalty.

This format may seem like it was designed with our team in mind, for we each specialized in an aspect of the game that would be needed on most every hole. But that was our right, since we had come up with the idea for the competition in the first place. If someone else decides to hold a competition in the future, they would be free to set their own rules, but this one is ours.

 

 

Author Notes

The reason for such detail in specifying the rules of the competition is because they will be important in the course of coming chapters. CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Frans and Hennie Papin: Arie's little brothers Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 21
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 18B

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  The five (which now includes Lotte) begin actively making kolf equipment to sell in a fledgling enterprise. One warm October evening weeks later, Kilian proposes to Arie, and they tell the good news to their folks. Fredrik Papin gives Kilian good advice about his daughter. Lars proposes to Lotte as well and the four are married in a double wedding ceremony.

Through the winter and early spring months, the kids continue making kolven equipment on top of their shepherding duties, and when the weather turns nice, they embark on a journey around Holland, demonstrating the game and selling their equipment. Their journey is a success, and by late summer they end up back in Amsterdam, where they make preparations for a golf competition to be held at the Amsterdam Fair. This includes making a formal list of the rules of the game.

 

 

Chapter 18B

 

 

Following our stop in Amsterdam, we trekked to Oom Gerrit’s house, where he was not surprised to see us because he knew of our spring and summer plans to spread the game.

“Greetings, you merry band of kolfers!” he said when we arrived at his doorstep. “Come in, come in, and make yourselves comfortable, and let me get you some refreshment. You must be weary from all your travels.”

“Greetings to you, dear Oom,” said Arie. “We are not weary at all, but exhilarated by our wondrous travels through the land, spreading our game,” she said as she gave him a big hug.

“Ah, to be young again and to be blessed with so much energy… and such trim waistlines!” he said, removing his arms from around her slim body and patting his large belly.

We all laughed and greeted him as well, and then he led us to a shaded sitting room where we sat and relaxed while he busied himself with preparing refreshments. The girls helped him.

Over mugs of beer plus bread and cheese, we told him of our adventures through the land, culminating with a trip to the fairgrounds, where we met with the Fair Committee. The fair was slated for the end of the month—about 9 days away—and we had 12 holes to create before then.

“You are more than welcome to use my land for your holes again this year,” offered Oom Gerrit, “and I’m also willing to provide the transportation like last year.”

“That is so kind and generous of you, sir,” I said to him. “We are graciously in your debt for this and will gladly reimburse you for any costs involved.”

“No need for that, Kilian. It was great fun for me at last year’s demonstrations, and it is my pleasure to help out in any way that I can.”

“Well, we thank you most heartily,” said Lars as we all nodded in agreement.

“I trust you will be staying here then as you create the holes. I have plenty of rooms and would adore the company, as it gets lonely in this large house with only me living here since my sons have all left.”

“Oom, you are just so generous to take in this gang of roving vagabonds,” said Arie. “You are so very kind.”

“It is my pleasure, schatje. It makes me feel young again to be surrounded by youth in their prime.”

We talked with Oom Gerrit for a while, then he showed us to our rooms and left us to ourselves until the evening meal. We took the opportunity to bathe, which we had not done for several days—the last time being in a river we had crossed—and then we rested for a while. It had been over a week since the last bed we had slept in, and it felt luxurious.

 

 

The next few days were spent laying out the holes that would be played during the competition. We tried to make a variety of holes of varying distances, in all different directions, and with different amounts of bend around hazards such as trees, rock outcroppings, and streams. Some of the greens were to be located on relatively flat ground, while others were to be built at the tops and bottoms of hills.

It was Lotte who came up with the most unique and difficult hole of the 12 we laid out. “Arie, do you remember the times when we were little and would visit with Oom Gerrit and Tante Ella and go walking in these fields? There was a little hill we used to run down and splash into a pond that circled around it on three sides. I can picture a green on top of that hill that would require precision to hit. It might make a very challenging hole.”

“I remember that hill, but I don’t quite remember where it was. Perhaps if we follow that water course over there, it will lead us to it. Let’s go and see. Ruben, would you like to come with Lotte and me?”

“Sure I would, Miss Arie!” and the three set off hand-in-hand with Rube in the middle.

“Look at that big lunk between those two pretty girls,” I said to Lars, smiling and shaking my head.

“Like a thorn between two roses,” said Lars.

“Let’s hope they don’t feel his prick!” I said, and Lars cracked up.

Lars and I finished up by removing loose rocks from the green site we had chosen and driving a sharpened stick into the ground to mark the middle so that we could easily find it again when it was time for the sheep and goats. Our last step in laying out a hole was to mark its location on a map we were making of the holes, which we would present to the players so they would know where to hit when they played.

In 15 or 20 minutes, the explorers came running back. Breathless, Lotte said, “We found it, and it will make a smashing good hole.”

“My sister has a terrific eye for such things,” said Arie. “We can locate the previous green on the flat below at the level of the pond. Then we can climb atop another nearby hill to strike our balls across a deep valley to the hill that is surrounded by water at its bottom.”

What Arie meant by moving to a nearby hill to hit our smashes came from a decision we had taken to avoid delays for the following group, once we holed out on a green. We would move away to a different location to hit our smash on the next hole instead of the usual practice of playing from the green we had just finished playing. This would keep us from getting beaned by an impatient kolfer behind. We never had to worry about that when playing at home by ourselves. It would also keep the greens from being marred by the occasional ground strike from a poorly struck ball.

“It is not a long shot,” continued Arie, “perhaps only 120 paces, but it will be a small target and will be very challenging both to hit the green and to hold it on without rolling off the back and over into the water. Short and to the right will likewise roll into the water.”

“It sounds impressive,” I said. “We have six holes left to lay out. Can we reach it and be able to make our way back to the start without too much additional walking?”

“I think so,” said Lotte. “Let me show you on the map you are making. If we follow this water course with two holes to the left of it, we will come to the spot where that fabulous green will be. That would make a third hole, then if we follow this route back with three more holes, it will come out just right,” and she sketched the way back to the start that the holes could follow. It looked like two long holes and a short one in between would do it.

“That’s grand, Lotte. You seem to be really good at this,” said Lars, giving her a kiss on the forehead. She beamed.

We completed laying out the holes, and they ended up being almost exactly as she had planned with only minor adjustments when we got to the actual terrain. Her artist’s eye helped make for an interesting and challenging layout, which should be great fun to play.

Out of fairness to the field of players, we decided not to play these holes beforehand but to hold a practice round early in the morning of fair day when all of the teams would get to see and play the holes for the first time. The competition would be held after that.

Now began the arduous task of herding the sheep and goats around to graze the grass close on our greens. We spent the next few days doing this. It took three long days from sunup to sundown to herd the sheep and goats around to the 12 greens. When this was completed, we began the process all over again to ensure that the grass was as short as possible for the competition. That left us with one day to recover our energy, as the fair would begin the following day.

 

 

Author Notes

Dutch words Oom: Uncle Tante: Aunt schatje: sweetie CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Frans and Hennie Papin: Arie's little brothers Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 22
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 19

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  The five (which now includes Lotte) begin actively making kolf equipment to sell in a fledgling enterprise. One warm October evening weeks later, Kilian proposes to Arie, and they tell the good news to their folks. Fredrik Papin gives Kilian good advice about his daughter. Lars proposes to Lotte as well and the four are married in a double wedding ceremony.

Through the winter and early spring months, the kids continue making kolven equipment on top of their shepherding duties, and when the weather turns nice, they embark on a journey around Holland, demonstrating the game and selling their equipment. Their journey is a success, and by late summer they end up back in Amsterdam, where they make preparations for a golf competition to be held at the Amsterdam Fair. This includes making a formal list of the rules of the game.

They spend the last nine days before the fair at Oom Gerrit’s house where they construct the 12-hole kolven field that will be used for the competition.

 

 

Chapter 19

 

 

We got an early start and arrived at the fairgrounds before dawn. We had previously notified the Fair Committee about the early practice round, and they had mentioned this on the signs that were posted around town announcing the competition. The announcement said that registration of teams would begin at 8 o’clock and be closed at 9 o’clock, when brackets would be drawn.

Lars and Lottie manned the registration booth, took down the team names, and passed out the rules and map of the holes to the players. Several people came with no equipment and no team, having never played the game before, and they were politely told they would not be able to enter the competition this year. We encouraged them to try the game and, if they achieved some level of skill, to try again next year.

The first rides out to the farm began at 9 o’clock when registration was closed. Any players who wanted to could play the holes for practice, and we would begin the competition at half past 10 o’clock. There would be continuous rides to and from the farm every hour for the fairgoers.

The four of us played the holes for the first time, along with a number of other players. As we predicted, the 9th hole, the short 1-shot hole over the pond, would be the challenge we hoped it would be. I was barely able to keep the ball on the green with my middler, and it almost rolled off the back and down into the water. We completed the 12 holes in just over an hour, which left us plenty of time to answer any questions from the competitors.

A total of 16 teams entered the competition, and we were very pleased with the turnout. A number of the competitors congratulated us on the invention of the game and thanked us for setting up the holes.

At 10:30 sharp, play began. Five other players besides Arie were women or girls, and one complete team was an all-woman team. Quite a few spectators came out on the second ride, arriving in time for the beginning of the competition.

As only two balls would be played per match (one by each team), play was fast. We were able to complete our match, which we won on the 8th hole, in just under an hour. We played against a group of four older gentlemen whom we had met previously on our travels and sold equipment to. We had won seven of the holes and tied the other. We thanked our opponents for coming out and encouraged them to keep playing, spread the word, and enter again next year.

After all play was completed for the first matches, and eight teams had been eliminated, the next set of matches began at 1 o’clock. Most players took a meal break in between, as several food booths had been set up on the grounds with a variety of foods.

“Kilian, we have to get Ruben some food. I hear giant rumblings coming from his belly, and he is beginning to flag,” said Arie. “I am rather hungry myself and would not mind some refreshment either.”

“I think we’re all pretty hungry by now. I did not think to bring any food or water with us. Definitely, let’s get something to eat before they run out.”

Anneke Papin, who was among the spectators following our match, came to our rescue. She had brought a variety of food and drink for us in a basket, which she had placed with the officials before setting out to watch us play.

“Thank you for your foresight, Anneke,” I said to her. “This is sorely needed to keep us going this afternoon.”

The rest thanked her too, but she just waved it off.

Our opponents for the second match were the team of women. They were not very skilled and only won their first match because their opponents were even less so. We happened to win this one on the 7th hole, having won all seven holes that we played.

“We do not mind losing to you four,” said the spokeswoman for the group. “Indeed, we are honored to have played with you and seen you up close. You are wonderfully talented at this new game you invented.”

“Thank you very much,” said Arie. “We enjoyed playing with you too, and we hope you will continue in the game and inspire more people to take it up. Especially women and girls.”

“We will be sure to do that, Arie. You are a talented young lady and a marvelous holer of the ball. All of you are worthy representatives of this game. And you, young man,” she said, turning to Rube, “are a wonder indeed. If I can ever hit the ball just half as far as you, I would be a very happy kolfer!”

“Thank ya kindly, lady. Miss Arie taught me to hit it far.”

“Is that so? Well, your talents are many, Arie, including teaching.”

“He didn’t need much coaching, ma’am. He is a natural.”

“No, I’m a shepherd, Miss Arie.”

“That too, Ruben,” she said as she smiled and put her arm around his waist.

 

 

The third match was our first real challenge of the day. The team consisted of four burly men—two older and two younger. One of the younger men was almost as large and muscular as Rube and proved to be a formidable smasher of the ball, out-hitting Rube’s smash on several holes. Rube began swinging extra-hard to out-hit him, but this resulted in a degree of wildness that put our ball in some awkward places.

“Talk to him, Arie. He listens to you,” I suggested to her quietly.

Arie took him aside after a particularly wayward smash on the 8th hole and said to him gently, “Ruben dear, it isn’t necessary to out-hit that fellow every time. Swinging so hard is causing your shots to fly crooked. It would be better to swing like you always do and not put any extra effort into it unless it is really necessary sometime. Do you think you can do that?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Arie. I won’t do that no more.”

“No need to be sorry. I know you’ll do your best and swing easier from now on. You hit the ball plenty far enough.”

After Rube’s wayward smash, I had a difficult shot coming up. There were trees up ahead to the right, and I would have to bend the ball around them to reach the green, a daunting prospect. I had practiced this shot many times, so I knew how to make the ball curve left-to-right, but I also had to keep it low to travel under overhanging branches, which added more difficulty to it.

The shot came off perfectly, and the spectators went wild with applause at my ability to curve the shot around the trees. It just stayed under the overhanging branches, hit the ground, and rolled a good distance before ending up on the front of the green.

“Outstanding shot, Kilian!” said Lars. “I thought for sure we would be needing a lifter shot for the next one, but now we are ready for Arie to hole the ball. You will have to teach me that shot someday.”

To put the froth on the beer, Arie holed her shot from the front of the green—20 paces away—for a three, while the opponents, who already laid three and weren’t in yet, just picked up their ball. That put us up by two holes in the match.

“We will have a tough time besting you with holes like that,” said one of the older opponents. “That was a worthy performance!” We thanked him for the compliment.

We came now to the challenging 9th hole, the short one over the pond. So far, we had not had to play this in either of our first two matches, which were over before we got here, and we only played it once in the practice round. I hit another solid shot with my middler, which landed in the center of the green, rolled to the back edge, and stopped just short of going over and down into the water. I wondered how the other groups were faring on this hole because it was about as challenging a shot as I had ever seen.

Sure enough, our opponents failed to hold the green, and their ball rolled off the back and down into the pond. They tried it again with the same result and conceded the hole right then. That put us three holes up in the match with but three left to play. All we needed was a win or tie on any of those last three holes, and the match would be ours.

When we tied the next hole, it was all over.

“That was an awesome display of kolf,” said the older man in the group who had complimented us before. “You young folks appear unbeatable, and each of you contributed skillfully in the match. It was a pleasure to see how the game should be played.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” I responded. “We have been playing it the longest, so that is probably the reason for our win today.”

“Your modesty is commendable, but I have a feeling there is plenty of raw talent and ability that makes you excel. Once again, it was a great pleasure playing against you, and I hope we will meet again next year—in the finals perhaps.”

“We look forward to it.”

So far, among the folks we had played against and others that we had talked to, there appeared to be a great deal of good manners and sportsmanship evident when playing this game. That bodes well for its future.

We now had one match left to win to claim victory in the competition. We all felt excited about it.

 

 

 

(Stay tuned for the exciting final match. It will take place in three postings beginning on Wednesday.)

Author Notes

KOLF CLUBS USED: Smasher - Equivalent to today's driver Middler - Equivalent to today's 5-iron Lifter - Equivalent to today's pitching wedge Holer - Equivalent to today's putter CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Anneke Papin (Mevr Papin): Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Frans and Hennie Papin: Arie's little brothers Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 23
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 20A

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  The five (which now includes Lotte) begin actively making kolf equipment to sell in a fledgling enterprise. One warm October evening weeks later, Kilian proposes to Arie, and they tell the good news to their folks. Fredrik Papin gives Kilian good advice about his daughter. Lars proposes to Lotte as well and the four are married in a double wedding ceremony.

Through the winter and early spring months, the kids continue making kolven equipment on top of their shepherding duties, and when the weather turns nice, they embark on a journey around Holland, demonstrating the game and selling their equipment. Their journey is a success, and by late summer they end up back in Amsterdam, where they make preparations for a golf competition to be held at the Amsterdam Fair. This includes making a formal list of the rules of the game.

They spend the last nine days before the fair at Oom Gerrit’s house where they construct the 12-hole kolven field that will be used for the competition. Fair day arrives and 16 teams have signed up to play in the competition. Kilian’s team wins their first two matches easily but faces stiffer competition in the third match, which they also end up winning. Now they have only the finals to win to be the overall champions.

 

 

Chapter 20A

 

The four of us waited on the 1st hole for our opponents to arrive. Their entrance was marked by loud cheers from their partisans in the crowd. They came through the crowd with cries of “kill ‘em lads!” and “show ‘em how to play this game!” from a small group. Theirs was one of only a handful of teams that had fewer than four players, with only two. They were clearly noblemen from their dress and manner. They looked vaguely familiar, but I could not place them until Arie took me aside and whispered to me, “It’s them, Kilian. The ones who gave me such trouble last year.”

As I looked closer at them, I said, “You’re right! I did not recognize them through all the new facial hair and dandy attire. They do not look much like those scoundrels from last year. Arie, they attacked you and threatened your life. I say we refuse to play against them. I will not have them in the presence of my wife again. We cannot disqualify them, for we are not in charge of the competition. I say we just forfeit this match and refuse to share the stage with them!”

“We will do no such thing! I won’t let them get the better of me again, and we will not let them claim a title they don’t win outright. We’re going to play against them and beat them!”

She was adamant, and there was no arguing with her any further. We rejoined the other two. I said to Lars, “Do you recognize those two? They are the two hooligans from last year who attacked Arie.”

Sudden recognition dawned on his face. “I thought they looked familiar. We’re not going to play against them, are we?”

“Arie is determined that we will. I know enough by now not to argue with her when she has her mind made up, so let’s beat them handily.”

I looked over at Arie, who had grabbed on to Rube’s arm and appeared to be restraining him. His fists were clenched, and he had a frightful look on his face. I heard her say, “Now, Ruben, we will get even by thrashing them in the match. If they show any signs of their behavior towards me from last year, then you can have at them, but let’s let your skill be the thing to beat them with now rather than your fists.”

“Alright, Miss Arie, but they better not try nothin’, or I’ll pound ‘em into the ground.”

“You’ll have my blessing.”

The two dandies approached us then. “Well, so we meet again, my good fellows and lady,” said Arie’s chief tormenter and the knife-wielder. “You look as lovely as ever, fair lady. Wouldn’t you agree, Diederek?”

“I would indeed, Albert!”

“I’ll thank you not to talk to my wife again,” I warned them.

“Wife now, is it? Well, you are a lucky… I was going to say ‘man,’ but are you man enough for her?”

I clenched my fists and started towards him, but Arie grabbed my arm and held me back. “He’s just trying to goad you, Kilian. Leave him be; he’s not worth it.”

“Oh, ho. Let’s be civil now,” said Albert.

“You are quite the one to talk about civility, … Albert.” I virtually spat his name out.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” cried a man dressed all in green, who happened to be the chief rules official as well as the master of ceremonies. “Welcome to the final match of the first Amsterdam Kolf Competition. Our finalists are Kilian Pauls, Arie Pauls, Lars Jansen, and Ruben Meijer vs. Lord Albert DeGroot and Lord Diederek VanderVeen. The winning team shall receive a prize of ten guilders and a plaque commemorating the victory. It is now time to begin the match. Good luck to all.”

The toss of a coin went to our side, and Rube smashed a beauty for the opening shot to much applause from the spectators, who appeared to number in the hundreds. They included Fredrik and Gerrit Papin, who had found substitute drivers for the cart and wagon, so that they could watch us play the final match. Anneke Papin and Arie’s two young brothers were also in the crowd.

Albert was the smasher for the other team and smashed a fair shot, which was forty paces behind Rube’s ball, and we were off on the final match.

 

 

 

The first five holes were uneventful. We won two of them, they won one, and we tied the other two, putting us one hole ahead in the match. We did not speak to our opponents, although several times they tried to engage us. Something interesting happened on the 6th hole, however, which surely set the tone for the rest of the match.

They lay on the green 5 feet from the hole in two strokes, while we were 15 feet away in two strokes on a different path to the hole. Arie stroked our ball, and it ended up missing the hole by a foot, but our ball now lay directly on the line from Albert and Diederek’s ball to the hole, thus blocking their shot. “I concede that next shot,” said Albert.

I said, “The hole, you mean?”

“What?”

“You’re conceding the hole to us?”

“No, just that next shot. We give you the 4 on the hole. Get that ball out of my way!”

“Excuse me. You can’t concede a shot. You can only concede the entire hole.”

“You’re gek.”

“Rule 4 says ‘Holes are won by the team that holes the ball in the fewest strokes or is given a concession.’ The concession is for the entire hole.”

“Alright, then hole the damn thing and get it out of there!”

Arie said, “But you must hit first because you are farther from the hole. You really should read the rules before shouting at us, Albert.”

“How am I supposed to hole mine with yours right in the way blocking the hole?”

“I’m afraid that’s not my problem.” *

Albert looked to the official then who sided with us.

In a fit of anger, he struck his ball so firmly that it knocked ours a good 20 feet away, but his ball didn’t strike ours quite squarely and caromed off it at an angle, leaving him 12 feet away. Arie then picked up our ball and moved it back to its original position one foot from the hole.

Albert said. “Aha! Penalty stroke for touching your ball.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Arie. “Once again, your failure to read the rules has misled you. Rule 8 says, ‘If a ball is struck by an opponent’s ball, the struck ball will be replaced in its original position without penalty.’”

Albert looked to the official again, who nodded. By this time, he was so rattled, that he missed his next one and ended up with 5 strokes on the hole, while Arie stroked ours in for a 4 and a win. We were now two holes up in the match.

 

 

 

Our troubles continued on the 7th hole. A creek ran all up the right side of this hole and the next as well, which fed into the pond on the difficult 9th hole. Rube smashed a long one, but it curved over to the right and stopped a few feet from the edge of the creek. Before smashing his ball, I saw Albert and Diederek talking to a scruffy-looking character who started walking quickly away following the exchange. Albert then hit a rather weak shot to the left.

Diederek followed this with a decent strike that put their ball about 20 paces from the green. As we were approaching Rube’s smash, I saw the character who had been in conversation with Albert, kick our ball into the creek, where it began floating away. By the time we got there, it had lodged itself between a branch that lay in the water and the side of the bank. The cowardly fellow, who had been responsible, strode quickly away before we arrived.

I said to the group, “Did you see what that scoundrel did to our ball? I saw Albert talking to that guy before he hit. Then he kicked it into the creek. I would say that’s touching the ball by an opponent, which should be a penalty. Let’s see what the official says about it.”

By this time, a crowd had gathered around us. Arie said to Rube, “I can’t see over this crowd, Ruben. Can you see where he might be? He’s dressed all in green.”

Rube, who was almost a head taller than the crowd, was quick to spot him. “I’ll go fetch him, Miss Arie,” and he made his way through the crowd.

“The nerve of those klootzaks. They can’t beat us with normal play, so they cheat,” said Lars.

In another minute, Rube returned with the official, who looked very perplexed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain to me what happened,” said the official, looking at me. “I couldn’t quite make out what your man here was trying to tell me. Something about someone being struck in the balls, and now he is in the water?”

I wondered just what Rube had told the man. “Uh, it went like this. A spectator purposely kicked our ball into the water. I happened to see the very same man talking to our opponents after our team had struck this ball, which came to rest several feet away from the water. I think he was doing the bidding of our opponents, and we think they should be penalized for touching our ball as the rules state.”

The official pulled out his rule sheet to study it. “Hmm… I’m looking at rule number 5, which states: ‘Once a ball has been struck, it is not permitted by a player of either team to purposely touch the ball, with a penalty of one stroke to the team that touched it.’ Was the man who kicked the ball into the water a player on the other team?”

“No, but he was clearly taking orders from the other team!” said Arie in a peeved tone. “It’s just as though he was on the team.”

“But the problem I’m having is that the rules don’t mention anything about a spectator touching a ball—only one of the players.”

“But certainly, the other side is violating the spirit of the rule. Surely you’re not siding with them, are you?” She practically hollered at the man.

“Arie, settle down,” I said to her softly. “We don’t want to anger him at us.”

Ignoring me, she said, “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll thank you not to use that snippy tone with me, young lady. Perhaps if you had been more specific in writing your rules, you might have covered this situation.”

“But you told us not to get bogged down with too many details and that you would be deciding any disputes. So, decide!”

I could see what was going to happen. Arie’s papa had warned me about such passion in his daughter and that sometimes it gets her into trouble, and I feared this would be one of those times.

“I’ll tell you what my decision is! Your team must be penalized a stroke for an unplayable ball and strike your ball again from the start, unless you want to try to play that one down under the bank there.”

“But—”

“Arie, please calm down," I said. "He’s taken his decision, and we must abide by it. Let’s just play the hole again. We still have a chance to win it or at least tie it.” She was fuming, but she quit arguing at that point, and Rube headed back to the start and smashed another shot.

We were unable to make up the two shots we had lost, and Albert and Diederek ended up winning the hole by a stroke, cutting our lead down to one hole. The four of us gathered together for a quick talk before heading to the next starting place.

I said, “I know we’re all mad about that result, but we must put it behind us and not let it affect the rest of the game. We should still be able to defeat those klootzaks if we just stay calm because we are the better team. Arie, you especially need to be calm because calmness is needed for holing the ball.”

“I know, Kilian. They just get me so angry. They are scoundrels and cheaters.”

“Yes, they are, but we just need to try to ignore them and keep trying to play our best.”

“I will try. Okay now, Ruben? Go and smash a good one, and let’s win this next hole.”

 

(To be continued.)

 

 

 

 

Author Notes

* This is known as the "stymie rule." Stymied means to be blocked by another's ball which lies in the path of a putt. The stymied player is not afforded any relief. Today, a stymied player can ask that the blocking ball be removed and replaced with a marker. It wasn't until 1952 when the rule was eliminated from the game. Dutch words klootzaks: assholes gek: crazy CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Frans and Hennie Papin: Arie's little brothers Oom Gerrit: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 24
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 20B

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  The five (which now includes Lotte) begin actively making kolf equipment to sell in a fledgling enterprise. One warm October evening weeks later, Kilian proposes to Arie, and they tell the good news to their folks. Fredrik Papin gives Kilian good advice about his daughter. Lars proposes to Lotte as well and the four are married in a double wedding ceremony.

Through the winter and early spring months, the kids continue making kolven equipment on top of their shepherding duties, and when the weather turns nice, they embark on a journey around Holland, demonstrating the game and selling their equipment. Their journey is a success, and by late summer they end up back in Amsterdam, where they make preparations for a golf competition to be held at the Amsterdam Fair. This includes making a formal list of the rules of the game.

They spend the last nine days before the fair at Oom Gerrit’s house where they construct the 12-hole kolven field that will be used for the competition. Fair day arrives and 16 teams have signed up to play in the competition. Kilian’s team wins their first two matches easily but faces stiffer competition in the third match, which they also end up winning. Now they have only the finals to win to be the overall champions.

They meet their opponents for the final match, and it happens to be the two scoundrels who had attacked Arie at last year’s fair. They are actually nobles named Albert and Diederek. Our heroes get them 2-down through 6 holes, then their opponents cheat by convincing a spectator to kick Rube's drive into a water hazard. However, there was no rule against this and they end up losing the 7th hole.

 

 

Previously:

I said, “I know we’re all mad about that result, but we must put it behind us and not let it affect the rest of the game. We should still be able to defeat those klootzaks if we just stay calm because we are the better team. Arie, you especially need to be calm because calmness is needed for holing the ball.”

“I know, Kilian. They just get me so angry. They are scoundrels and cheaters.”

“Yes, they are, but we just need to try to ignore them and keep trying to play our best.”

“I will try. Okay now, Ruben? Go and smash a good one, and let’s win this next hole.”

 

 

Chapter 20B

 

He walked over and started to put his ball down.

“Hey, you big dummy!” said Albert. “We’ve got the honor, so get your ball out of there ‘cause I’m hitting first.”

“Don’t you call me that, cuz I ain’t no dummy!” said Rube. He had been called that before, and it always angered him, but now was not the time for a display of what could happen when Rube was angry, so Lars and I each grabbed him by an arm before he charged, and Lars said to him quietly, “Let it go, Rube. He’s just trying to throw you off and make you start playing badly. Don’t let him. Just ignore him.”

“But I’m not a dummy, Lard. He should’na called me that name.”

“You’re right, Rube. You’re not. He’s the dummy for thinking that. The joke’s on him, right? So just forget about him.”

By this time, Albert had already hit his shot. So, it was finally Rube’s turn. Right when he got to the top of his backswing, Diederek let out a loud fart. The sudden blast caused Rube to flinch, and he topped his shot badly. He looked up and scowled at Diederek, who acted as if nothing had happened.

 
Arie had finally had it with them and charged right over. “You are the most disgusting pair I have ever seen, and I recognized your ugly faces the moment I saw you. I know your type,” she said, jabbing her finger at them. “If you can’t beat us through skill, you’ll resort to cheating and rudeness to win at any cost. Nobody else acts this way. You are a disgrace to this wonderful game!”

I watched their faces through this tirade, and they seemed to be stifling their laughter, but once she was done, they both burst out laughing at her.

In a silly, high-pitched voice, Albert said, “So, little Awie thinks weah a disgwace, Diedwick. Ahwint you just ashamed of yawself?”

Now I couldn’t take it anymore and began charging over to them, but before I got half way there, I was grabbed by two strong sets of arms and pulled to a stop. It was Fredrik and Gerrit who had come through the crowd to restrain me.

“Kilian,” Fredrik whispered in my ear, “Gerrit and I will handle these two later after the match. I know you have been trying to settle things down, but you need to try harder now and just finish them off. We will take care of them later. You just show that you are better players than they are and beat them at the game.”

“It’s hard, Fredrik. I can put up with a lot, but I can’t stand to hear them talk to Arie that way.”

“I understand. But you need to concentrate on the game now and ignore them as best you can.”

“I’ll try.”

When we got to Rube’s topped shot, we noticed that the ball lay up to its middle in a deep depression the exact size of the ball. It was obvious someone had stepped right on it and mashed it into the ground. No one saw this happen, but we were sure it was one of Albert and Diederek’s no-good friends who had done it. We didn’t bother calling the official because we knew what his answer would be. I did my best to strike the ball out of the hole, but was only able to advance it perhaps 30 paces. After two strokes, that still put us well behind our opponents’ ball that lay just one, about 100 paces ahead. We could not recoup in time and ended up losing this hole as well to even the match.

And now we came to the 9th hole, the little one-shot hole with the pond surrounding it on three sides. I felt we had a good chance to win this hole because I was a far more skilled striker than Diederek, who would be striking it for their team. The wind had begun to pick up on the last hole, and was blowing fairly hard from behind. That would make it even more difficult to keep a ball on the green. Still with the honors, Diederek used his striker, but his shot was too low, hit hard, and rolled off the back and into the water below. “Stront!” he bellowed.

Then it was my turn, and I stood with the ball way up in my stance opposite my left toe to be able to hit it as high as I could with my middler. I hit a good shot, but the wind kept it from attaining the height I desired, and even though it hit toward the front of the green, it still bounded over the back and down into the water.

It was Diederek’s turn again, and he put down another ball. This one was a little higher than his last one and came down in the middle of the green, but again it went bounding over and down the hill into the water. We might be here all day trying to put one on this green.

I had a sudden idea. “Rube, come here for a second.” He and Arie and Lars all came over then. “I don’t think I can keep it on this green with a middler the way the wind is now. I need to be able to hit the ball a lot higher so that it comes down more steeply to have any hope of that. If you were to smash a lifter as hard as you can, do you think you can hit the green and not fall short and go into the water in front?”

This was too much for Rube to digest. He turned to Arie and said, ”What did he just ask me, Miss Arie?”

Arie patiently explained it to him again so that he could follow it. When she was finished, Rube thought for a few seconds. “I dunno, Kilian. It’s awful far for a lifter. And Miss Arie told me not to swing too hard.”

“Ruben,” said Arie, “remember in our last match when I asked you to swing easier unless we really needed you to swing hard?”

“Sorta’.”

“Well, this is one of those times. We need you to swing that lifter as hard as you can and hit it way up in the air. I know you can do it. I know you can. Will you please try?”

“A course I will, Miss Arie. I’ll really whale on this one.”

“And one more thing.” She then tore a pocket off her tunic and ripped it into two pieces. “Put these into your ears so you won’t hear anything if they make noise during your swing.”

He shoved them in and said, “Thank you, Miss Arie,” rather loudly, as one does when he can’t hear himself.

Rube placed his ball high on a tuft of grass and gripped the lifter that Lars handed to him. Then, with as powerful a swing as I have ever seen him make, he struck the ball so hard and high that it seemed like it would never come down but would float away on the wind. But it flew the distance, came almost straight down on the very front edge of the green, and stopped dead in its tracks. One pace shorter, and it would have struck the slope in front and rolled back into the pond, but he had just enough on it to make the ball stop. It rested but six paces from the hole.

The crowd went wild with this shot. “Ruben. You did it!” cried Arie. “I’m so proud of you. What a wonderful shot you just hit,” she said as she hugged him around his waist.

Lars and I both pounded him on the back with congratulations. Rube was delighted with himself. No one but Rube, with his strength, could have pulled off this shot, and we let him know it.

With two balls already in the water, our opponents were now playing their fifth shot, which included two penalty strokes. We already lay on the green in three and could expect Arie to hole the ball with two more strokes, giving us a five on the hole. That meant that, unless our opponents could hole their shot from here for an improbable tie, we would win the hole.

Seeing what Rube had just done with a lifter and having seen what the middler did in both Diederek’s and my hands, Albert decided to take a crack at the shot with his lifter. But he was no Rube, and his shot fell woefully short into the middle of the pond. At that point, they conceded the hole to us. We were in the lead again by one with three holes left to play.

 

 

 

The wind continued to pick up, and we could see dark clouds beginning to move our way, signaling an approaching storm and creating a sense of urgency to finish this round and get under shelter. We moved to the starting area of the 10th hole, and with the honors again, Rube struck a good one, but he was hitting into the teeth of the wind this time, and the ball did not go nearly as far as his usual smashes. Now it was Albert’s turn, but he failed to place a ball down, and we saw him and Diederek seemingly arguing with each other.

 
After another minute’s delay, the rules official said to them, “Gentlemen, time is of the essence. There is a storm brewing, and we must try to finish quickly now. Will you kindly place a ball down and strike it?”

“That is the problem, sir,” said Albert. “We used our last ball back there, and we have none to play with.”

“Hmm, uh… “ He pulled out his rules and quickly scanned them, but saw none to cover this situation. “Hmm, well… it seems I must make a ruling. If you cannot come up with a ball, then you must forfeit the match to your opponents.”

“We’ll get one,” said Albert.

Right then, I saw Arie rooting through our ball bag and surreptitiously passing a few balls to her papa. I wondered what was going on as a light rain began to fall.

Albert said, “Diederek, why don’t you go back to the pond and fish one of our balls out from the far bank where the wind made them float to. I can see the two you struck from here.”

“But I will have to wade through this swamp back here to get to them. I don’t even know if I can get through it,” said Diederek. “Why don’t you go get yours.”

“I can’t. I see it out there in the middle of the pond stuck against some debris there in the water.”

“Well, wade out and get it!”

“It’s too deep, you ninny, and I can’t swim. Go get one of yours!”

“Gentlemen,” said the official. “You have five minutes to fetch a ball. I suggest you quit arguing and go fetch one.”

“Excuse me,” said Arie, approaching them with our ball bag. “I think I have a solution. We are willing to let them borrow one of ours to keep playing. We do not want to win this match by forfeit.”

“That is very generous of you, young lady. Gentlemen, I suggest you take her up on the offer.”

“We are down to only two balls ourselves,” she said, “but they are welcome to one of them.” She pulled the two balls out of the bag and offered them to Albert and Diederek. They were a dirty, extra-scruffy-looking ball and the beautifully smooth one Rube had made a year ago.

“There’s not much of a decision here,” said Albert. “This one is all beat up, so we will take this one,” he said, taking the smooth, beautifully round ball from her. Thank you.”

“Our pleasure,” said Arie. I could see her holding back a smile.

What an incredibly brilliant and quick-thinking girl my wife was! Very cute too. She walked back and rejoined our group, and I whispered to her, “Well played.”

“Thank you,” she whispered back. I put my hand around her waist and drew her close as we stood and watched Albert put the beautiful ball down and strike it. The ball shot away and flew high into the wind, but 60 paces out, it took a sudden dive and came almost straight down. Albert and Diederek looked at this in wonder, as did the rest of the crowd of spectators.

“Must have hit a real gust up there,” said Albert weakly to Diederek. “Damn wind!”

The four of us looked at each other and could barely keep from laughing out loud as we picked up our kolfs and advanced toward Albert’s ball.

“Didn’t I tell you this would come in handy one day, Ruben?” said Arie.

“That you did, Miss Arie.”

This time, it was Diederek who swung hard with his middler but failed to advance the ball more than another 50 paces as the wind continued to pick up. It took him another shot still to reach Rube’s first one. We heard Diederek say to Albert, “Why does that damn wind blow so hard every time I strike the ball?”

“It wasn’t any harder than usual. I think you topped that one so badly that it flew up from the hard ground and died.”

“I didn’t top it. I hit it squarely. It was the wind, I tell you!”

They continued arguing with each other as we advanced to Rube’s smash, where I proceeded to strike our ball to the front of the green. It took them two more strikes to reach the green, where they now lay five strokes to our two. Arie stroked a beautiful shot to within one foot of the hole, at which time they conceded the hole to us. After 10 holes. we were two holes up with two left to play. We would need only a tie or win on either of the two remaining holes to win the match.

(To be continued...)

 

Author Notes

Dutch words klootzaks: assholes. stront: curse word meaning shit kut: vulgar term for lady-parts CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Frans and Hennie Papin: Arie's little brothers Oom Gerrit Papin: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother)

Chapter 25
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 20C

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  The five of them spend the last nine days before the Amsterdam Fair at Oom Gerrit’s house where they construct the 12-hole kolven field that will be used for the kolf competition. Fair day arrives and 16 teams have signed up to play. Kilian’s team wins their first two matches easily but faces stiffer competition in the third match, which they also end up winning. Now they have only the finals to win to be the overall champions.

They meet their opponents for the final match, and it happens to be the two scoundrels who had attacked Arie at last year’s fair. They are actually nobles named Albert and Diederek. Our heroes get them 2-down through 6 holes, then their opponents cheat by convincing a spectator to kick Rube’s drive into a water hazard. However, there was no rule against this and they end up losing the 7th hole.

More shenanigans cause them to lose the 8th hole as well, and the match is even going into the tricky 9th hole, where Rube comes through with a miraculous shot to win that hole. The scoundrels lose all their balls in the process, but through quick thinking, Arie tricks them into borrowing the smooth ball that Rube had made the previous year that doesn’t fly very far. This causes the villains to lose another hole and our heroes are now 2-up with 2 to play, needing only a tie or win on one of the last two holes to win the championship.

 

 

Chapter 20C

 

As Rube was about to strike his next smash, the rotter, who had kicked our ball into the creek several holes back, came running up and handed a ball to Albert. He was out of breath from the effort but managed to say, “I waded through the swamp back there on the 9th and fetched this ball from the back of the pond.”

“Thank you, my good man,” said Albert as he took the ball. Now holding both his prior ball and Rube’s smooth one in his hands like that, it finally dawned on him that perhaps it hadn’t been the wind or topping the ball that accounted for the strange action of those shots on the 10th hole. He stomped over to Arie and held out Rube’s ball, clenched in his hand.

“Miserable kut! You tricked me with this piece of stront,” he said as he threw the ball hard to the ground at her feet.

A sly smile came over her, but I wouldn’t let him talk to my wife that way and began charging after him as he turned and retreated from her, but Lars and Rube grabbed me from behind before I could advance very far. “Forget him, Kilian,” said Lars. “We’ve got them where we want them. Let’s just finish them off before the sky opens up. It’s getting very dark now.”

Arie approached Rube then, while he was getting ready to hit and said, “Ruben, don’t forget to put those cloths in your ears. I think they are going to try to distract you again.”

He reached into his pocket and fished them out, but before helping him place them in his ears, she said, “Hit this one low if you can so the wind won’t kill it. Move your legs forward a bit so the ball is back toward the middle of your stance. That will help keep it lower.”

When the cloth had been firmly pushed into his ears, she stood back then and watched. Although Albert had shouted “Miss! Miss! Miss!” at the top of Rube’s backswing, he was not distracted because of the combination of the wind and the fabric in his ears, and he hit a low hard one that kept under the wind, hit the ground, and rolled a good long way before coming to a stop. It was a wonderful shot under these conditions. Arie had a big smile for him as he looked at her, and he smiled back.

It was Albert’s turn, and he unleashed a fair smash with his old ball, which sailed substantially farther than the smooth ball, proving to him that he had indeed been tricked with the borrowed ball. His ball was considerably farther from the hole than Rube’s smash, but this was such a short hole that Diederek could still reach the green with an easy middler shot, which he proceeded to do. It was probably his best shot of the day, as the ball rolled up to a mere three feet from the hole. There was perfunctory clapping from the crowd, for the majority of the folk were clearly in our favor now, having had their fill of Albert and Diederek’s rude behavior. We heard one man shout to us, “We’re with you, lads and lass. Go get ‘em now, and finish those buggers off!” with a few “Hear, hears” to boot.

We arrived at Rube’s smash, which was so long in spite of the wind that we had only a short lifter shot to the green. Lars struck a low one, again attempting to keep it under the wind, and made it to the green easily, where it rolled up to within six paces of the hole. Not quite as close as Diederek’s, but still a very good shot.

The other team was sure to hole their ball for a three, so if Arie could hole her ball, it would be a tie on the hole, and we would win the match right there. She took her time with a few practice strokes and stepped up to the ball, looking several times from it to the hole to picture it going in. We could see Albert and Diederek standing near the hole with anxious looks on their faces, as the fate of the match now rested on Arie’s shot. You could sense the tension in the crowd. She took one more look from the ball to the hole, returned her eyes to the ball, and stroked it.

It was heading straight for the hole and would surely go in when, in desperation, Albert reached into his pocket, removed a coin, and threw it down on the path of the ball. It hit the coin, jumped a little, which slowed its progress, and stopped on the lip of the hole, where it appeared to teeter, but settled back and came to a standstill, hanging half over the hole but refusing to drop. The crowd groaned loudly.

Arie looked up at Albert with such venom in her expression that I was sure she would rush forward and attempt to strike him with her holer, so I ran to her and grabbed her before she had the chance to. As this unfolded, the crowd rushed onto the green and began stamping their feet on the ground near the hole. We were surrounded by a sea of people all shouting, “Drop, drop!” as they continued stamping their feet to try to shake the ground. A sudden peal of thunder ripped through the air, and as the stamping continued, the ball seemed to vibrate, move a fraction… and fell in.

 
Whether it was a gust of wind, or the vibration of the air from the thunder, or the stamping on the ground by the crowd that made it drop, I’ll never know, but the crowd whooped with joy as they lifted Arie and me into the air and up on their shoulders. I looked down and saw Fredrik and Gerrit gripping Albert and Diederek tightly around the chest with their arms pinioned to their sides, as they pushed them through the crowd and out of our sight.

At that point, the skies opened up, and the rain poured down on us, but neither we nor the crowd cared a whit about that as the applause and the shouts continued unabated for several minutes.

Arie and I, with hands clasped, were carried on shoulders to the edge of the green and set down between Lars and Rube, who were being congratulated and patted on the back by many folks. The four of us joined in a group hug as the crowd began to disperse and head back to the start, where there would be an awards ceremony.

The rules official came up to us and congratulated us on our victory. Arie stepped forward then and said, “Sir, I most humbly apologize for my rude behavior earlier and I ask your forgiveness. There is no excuse for my talking to you as I did.”

“That’s quite alright, young lady. It was the heat of the moment, and I understand completely. I wish now that I could take that ruling back. Those scoundrels are an embarrassment to this wonderful game you devised, and I’m sorry I ruled as I did. You are completely forgiven if you will likewise forgive me.”

She gave him a big hug as she looked up and winked at him. He smiled at me and said, “You have quite the amazing little wife here, Kilian.”

I smiled back. “Don’t I know it, sir.”

Together, the five of us walked back to the starting hole, where a raised platform had been constructed. The rain had abated some but was still coming down steadily. No one, including the crowd, seemed to mind. We took to the platform, and the official moved to the front, where he stood above the crowd and put up his hands for silence. It took them a while to settle down, and he had to shout to help quiet them, but when there was finally silence, he said in a loud voice, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to present the winners of the first Amsterdam Kolf Competition: Kilian Pauls, Arie Pauls, Lars Jansen, and Ruben Meijer!” He retreated to the side then.

To thunderous applause, cheers, and whistles (the loudest of which came from Lotte in the front row), we moved forward and raised our clasped hands in the air. This went on for at least a minute, at which time the official stepped to the front again and raised his hands for silence. When the crowd finally settled down, he said, “This young team is a tremendous credit to the wonderful game of kolf that they devised. Their comportment during a very trying match against a rogue team, who stood out in great contrast to them, was exemplary, and they are to be commended for it.” Wild cheers from the crowd.

“And now, I would like to present the prize money and a plaque to honor their victory.” To more applause and cheers, he handed us the 10-guilder prize and the plaque. We thanked him for it. He then said, “Kilian, do you have a few words to say?”

“Can I do it?” Arie asked me.

“Of course you can. I knew you would want to.”

The official moved to the side again as Arie took to the center to cries of “Arie! Arie! Arie!” from the crowd. She raised her arms to quiet them.

When they finally quieted enough to hear her, she said in a loud voice that projected well, “On behalf of my team, we thank the official and his staff most kindly for this prize and a well-run competition.” More cheers and applause.

“We would also like to thank the other competitors as well as all of you who attended for your great support of this new game.” More applause.

“We are very happy to have won, but even happier to see how well our new game is catching on. We have done our best to spread the word, and we encourage you to do the same. Give it a try, and we’re sure you will have great fun playing. We hope to see you back again next year, and maybe some of you will join the field of competitors. Thank you very much!”

 

She shouted the last to more thunderous applause and shouts of “Arie! Arie! Arie!” as she stepped back again to be with us. We joined together in another group hug as the whistles and shouts and applause continued.

At last, the crowd began to disperse, and we stepped off the platform to greet Arie’s family, who came up to congratulate us. More hugs all around. I sidled over to Fredrik and Gerrit.

“So, what happened with Albert and Diederek?”

Fredrik said, “Let’s just say we left them in slightly worse condition than you did last year. I don’t think they will ever show their rearranged faces in this competition again.”

“Well, thank you for dealing with them. It is much appreciated.”

 

 

We all walked together back to Gerrit’s house, where we collapsed in his large sitting room, sprawled all over couches and chairs. We were exhausted from a full day of kolven and hungry as well. Lotte brought out some refreshments for us to snack on, then retreated to the kitchen with Anneke to help prepare a grand meal.

We were sweaty and did not smell the best, so we decided to bathe while the meal was being prepared. Arie bathed last, and when she returned to the room, she closed the door behind her. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and she had another towel wrapped around her body, which she let drop to the floor as she walked slowly toward me.

We didn’t come out for the next half-hour and had to be called to the meal. Lars and Lotte gave us knowing looks as we sat down to a sumptuous meal of beef pies and a variety of vegetables, breads, and cheeses. The conversation was lively as we recounted the day, especially the final round with all the events that made that round so memorable. We could not get over Arie’s quick thinking that led to that ball fiasco on the 10th hole with Rube’s smooth ball.

Pretty soon the merriment died down as exhaustion finally crept over us, and we retreated to our rooms for much-needed sleep. Arie and I fell asleep in each other’s arms at the end of a very long but very satisfying day.

 

(Two more chapters until the end of Part 1)

 

Author Notes

Dutch words klootzaks: assholes. stront: curse word meaning shit kut: vulgar term for lady-parts

Chapter 26
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 21

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: The kids meet their opponents for the final match, and it happens to be the two scoundrels who had attacked Arie at last year’s fair. They are actually nobles named Albert and Diederek. Our heroes get them 2-down through 6 holes, then their opponents cheat by convincing a spectator to kick Rube’s drive into a water hazard. However, there was no rule against this and they end up losing the 7th hole.

More shenanigans cause them to lose the 8th hole as well, and the match is even going into the tricky 9th hole, where Rube comes through with a miraculous shot to win that hole. The scoundrels lose all their balls in the process, but through quick thinking, Arie tricks them into borrowing the smooth ball that Rube had made the previous year that doesn’t fly very far. This causes the villains to lose another hole and our heroes are now 2-up with 2 to play, needing only a tie or win on one of the last two holes to win the championship.

One of the villain’s friends retrieves a ball for Albert and Diederek, and they realize they’ve been duped with the smooth ball. Arie needs a long putt to tie the hole and win the match, but Albert makes one last attempt to stop her. With a little help from nature or the crowd, her ball finds the hole, and it’s over. Kilian and Arie are lifted up by the crowd as the two villains are hauled away and beaten up badly by Fredrik and Gerrit. After Arie’s acceptance speech at the award ceremony, they all head back to Gerrit’s house where they celebrate their victory.

 

 

Chapter 21

 

 

Buoyed by the success of the competition, evident in the huge crowds we drew, the five of us decided to move to Amsterdam, where we became merchants of our kolf equipment and services. As with the game itself, each of us took on a different role in our new business.

Lotte became our designer of new kolven fields, which we began calling them. Many of the wealthy landowners in the area, who had attended the competition at the fair, sought her services to lay out holes on their properties. With her artist’s eye and keen sense of observation, she was able to visualize holes where none of the rest of us could ever have imagined them. Her kolven fields included an assortment of beautiful, interesting, and challenging holes to play with a great variety of lengths, elevation changes, and hazards. They were always fun to play, and the four of us got to play them often, as we generally had an open invitation from the owners to play when we wanted. Over the years, they would arrange exhibitions and matches for us against local teams that were forming, as the game became more popular.

For the first year after forming our company, all of us would be busy making kolfs and balls, but as time went on, Rube took over the equipment role almost by himself. As the business grew, he eventually hired some young apprentices to help him. He taught the lads to seek out the strongest branches they could find of hickory, beech, ash, and cherry. Hickory became the leading wood used for kolf shafts and heads, as all of our kolfs were one solid piece. He experimented with shaving the shafts thinner and thinner, which enabled him to make the heads of the kolfs larger and the kolfs lighter and whippier overall. He built up a sizable inventory of kolfs and balls, which we were able to sell at the weekly markets in town.

Lars turned out to be a skilled instructor of the game. Along with Lotte’s pictures and his written instructions on how to swing, he made up a number of instruction scrolls for sale and gave lessons as well. He was often hired by the landowners, who had built kolven fields on their properties, to come out and teach them and their neighbors to play the game.

Both Arie and I were the co-managers of the company, overseeing the different operations, including setting up and manning the stall in the weekly market, organizing the annual competitions at the Amsterdam Fair and further promotional trips around the area to continue our efforts to spread the game. Most of this eventually settled on me, as Arie began having babies and spent much of her time at home with them.

Over the next eight years, she gave birth to two boys and, most recently, a girl. Lotte and Lars also had three children—two girls and a boy. We lived next door to each other, which was very near Rube’s equipment shop. Rube lived by himself over the shop, and he became an unofficial oom to all of our children. The children adored their big, jolly Oom Ruben, who loved to play with them, and as they got older, he began teaching them his trade. They would accompany him to the woods, where he taught them about the different trees, and they helped him collect branches for the kolfs and balls.

One day, he met a woman whom he fell in love with and married, but he didn’t have any children of his own yet.

We all live comfortably now as we make a good living from this increasingly popular game, which we are proud to say that we created and spread.

 

 

We made a number of trips over the years back home, where we brought the children to visit with their grootouders. One evening in late summer, while visiting with the Papins, Arie and I decided to take a walk with the children and show them the place where we had met. The boys were five and six, and our little daughter was only three. The children all brought a kolf and ball with them so they could hit shots as we walked. We had taught all three to play the game, and little Lieke, our 3-year-old daughter, was especially fond of it. She was the spitting image of her mother, with bright red hair and little freckles on her nose and cheeks.

It was a beautiful summer evening. The day had been warm, but it had cooled off considerably, making for a very pleasant walk. Arie and I held hands and walked behind while the children would hit their balls and run ahead.

“This is nice,” I said. The birds were growing quiet as the crickets began their nightly concert. The wind had stilled, and the shadows of the trees and of us were growing longer now as the evening deepened. I took Arie by the waist as she moved closer and laid her head on my shoulder.

“I’m happy, Kilian. We’ve made a wonderful life for ourselves, and all because of this wonderful game you invented.”

“Well, even if I never had, just meeting you and knowing you and loving you would have been enough to make me a happy man. So let me ask you: If it had been Lars or Ruben being chased that day, would you have called out to either of them to come hide with you in that hole?”

“Neither of them would have fit in there with me. As it was, we were pretty tight together.”

“Yes, and I liked it! You got me very excited, you know.”

“I knew. I could feel you against me. I liked it too.”

I chuckled. “And do you remember the day when we were up on that hill and we got our first idea to create the lifter? You were about to say something, but then you stopped and started blushing. What were you going to say?”

“You know.”

“Well, what made you stop? Why didn’t you just say it?”

“I wanted to hear you say it first. You sure took your time about it.”

“It wasn’t because I didn’t feel it. I think I fell in love with you the moment I pulled you out of that hole. I was just shy.”

“Do you still love me, Kilian?”

“I love you more than ever, Arie. I love our children. I love our life together. I don’t think I could be any happier than I am right now.”

“And I love you too, my dearest, sweet, wonderful man. Let us never part from each other.”

I wrapped both my arms tightly around her, and we kissed for a long time. After a while, we stopped and started walking again with arms around each other. We had been married for eight years, and we were still only 23 and 22 years old. We were little more than kids ourselves, but we felt like adults now with kids of our own and responsibilities.

We watched the children strike their balls. Rube had made shortened kolfs for them so they could swing naturally. He put extra lift on Lieke’s, who couldn’t hit her ball very far yet, but she was still able to get it into the air with the extra lift. If she takes after her mother, she will be a very good kolfer one day. She certainly has the same joy for the game that Arie has.

When we got to the cave, I called the three to come over and join us.

“This is the place where we met, children,” I said. “The first time I saw Mama, I only saw her head as she was peeking out of this hole you see here. This is the entrance to a cave.”

“We know, Papa. We have heard this story many times,” said our eldest son, Pieter. “She called to you to hide you from Oom Lars and Oom Ruben, who were chasing you. Why were they chasing you again? I forget.”

“I said something unkind to Oom Lars, and he took offense to it and vowed to pound me with his fists.”

“But what did you say, Papa?” asked our middle son, Fredrik, named after his opa.

“It’s not important, but it was enough to anger him into a wicked chase.”

“Why did you call to him, Mama?” asked Lieke.

“I could tell he needed my help. Plus, he looked very handsome,” she said as she smiled at me.

“And why did you ask if she was a wood elf, Papa?” Pieter asked.

“Well, it seemed like she had come from the woods to my rescue, and she looked like how I pictured a wood elf would look. She was small and very cute. Not too different from the way she looks now. Her ears weren’t pointed, though, so I should have known better.”

“Where was Papa when you first saw him, Mama?” asked Fredrik.

“He came running out of those woods over there,” she said, pointing to the place. “Let’s go see it.”

The children took another swipe at their balls in the direction of the woods. When we got there, we stopped. Arie and I turned around to face them, and I said, “This is the very spot I came running from.” Right then, I saw a ball zoom past me and into the woods. Little Lieke had struck it.

Arie said, “Lieke, dear. Please be careful where you are aiming. You don’t want to strike someone. Those hard balls can leave a bruise.”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t know where it is now. Did you see it, Papa?”

“I think I can find it for you, schatje. Just be careful from now on.”

“I will.”

“I’ll be back in a moment, then I think we’d better turn around and head back,” I said to the family as I stepped into the woods.

 

(One more chapter to go in Part 1)

 

 

Author Notes

Dutch words groutouders: grandparents oom: uncle opa: grandfather CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1247 Holland Kilian Pauls: A 14-year-old shepherd boy in 1247 Holland. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Arie Papin: A 13-year-old farmgirl in 1247 Holland. Lars (Lard) Jansen: A fellow shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Ruben (Rube) Meijer: Another shepherd boy and friend of Kilian. Fredrik Papin (Dhr Papin): Arie's father Mevr Papin: Arie's mother Lotte Papin: Arie's younger sister Frans and Hennie Papin: Arie's little brothers Oom Gerrit Papin: Arie's uncle (Fredrik's brother) Pieter, Fredrik, and Lieke Pauls: Kilian and Arie's children

Chapter 27
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 22

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: The five move to Amsterdam where they set up a kolf business, making and selling equipment, designing courses, and continuing to expand the game throughout Holland. Over the next eight years, Kilian and Arie have three children as do Lars and Lottie. On a trip home to visit with the Papins, Kilian and Arie take their kids for a walk to show them where they met and to relate the story of it to them. Their 3-year-old daughter hits a ball into the woods and Kilian goes in to fetch it for her.

 

 

Chapter 22

 

Santa Barbara, California
2032

 

 

When I emerged from under the railroad trestle with my Titleist in my hand, the first thing I saw was the expectant face of old Art Calvin looking at me from the top of the bank. Paul and Dumbo were off on the other side of the 7th hole, about to play their shots to the green.

How could this possibly be? I turned back around to stare beneath the trestle, but all I saw was a grassy field on the other side where my ball had laid out-of-bounds. Where was Arie? Where were my children? Where was the wonderful life I had spent the last nine years living? What was going on here?

“Kevin,” I heard Art Calvin call to me. “You’re back. Come here and talk to me.”

“Mr. Calvin, I… “ but I trailed off then. I didn’t know what to say. I was totally confused. “My wife… my children… I can’t just—”

“Come here, lad, and talk to me. I think I know what you’re going through right now.”

I climbed back up the bank and stood facing him. “But how could you, unless—”

“Unless I was there too? I wasn’t there, but I’ve been elsewhere. Many times, in fact. But it’s always someplace different and at different times. Where and when were you just now?”

“I was in Holland, and the year was 1256. I was there for nine years. I had a wife and three children, and I was just 23 years old. But now I’m back here as if no time has passed.”

“None has. It was just seconds ago when you left. So, Kevin Parsons, what was your name there?”

“It was Kilian. Kilian Pauls. Where is he now? Am I him? This is too weird!”

“I think he’s probably back in Holland in 1256, doing whatever he was doing when you left him.”

“When I left him? You mean he’s not here now, inside of me? Are we not one and the same person? I can’t believe I’m even asking this.”

“I don’t think it works that way, Kevin. I think you were him for a while, but he was never you. When you were Kilian, did you have any memory or awareness that you were Kevin?”

I thought for a long moment. “No. None at all. I was just 14-year-old Kilian when I arrived there and 23 when I left. I was never Kevin there.”

“And he’s not Kilian here either; at least I don’t think so. You were him for a few years, but now you are just you again. You never actually left here. I could see you the entire time as you bent down and fetched your ball on the other side of the portal. Then you returned immediately.”

“The portal? Is that what that old trestle is? A time portal?”

“Apparently so.”

“And I’m still back there with Arie and the children? I mean, Kilian is?”

“I believe that’s the way it works, yes.”

“This is too much, Mr. Calvin. This is going to take me a while to get my head around. This just blows my mind. I just added nine years to my life without aging more than a few seconds.”

“Please call me Art. That’s true. But you will eventually understand. You will, and it will become clearer to you what has just happened the more you think about it. I’ve had years to think about it. As I said, I’ve been through that portal a number of times, and I’m always someone different when I’m there, but I always come back again as just me.”

I shook my head. “Wait until I tell Paul and Dumbo about this. They’ll never believe it. Or should I not tell them?”

“It’s okay to tell them. It won’t change anything, except perhaps their opinion of your sanity. But you can try to convince them it’s real. It might be a fun challenge.”

“Did you ever tell anyone about it?”

“I tried to, but no one ever quite believed me. Perhaps you’ll be more persuasive than I.”

“Kevin! What’s the deal, man?” shouted Paul just then. “You just going to stand around talking all day? Why did you even waste time getting that ball in the first place? It was only a lousy ball. Come hit your second shot, and let’s get going.” All this in about three seconds.

“I’m going to give it a try,” I said to Art. “Paul, Dumbo! Come here for a moment!” I shouted to them. “I gotta tell you something.”

They came over then, but warily. “Let’s sit down in the shade over there for a few minutes. There’s no one behind us, and if some group comes up, they can just play through. I’ve got to tell you something you may not believe, but it’s true. I’ve got to tell you where I’ve been for the last nine years.”

They both looked at me strangely but followed me over to the shade of some trees, and we all sat down together.

“What do you mean by where you’ve been for the last nine years? You sound like you’ve just returned from a trip somewhere,” said Paul.

“I have. I’ve been to Holland, but it was almost 800 years ago.”

Paul and Dumbo looked at each other, frowning.

“Let me just tell you, and don’t interrupt. I’ll just tell it all, and then you can ask me questions about it at the end.”

“Okay, man. The floor is yours,” said Dumbo, and then I proceeded to tell them the whole story.

 

 

“And when I went into the woods to look for Lieke’s ball, I stepped from beneath the trestle and saw Art standing at the top of the bank looking down at me. And so, here we are now. That’s it. So, what do you think about it?”

They both just stared at me for a while now that the tale was done. Dumbo was the first to speak. “Kevin, this sounds like some world-building app you recently purchased. I must say, I never knew you to have such an imagination. Surely you must be telling us what happened when you played your computer game. So, you invented golf, you’re telling us?”

“Well, Kilian did.”

“Kilian did,” he said while looking at Paul and snorting. “And isn’t Kilian your avatar in that world?”

“No. He was a real person, and I was inside him for the past nine years. Then I came out of him when I walked back under the trestle.”

“How do you know that?” asked Paul. “How do you know he didn’t come with you and we’re talking with him right now? Aren’t you and he the same person?”

“I don’t think so. I think I was him in Holland, but he wasn’t me, if that makes any sense.”

“So, you took over his body?” said Dumbo.

“No, I don’t think that either. He had absolutely no awareness of me or my life in 2032. He was just Kilian, married to Arie in 13th century Holland, and the inventor of golf. I must have just been inside his mind, sharing it with him for a while.”

 

“So, he’s still there with Arie and his children,” said Paul. “How do you know he didn’t come back through the portal with you and he’s here right now?” asked Paul again.

“Well, maybe he is. I have no idea, really. Maybe all of us go back and forth through different portals from time to time. I don’t know. This is all new to me. So, do you believe me or not?”

 

Dumbo looked at Art Calvin then. “Art, what do you think about this wild tale?”

“Oh, I believe every word of it. Have you ever known Kevin to come up with an idea like this before? I don’t know him very well, but I have a sense that he is a solid individual and a down-to-earth, no-nonsense sort of person, not some right-brained fantasizer.”

“Well, we’ve known him most of our lives,” said Paul. “We all met in elementary school and have been friends for years, and I’d say your assessment of him is basically correct. But I just can’t bring myself to believe this. He must have gotten this idea from some game he downloaded, like Dumbo said, and he’s trying to have fun with this.”

“Well, why don’t you come with me then? I’m going back to see if I can find Arie and the children again. I liked being Kilian. Golf was certainly more fun back then than it is now. Besides my family, it was my whole life, and I loved it. I’d like to get that feeling back again. Come with me, guys.”

“I think I’m going to call your bluff and come with you beneath that trestle, just to prove you’re bullshitting us,” said Paul. “Coming too, Dumbo?”

“I’ll pass. I’ll wait here in 2032 Santa Barbara. Say hello to Arie for me, Kevin. She sounds like quite the hottie.”

“Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about! Or at least she was when I was inside Kilian. But I won’t be able to send her your greetings because Kilian doesn’t know anything about me or you or 2032 America. I don’t even know if I’ll jump into Kilian again when I go back through the portal. We’ll see. Come with us, Dumbo.”

“Pass. You two go. I’ll be waiting when you get back from… wherever,” he said sarcastically.

“Okay then. Your loss. If Paul confirms my story, will you believe me then?”

“I guess we’ll see. Go on. Be off with you. Have a great time. Art and I will be here waiting.”

We left them then and headed back to the trestle. “Ready?” I said to Paul. He rolled his eyes at me, and we stepped under the trestle together.

 

 

 

(The End of Part 1.  Part 2 begins on Monday)

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing.

Chapter 28
Saving Mr. Calvin - P2/Chap 23

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

 

Recap of the past few chapters: As Kilian enters the woods to find Lieke’s ball, he passes through the portal and Kevin comes back out from under the railroad trestle back to 2032 Santa Barbara where Art Calvin is waiting for him. Kevin is baffled by what has just happened and Art explains it to him. Apparently, Kevin has been sharing the mind of Kilian in 1247-1256 Holland for the last nine years in Holland time, but when passing back through the portal has left Kilian’s mind and has returned as himself again. His body has never actually left here, and Art explains that he could see him the entire time while fetching his Titleist ball. Art convinces him that, while in Holland, he was Kilian, but Kilian was never him and had no awareness of Kevin. Kilian never left Arie and the kids when Kevin returned and remained there with his family.

Kilian decides to tell the tale of his trip to Holland to Paul and Dumbo who don’t believe him. Kevin says he is going to go through the portal again to try to find Arie and the kids because he enjoyed his life there. He tries to persuade the guys to go with him, and only Paul accedes to this but as a lark just to prove Kevin is bullshitting them about this. The two of them go under the trestle as Part 1 ends.

 

 

Part 2

 

 

Chapter 23

 

Near Edinburgh, Scotland
1458

 

“To me! To me, lads! One last charge, and we’ll send those bastard English back to their ships in defeat. Spearmen, to the front. Archers, to the rear. When I call the word, have at ‘em lads. Dinnae flag in your efforts, and this will be a glorious day!”

Putney, Alex, and I nocked arrows to our long bows when the captain called out these words, and we got ready for the charge. On horseback, the captain rode up and down the field in front of the woods where we were mustered. We could see the enemy troops lining up in the field some 250 ells away. In a few seconds, we heard the call of “Charge! Charge!”

Out of the woods, we streamed. The spearmen led the charge, while we archers fired over their heads at the enemy forces in the distance. We could see shields raised overhead in places, but this first assault of arrows struck a number of men, whom we could see fall to the ground. We then followed the spearmen into the heat of battle.

My two friends and I attempted to remain together, but the exigencies of hand-to-hand combat made that impossible to maintain for long. Our attention was drawn hither and yon, particularly to the mounted infantrymen who towered above us on horseback.

“Kirk, help me!” I heard behind me. As I whipped around, I could see Putt down on the ground with a huge axe-wielder preparing to strike him. With battle axe raised in his two hands, I fired an arrow beneath his helm and through his neck, toppling him to fall face down on my friend, the arrow protruding from the front of his throat. It just missed Putt’s face. Together, we pushed his body off, and I offered my hand to pull Putt from the ground.

“I owe you, brother,” he said, but I'm hoping not to have to collect on the debt.

 

The battle raged for another half hour or so when it became apparent to the enemy forces that they were outmanned and outmaneuvered and began a steady retreat. This was the end of a month’s defense of our city against this attack from the English, and we were all exhausted and did not feel like finishing them off, but let the few remaining ones return to their ships to flee the land in shame and defeat. Victory was ours once again in these relentless assaults by the English as they attempted to wrest control back from our country, which just wanted to be left alone in peace. It was all over for today, but there was no telling when they would be back once again, necessitating that we remain as soldiers of the king of Scotland, James II.

Alex found us, and the three of us sat down on the ground for a breather before we began the task of helping the wounded from the field and the further unpleasant task of loading the dead onto wagons to bring back to town for a proper burial. Alex then sought out the nurses to bandage his arm, which had been nicked by a swordsman, leaving a nasty gash. We waited with him to be attended to. Fortunately, the wound was not deep enough to have caused any great harm, and he was released to our care after being bandaged.

This was the apparent end of a days-long attack by the English, one of many we had experienced over the past few years. The three of us were permitted to go home until the next muster, which hopefully would not be needed again for a long time.

We were still expected to keep up our training, though, in order to keep our fighting skills sharp, and this required regular practice sessions led by local captains. We were supposed to report to the training grounds on Sunday afternoons and not leave until after dinner to take part in drills and target shooting, but supervision of these had begun to get quite lax, and participation had been steadily waning to the point where many ceased showing up at all. I had not reached that point yet, but the slowness in coming up to speed with our most recent muster for battle, which was quite noticeable, did not bode well, and we all felt the king was about to crack down on us in some way.

But for now, we didn’t worry about that and just hurried back to our villages to the comforts of hearth and home and loved ones. I couldn’t wait to see my fair Aggie again. When we got to the crossroads marked by the large directional sign pointing this way and that to nearby towns, Putt and I bade goodbye to Alex, who took the road to Castasnogwary while we took the road to Foon.

“See you at archery practice next week, Alex,” I called to him.

“Maybe, and then again, maybe not, Kierkegaard,” he called back. “At any rate, I’ll see you lads in a fortnight to discuss this year’s gowf match.” He turned then and strode slowly away to his village.

Alex’s full name is Alexander MacGillycuddy, but Putt and I just call him Alex, much to his good-natured dismay. He finally gave up trying to correct us about his name a few years ago, but in return, he began calling me by my birth name, which was Kierkegaard Patterson. But the name I go by today is Kirk Pate, and Putt’s current name is Putney Pell. The fact that Alexander MacGillycuddy comes from a town called Castasnogwary while Putt and I come from Foon is noteworthy, but I will describe the reason for that another time.

 

 

Following Alex’s departure, Putt and I headed to town and to the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern, where Aggie Lang is the innkeeper. Aggie is my betrothed. Her father had been the innkeeper until last year, when he contracted the plague, which left his lungs so weak that he can no longer work and stays confined in his room upstairs. Her mother had perished from the plague as did about a quarter of the townsfolk, so that left the care of the inn in the capable hands of the eldest daughter, Aggie. She has two younger siblings, whom she also helps raise in the absence of her mother. Aggie and I have been engaged to be married for a while now. The plague, as well as my military service, put a temporary halt to those plans, but I’m hoping we can begin planning our wedding again soon, now that I am back from battle.

Putt and I entered the Bonnie Brae Tavern. There was a decent crowd there on this mid-summer’s eve, and I spotted Aggie carrying a tray of mugs to a table. Upon hearing my name and Putt’s called out by a number of patrons welcoming us back, Aggie turned, and our eyes met across the room.

She was a sight for sore eyes. A bonnie lass with long red hair tied in a loose braid that hung midway down her back. Large green eyes and full lips with a scattering of freckles on her slightly upturned nose. She wore a long skirt with a thin blouse, very low-cut in front, which exposed her lovely neck and ample bosom. I saw her eyes begin to tear up as she put the tray down and came rushing over. She jumped into my arms, put her legs around my waist, and buried her face into my neck as she began sobbing. I reached beneath her long, red braid and gently stroked her neck and back as she continued to sob for another minute. When she had composed herself enough, she looked into my eyes, and we shared a long kiss together to the hoots and cheers and applause from the crowd in the tavern.

When the kiss was over and I put her down, she turned to Putt, gave him a hug, and said softly to him, “Putt, I’m so glad to see you again too. Do you think you could take over the bar duties for a bit? Kirk and I would like to go upstairs for a while.”

“Gladly. Take as long as you like,” he said with a wink. “This is the first bit of payback for his saving my life today. In fact, I’ll just plan on closing up tonight. See you two tomorrow.”

 

What a friend! I smiled at him as Aggie took my hand and led me up the stairs.

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier. Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier. Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiancee. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father. Scottish words dinnae: don't ell: unit of measure equal to about a yard (37 inches) bonnie: beautiful gowf: early term for golf in Scotland

Chapter 29
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 24

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the previous chapter: After Kevin and Paul pass through the portal, we end up at the beginning of a battle between the Scottish and the English in 1458 Scotland. Kirk Pate and Putney Pell and their friend Alex are Scottish archers about to engage in battle. At the call of “Charge,” they join the fray and battle until the few remaining English are allowed to retreat to their ships. The battle is over for today, but is just one of many between these foes at that time.

The three are allowed to return home and split up when they come to the crossroads, with Kirk and Putney (Putt) heading to their town of Foon and Alex heading to the nearby town of Castasnogwary. Back in Foon, Kirk and Putt enter the Bonnie Brae Tavern where Kirk sees his fiance, Aggie, who is the innkeeper. She runs and jumps into his arms and begins crying. She asks Putt if he will take over the innkeeper duties while she and Kirk go upstairs, and he gladly accepts as the first bit of payback for Kirk’s having saved his life in battle.

 

 

Chapter 24

Aggie and I awoke at 6:00 AM. We lay in bed, cuddling and talking together, as we had not done a great deal of talking last night.

“Kirk, every time you are off to war, it gets harder and harder for me. Each time, I fear you will not return, or if you do, it will be as a corpse wrapped in shrouds. Will this war never end?”

“I think we have a ways to go yet before the English will just give it up. There does seem to be a slackening of effort on their part I have noticed, though. Perhaps it won’t be too much longer. I promise not to take heedless risks, and I will come back to you, my love.”

“Please see that you do. I would be lost without you.”

We kissed then, which began to get more and more ardent until Aggie broke it off, saying, “Kirk, we have no time now. The guests wake early, and we must get breakfast going.”

Reluctantly, we arose from bed and got dressed. Although I had my own place, there were many nights that I stayed with Aggie in her room at the inn, and I kept several changes of clothing there. Her parents had frowned on this arrangement, but we were both 22 years old and would have been married except for the misfortunes of disease and warfare. We were adults now and did as we pleased, notwithstanding the misgivings of her parents. Then her mother passed, and her father was too sick to work, and I began helping Aggie run the inn in his stead. He could hardly complain any longer.

While Aggie began preparing breakfast, I lowered the chairs to the floor and set the tables. Putt had been so good as to lift the chairs to the tables and mop the floor last night after closing the tavern. He had put in the work to leave the place spotless, even after a day of battle in the field and a long walk home to Foon. He must have been exhausted by the end of the night. He was a good friend to Aggie and me.

Aggie had aroused her two younger siblings, 12-year-old Jack and 10-year-old Isla, from bed before going downstairs to begin the morning routine, and they soon joined us. Jack’s job was to make the cooking fires while Isla collected eggs from the chickens and fed them. Both would fetch water from the well to use for the porridge, which Aggie cooked in a large pot, and for making tea for the guests. I helped Aggie in the kitchen make the black pudding (also known as blood sausage), which she would fry up along with eggs and several rashers of bacon.

I had expected Putt to sleep-in this morning, but he showed up at 7:30 to help us with breakfast. Aggie said to him, “Putt, I can’t thank you enough for taking over last night the way you did. You are a good friend to me and Kirk.” She gave him a hug and kissed him then. He had to bend down to receive it. Putt was tall and lean and quick in everything he did.

“It was the least I could do for you and Kirk. You should have seen what that big, brawny lad did in battle yesterday. He—”

“I don’t want to hear about it, thank you. I’d rather not ken what you men must go through to defend our country from those sorry invaders. I only wish it were over with, and those savages would recognize our independence once and for all!”

“As do I. Well, put me to work, then. I can’t stand idly by watching you and Kirk bustling around the kitchen with me doing nothing.”

“Alright then. Why don’t you fry up the black pudding Kirk is making and give the oats an occasional stir. And thank you, dear friend.”

“My pleasure. So, now that we are back, when do you two plan to have your wedding, if I may make so bold? It’s still on, isn’t it?”

“Aggie and I talked about that a little bit this morning. We plan to announce it this evening to the guests at the tavern. We decided to hold it in a month’s time following our victory at the annual gowf match against the Snogs. And to give us extra incentive to win, we said we would not marry this year unless we beat them. I’ve got a new plan for winning that I’ve been thinking of, and I would like to discuss it with you both when we get some time. It will be held at our links this year, so we get to suggest the rules. With my plan, I’m guessing we will have a distinct advantage this year. Plus, we have a secret weapon that Aggie has created while we were off at war.”

“Indeed? And what might that be?”

“Never you mind for now, Putt,” said Aggie. “Not even Kirk knows what it is yet. Come back around 2:00 this afternoon when I have some spare time, and we’ll go to the links and play a few holes. I will show you then. In the meantime, you boys have some breakfast, then be off with you. I’m sure your clients are eager to have you resume your labors for them.”

Aggie began serving her customers then, and we finished our breakfasts before heading to our workman’s hut to grab our tools. When not soldiering, Putt and I have been in business together, building houses. In the past five years since moving to Foon, we have had quite a lot of business. I should probably mention how Foon came into being in the first place to help explain why we have never been without work and how we expect to be busy for the foreseeable future.

 

 

Until five years ago, Aggie, Putt, and I were residents of Castasnogwary, the next town over from Foon. If you remember, that’s where Alex is from. Excuse me, Alexander MacGillycuddy.

The Castasnogwarians or simply the Snogs, as we call them, are a phlegmatic folk. They delight in long names and go about matters at an agonizingly slow pace. Good-natured but often unemotional, they are very different from us here in Foon.

Aggie, Putt, Alex, and I have been friends since childhood. We were unlike the rest of the children in Castasnogwary in that we were much more outgoing, quick-witted, and into mischief all the time. The four of us once purchased a batch of fire crackers from a passing peddler, and it was a frequent joke of ours to set these off in the middle of the booths on market days in the village streets. Oh, how we loved to see the villagers take fright at the ensuing explosions.

As we grew into our teenage years, it was not unusual for the four of us to spend a night in the lockups for some infraction or another, like the time we were caught scaring hens in their henhouses by pretending to be vicious dogs barking at them. We just did not fit into the ponderous way of life of Castasnogwary.

This finally came to a head when we began playing gowf. Gowf was a popular sport played on the links. The trouble was that the four of us were much faster players than the rest of the gowfers who were disinclined to let us play through because of the number of gowfers on the links at any one time. Eventually, we could no longer take the slow pace of the game, and the four of us began playing through other groups whether we were invited to or not. We simply kept playing, virtually ignoring them as if they weren’t there. This, of course, infuriated them, and they began purposely aiming shots at us to hit us for our rudeness. The hard wooden balls made it very unsafe. We were quite skilled and had no trouble evading other players, never hitting anyone with a stray shot, but we were purposely struck on several occasions.

Eventually, we were banned from the links. Gowf was a game we had come to love, and this was the last straw. Three of our four families plus about three others decided to up and leave Castasnogwary and start our own town—with our own gowf links. The family that did not come was Alex’s. Although Alex was like us in many ways, he could not convince his family to uproot themselves for a move. The rest of his family members were more like typical Snogs and had no desire to change their lifestyle. So, Alex stayed, at least for the time being, until such time as we would be able to convince him to come live in our new town.

The land we chose was adjacent to Castasnogwary. It had once belonged to a nobleman who had died some years before. He had no family to bequeath it to, and it just lay idle for years and was largely forgotten about. I guess we were squatters on the land, but no one ever questioned our living there.

We named the town Foon for no other reason than that it was a short name which we liked the sound of. We called ourselves the Foos. The Snogs were happy to be rid of us. They tended to call us by the slightly longer name of Fools, which they thought us to be, but we didn’t mind. It was just a relief to have a new town of our own that could function at our speed.

And did it ever! The first thing we did was to change our names to shorter versions of our given names. Thus, my full birth name, Kierkegaard Patterson, became Kirk Pate, Putaniscobrae Pellagrosion became Putney Pell (further shortened to Putt Pell), and Agrawinnia O’Luingeachain became Aggie Lang. It was during early summer five years ago that we moved, and we camped out in tents until we had built houses for ourselves. The six original families pitched in and helped each other build them.

 

Putt and I were quite good at housebuilding and established our own business. As the popularity of our town grew, we had plenty of new customers, and we were never without work.

The other residents began to specialize as well. Aggie’s family built the inn and tavern. Some of us raised crops and tended animals, including sheep and goats (the grass trimmers for our new gowf links), while others opened shops. A church was built. One woman opened a school and became its teacher. All this in five years, and still our town was growing, as more and more folk from nearby villages liked seeing what we were doing and, for one reason or another, desired a fresh start in a new town.

Putt and I were only part-time builders, as we were frequently called to duty in the Scottish army. But this was sporadic, and we probably spent eight months of the year at home in Foon.

 

 

Putt and I went around this morning, visiting with the customers we were building for prior to our latest muster three months ago. Work had pretty much ceased during our absence, and these folks were delighted that we were now back to resume the job. We had been simultaneously building three different houses, and we decided to recommence work on each.

By the time we had finished visiting the owners, it was time to head back to the Bonnie Brae to meet Aggie. She gave us both a bowl of pottage with some bread for dipping, as she correctly figured that we’d had nothing to eat since breakfast.

“So, Aggie,” said Putt. “What is this surprise you have to show us? Kirk says you told him about it this morning, but he hasn’t yet seen it, nor would he divulge what it is.”

“I’m not going to tell you either, but I will show you instead when you have finished your pottage. Finish up, and I will meet you at the links in fifteen minutes. We’ll have time to play a few holes before we need to get back to prepare for dinner.”

We finished quickly and headed to our homes to retrieve our clubs.

 

 

Author Notes

Scottish words gowf: early term for golf links: golf course by the sea ken: know pottage: a thick stew CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father. Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings

Chapter 30
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 25

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

 

Recap of the past few chapters: After Kevin and Paul pass through the portal, we end up at the beginning of a battle between the Scottish and the English in 1458 Scotland. Kirk Pate and Putney Pell and their friend Alex are Scottish archers about to engage in battle. At the call of “Charge,” they join the fray and battle until the few remaining English are allowed to retreat to their ships. The battle is over for today, but is just one of many between these foes at that time.

The three are allowed to return home and split up when they come to the crossroads, with Kirk and Putney (Putt) heading to their town of Foon and Alex heading to the nearby town of Castasnogwary. Back in Foon, Kirk and Putt enter the Bonnie Brae Tavern where Kirk sees his fiance, Aggie, who is the innkeeper. She runs and jumps into his arms and begins crying. She asks Putt if he will take over the innkeeper duties while she and Kirk go upstairs, and he gladly accepts as the first bit of payback for Kirk’s having saved his life in battle.

Kirk and Putt resume their house-building job the next day, and we learn the history of how the town of Foon came to be. Five years ago, Kirk, Putt, Aggie and their families had been living in Castasnogwary, but tiring of its ponderous ways, moved away and settled on an abandoned tract of land nearby and created their own town which they named Foon. The town has been growing and thriving ever since. Each year they hold an annual golf match with the “Snogs” as they call them. They are the “Foos.” When they return to the Bonnie Brae, Aggie serves them lunch and hints at a surprise to show them later.

 

 

Chapter 25

 
When Putt and I walked up to the first tee, Aggie was already there swinging her play club to warm up. The starting area for each hole has recently become known as the tee (from the word teaz) or tee box. It is named as such because it houses the little wooden box that holds the sand used for making a small conical mound to lift the ball off the ground. The unwritten rules of gowf allow this, but only on the first shot of a hole. Gowfers can now hit the ball higher, farther, and won’t top it as often by teeing their balls up.

“Why don’t you boys take a few swings and then hit first?” Aggie suggested.

This was very unusual because Aggie always wants to hit first, but I figured there was a purpose here, and I didn’t question it. After six or seven practice swings to loosen up my muscles, I scooped a little sand from the box and constructed a tee to set my ball upon. Balls have fairly recently been made of a leather pouch stuffed with straw or cow hair, and the more tightly this could be stuffed in before being sewn shut, the farther the ball would go. They were much more time-consuming to make than wooden balls, but they tended to fly farther and higher because they had some “give” to them, meaning a springlike effect when struck. I struck a fairly solid shot for my first blow, then Putt stepped to the tee and hit a better shot. Putt’s swing was short and very fast, like everything he did, and you might miss it if you blinked at the wrong time, but he was a skilled gowfer and knocked his ball twenty ells past mine.

Now it was Aggie’s turn. She refused to play the links from a shorter distance than the men, even though she was much shorter off the tee. She is very competitive—always has been—and has always wanted to beat us at the same game that we men play without advantage. She teed up her ball, took her typical graceful but athletic swing, and sent a towering shot sailing just short of Putt’s ball and rolling a few feet past—a remarkable opening strike!

“So that is your surprise,” I said to Aggie. “You seem to have swung the way you always do, so how did you manage to outhit us?”

“The secret’s in the stuffing. I made this ball with goose feathers instead of cow hair. First, I boiled them to soften them greatly so I could stuff more of them into the leather pouch, which I filled as tightly as I could. It took about a pail of them, if you can believe it. But I also wet the leather before sewing it up. As the goose feathers dry, they expand, and as the leather dries, it shrinks. Together, they make the ball much tighter and firmer, yet it still has the springiness that the wooden balls don’t have. And the result is what you’ve just seen.” *

“Aggie, that’s amazing. Well done!” said Putt.

I marveled at her ingenuity. “I don’t suppose you have one for me and Putt to try, do you?”

“But of course I do,” she said as she removed two new balls from her pocket and handed them to us.

“This looks fantastic,” I said as I turned it over and over in my hand. “So firm and round and beautifully sewn. But why all the little nicks in the leather?”

“I also discovered that they fly farther that way. The more I played with a ball and the more scuffed it became, the farther it seemed to fly. So, I began scuffing them on purpose.”

“You are pure barry, my dear.”

“Thank you. I’ve even begun teaching Jack and Isla to make them. In fact, they helped make the ones you are about to try out now.”

“Well, let’s see how they did.” I proceeded to tee up my new ball and take a normal swipe at it. It rocketed off the face and flew far and straight, seeming to hang in the air for an extra few seconds before coming down 30 ells beyond Aggie’s ball and a good 50 ells beyond my first strike—a distance of approximately 220 ells. I had never hit a ball that far, even with a strong trailing wind. “Utterly Braw!”

Putt achieved a similar distance with his strike, and the two of us just shook our heads at Aggie’s new invention. Goose feathers! Who would have thought?

I said, “We must make them for the rest of our team, but keep them a secret until after our match with the Snogs, then we should begin making them in large quantities. I’m sure they will be keenly sought once gowfers see how much better they are.”

“That sounds like a worthy enterprise,” said Aggie. “Shall we keep going now and see how we must adjust our distances with the longer balls? They won’t do us any good until we can learn how far they will go with the different clubs.”

Over the next couple of hours, we continued playing the new feather balls, and the three of us began to develop a good feel for the distances we could achieve with each club we carried. What a marvelous new tool Aggie has given us to help defeat those Snogs this year.

 

 

An annual tradition we began as soon as we had built the gowf links was to hold a gowf competition with the Snogs. Each year we would alternate between their links and ours and run the matches in an agreed-upon format.

Putt and I were the co-captains of the Foo team, and it became our responsibility to plan the matches against the Snogs. As I said earlier, we would be hosting the tournament at the Foon Links this year, so we got to propose the rules to be followed, although the Snogs would have to approve them first. We were usually quite lenient in adopting the other side’s proposed rules, often constructed to the hosting side’s advantage, because we would have an equal opportunity the following year. However, there was typically a bit of bargaining that went on before they were finally settled.

Our friend, Alex MacGillycuddy, and another fellow named Cameron NicEachainn were the Snog captains, with whom we would meet in 12 days. Alex has been a captain before, but this would be Cameron’s first opportunity, and we were not looking forward to it. Alex was a reasonable fellow, but Cameron was the quintessential Snog with a very provincial demeanor. Putt and I figured he would balk at any advantage he seemed to think we would have in our format for the matches this year. I had a feeling there would be a great deal of negotiation before we would be able to settle on the rules. But I had confidence we would prevail in the end.

 

 

Putt and I were done working for the day, so the three of us headed back to the Bonnie Brae to help Aggie prepare for tonight’s dinner. I decided to discuss my plan with them while we worked. Aggie was serving a fish stew tonight, and while she kneaded bread dough and prepared vegetables, Putt and I butchered the fish.

“You ken,” I said, “the first two years we did right well against those Snogs. Granted, they won the first one, but we won the second, and both were close. But for the past couple of years, we’ve been slaughtered. Can you guess why?”

“That’s easy,” said Aggie. “They play at the pace of a snail. It’s aggravating, and I, for one, begin to lose sharpness.”

“That’s it,” said Putt. “They discuss every shot so thoroughly with each other that you want to vomit. They take forever to construct a perfect tee of sand, to pull a club to play, to judge the speed and direction of the wind, to look at their balls on the greens from every side, and to brush away every little speck on the grass. I think they are slowing down just to annoy us.”

“I don’t think that’s quite it. I don’t think they are purposely playing slower; we just notice it more the longer we’ve been away from Castasnogwary. They’ve always played like that. We’ve just sped up. We can do all the necessary things to prepare for a shot in a fraction of the time it takes them to do them. And they aren’t good enough for all the time they take to matter very much anyway when it comes to improving their scores. They can take an additional minute or two to read the break on a green, but they will most likely miss regardless. So, what good does it do them?”

“The thing I’ve noticed too,” said Aggie, “is that when we play by ourselves, we always just hit the ball when we are ready, no matter who is farthest away from the hole. I’ve never liked that rule that says the ball farthest from the hole must hit first. If you’re ready, then hit, I say.”

“I agree with that,” I said. “Especially when one of ‘em hits it into the tall grass and spends a long time trying to find it when the rest of the group, who may be closer to the hole, have to wait until he finds it and hits. They could all have hit their balls in the time it takes to find the errant ball.”

“And there’s no limit to how long they will take looking either,” said Putt. “We never take more than about three minutes, but they may take five times that to try to find a ball. Ridiculous!”

I said then, “I think we’ve identified the problem. Now here’s what I propose for a solution.”

While continuing to prepare the meal, we spent the next hour discussing my plans and perfecting them. Both Putt and Aggie offered good suggestions, and by the time we were ready to serve dinner, we had a plan. We would need to hold some practice sessions with the rest of the team (there were eight of us altogether) to see how practical the ideas were, but we had a week and a half to practice and work out any flaws before we met with Alex and Cameron.

 

 

We had a few minutes before the guests began to arrive, so Aggie and I went upstairs to wash up and put on fresh clothing. We would be announcing our marriage plans to the crowd tonight, and she told me she wanted us to look our best.

 

 

Author Notes

* The ball that Aggie invented is known as a "feathery" and is attributed to the Scots. According to many, the feathery started being used in 1618, continuing until the late 1840s, but there is evidence that it was in use as early as the 1400s. I choose to believe the latter, so that I can have Aggie become the inventor of the ball. Scottish words gowf: early term for golf ell: unit of measure equal to about a yard (37 inches) links: golf course by the sea play club: long club or driver ken: know braw: brilliant, fantastic pure barry: utterly fantastic CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings

Chapter 31
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 26A

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

 

Recap of the past few chapters: Kirk and Putt resume their house-building job the next day, and we learn the history of how the town of Foon came to be. Five years ago, Kirk, Putt, Aggie and their families had been living in Castasnogwary, but tiring of its ponderous ways, moved away and settled on an abandoned tract of land nearby and created their own town which they named Foon. The town has been growing and thriving ever since. Each year they hold an annual golf match with the “Snogs” as they call them. They are the “Foos.” When they return to the Bonnie Brae, Aggie serves them lunch and hints at a surprise to show them later.

The surprise turns out to be a new ball invented by Aggie made of boiled goose feathers stuffed tightly into a leather pouch and then sewn shut. It goes much farther than their older balls and will make a great weapon against the Snogs in their annual match. It is the Foos turn to set the rules of the match that will be held at the Foon Links, and Kirk, Aggie, and Putt plan the format of the matches to overcome the infernal slow play of the Snogs and which will reward their own much faster play.

 

 

Chapter 26

 

The Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern is open for dinner from 6:00 to 11:00 most nights. It caters to travelers staying at the inn, who generally eat first, as well as the townsfolk, who come in for meals and to enjoy a few pints of ale or beer. It is the main center of social activity in Foon. Music is often played by local musicians.

Aggie, Putt, and I share the duties of waiting on the patrons and tending the bar. The food usually runs out around 8:00, after which we only serve drinks to the patrons, but that’s what the majority are there for anyway.

After the last meal had been served and Putt and I had finished the washing up, I approached Aggie, who was tending the bar, and said, “It’s time.”

We came from behind the bar and stood in front of it. I put two fingers to my mouth and let out several loud whistles to garner everyone’s attention. With our arms around each other’s waists, I said loudly, “Excuse me, everyone. Aggie and I have an announcement to make.”

“It better not be that yer closin’ the bar!” shouted one old Jackey.

“Looks like you’ve already had your fill tonight, Hamish. But no, it isn’t that,” I said to him. “Listen folks, Aggie and I are getting married next month!”

Loud cries of “Hear, hear!” and whistles and cheers greeted this announcement. “It’s about time!” cried others.

Aggie held her hands up to silence the crowd, and I gave another whistle to get their attention. When things quieted down, old Hamish stood up and said, “Ach, Aggie, me love, ya mean there’s no chance fer me now? Yer choosin’ Kirk over this handsome face?” he said, pointing to his homely, forlorn face after he’d pushed his long, greasy hair back from it. Everyone laughed, as did Hamish.

Aggie said, “Aw, Hamish, you should have just asked me, and I might have said ‘yes,’ but you never did!” More laughter as everyone enjoyed the banter.

Then she said, “It’ll be held at the church, then back here afterwards to celebrate, and you’re all invited.” Thunderous applause, whistles, and cheers at this news.“There’s just one thing,” she called out and waited for the group to quiet down. When she finally got their attention again, she said, “We’re only going to do it if we beat the Snogs this year in the annual gowf match.”

 
This brought a sobering silence to the room. They all knew how badly we had been beaten the past two years.

I said, “Don’t worry, folks. I ken you think that’s getting harder to do, but we’ve got a secret plan for this year’s matches that we think will spell the difference. I’m confident you’ll see us wed when we kick their dowps this year. But this means we’ve got to practice our new strategies. I see that everyone who’s on the team is here tonight, so whoever can make it to the links by 4:00 tomorrow afternoon, we can begin practicing. The Bonnie Brae is closed tomorrow evening, so Aggie, Putt, and I will be there. Hope to see you all then. Now, the next drink is on the house!”

This was met with many cheers and pats on the back for both me and Aggie. It was followed by mugs being raised and many toasts to a long and happy marriage. As Putt manned the bar, Aggie and I made the rounds of the tables and talked to most who were there, accepting their congratulations and good wishes. The gowfers on the team started in with questions about the new format we would be proposing, but we told them to wait until the practice session tomorrow to find out.

The festive mood lasted until closing time at 11:00. Putt left soon after putting the chairs up, and Aggie and I finished mopping the floor and cleaning up before heading upstairs.

 

 

Over the next 11 days, the practice sessions went very well. We introduced Aggie’s new ball to great acclaim, and everyone agreed to use it. That is the only ball we used during the practice sessions, and we all became used to the added distance they would go and learned how far each club would hit them.

We also tried out all the new formats that we would propose at the planning session with the Snogs. I had to warn the players that there was no guarantee we would be using them all, but we still wanted to be prepared if this is what we could get the Snogs to agree to. The new formats were fun anyway, even if we couldn’t use them for the annual competition. There would be other occasions when we could.

I should also mention that we decided to skip archery practice this week. It was to be held in Castasnogwary, but as we had just come from a battle and we knew the local captain would cut us some slack, we didn’t hesitate to miss a practice or two. Besides, we had a gowf competition to prepare for, and we would need all our spare time to practice for it.

At 9:00 the following morning, Alex and Cameron came to the Bonnie Brae to join Putt and me for the planning meeting. After the initial pleasantries, but before we got down to the specifics of the matches, Alex told us all some disconcerting news.

“We got word yesterday from a messenger from our beloved king, James II. He just issued a proclamation that bans the playing of the gowf. Evidently, he feels that far too much time is being spent on it at the expense of archery practice. I will read you the proclamation.” He pulled it from his pocket and read the following:

“Item, it is ordained and decreed that the lords and barons both spiritual and temporal should organise archery displays four times in the year. And that football and gowf should be utterly condemned and stopped. And that a pair of targets should be made up at all parish churches and shooting should be practised each Sunday ... And concerning football and gowf, we ordain that those found playing these games be punished by the local barons and, failing them, by the King's officers.”

 

“So, what do you make of this?” Alex asked us.

Putt said, “There should not be a problem, at least this year. The King’s officers don’t even recognize Foon as a town and have never even been by here to my knowledge. As we are holding the matches here this year, how would they even be aware of them? I presume your remaining soldiers who are not on the team will be practicing archery on Sunday as required?”

Alex said, “That is true and should be good enough to fool the Kings officers, who only come around on Sundays, that we are all practicing our archery, but our team needs gowf practice, as yours does, and we will not be able to do it in Castasnogwary on Sundays. How about if we were to come over to Foon and practice on your links on Sundays?”

Putt and I looked at each other and nodded. “That sounds fair,” I said. “Send your lads over then. Now, can we discuss the rules of engagement?”

“Yes, and thank you for your generosity.”

This was fortuitous. Our willingness to share our links could only make them more amenable to our new ideas.

“Putt and I, with Aggie’s help, have worked out a few new formats that I think will be a wonderful addition to the game. Not only will they be fun to play, but the spectators should enjoy them as well. Of course, we will still have the standard eight individual matches, which we have always played in the past, in which all eight of our players are pitted against all eight of yours, one-on-one. We will use match play, * and each match will score a point for a win or a half-point each for a tie. Does everyone agree to this?” There were no arguments, and it was passed unanimously.

“Next, I’d like to propose an alternating-shot format, pitting two players from our team against two from yours. Only one ball will be played by each pair, and the players must take turns hitting each shot until it is holed. ** It will be match play again. We will have four of those matches, with a point earned for each match won and half a point each for a tie. So, what do you think?”

Cameron said, “That actually sounds interesting. I am agreeable to that. Alexander?”

“Same here.”

“So, we’re all in favor then. Excellent,” I said. “We have two more sets of matches to be held on the second day. Putt will describe the next one.”

 

 

(To be continued... )

 

 

 

Author Notes

* Match play - A form of scoring in a match where only the holes won are kept track of and not the total cumulative strokes in the match. Thus, it doesn't matter if you win a hole by 1 stroke or 5 strokes; it still counts as only having won one hole. ** This is known in today's parlance as "Alternate Shot" and is one of the formats used in the Ryder Cup matches between the US team and the European team (in which it is called "Foursomes.") Scottish words gowf: early term for golf ell: unit of measure equal to about a yard (37 inches) links: golf course by the sea play club: long club or driver tee box: the area where the opening shot of a hole is hit from. Named as such after the small box located there that holds sand with which to construct a "tee." ken: know braw: brilliant, fantastic pure barry: utterly fantastic jackey: a drunk dowps: butts CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings Hamish MacLachlan: The Bonnie Brae's resident tippler

Chapter 32
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 26B

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: Kirk and Putt resume their house-building job the next day, and we learn the history of how the town of Foon came to be. Five years ago, Kirk, Putt, Aggie and their families had been living in Castasnogwary, but tiring of its ponderous ways, moved away and settled on an abandoned tract of land nearby and created their own town which they named Foon. The town has been growing and thriving ever since. Each year they hold an annual golf match with the “Snogs” as they call them. They are the “Foos.” When they return to the Bonnie Brae, Aggie serves them lunch and hints at a surprise to show them later.

The surprise turns out to be a new ball invented by Aggie made of boiled goose feathers stuffed tightly into a leather pouch and then sewn shut. It goes much farther than their older balls and will make a great weapon against the Snogs in their annual match. It is the Foos turn to set the rules of the match that will be held at the Foon Links, and Kirk, Aggie, and Putt plan the format of the matches to overcome the infernal slow play of the Snogs and which will reward their own much faster play.

At the Bonnie Brae Tavern that night, Kirk and Aggie announce their upcoming wedding plans, but only on the condition that they beat the Snogs this year as an incentive for the team, which includes them as well as Putt and five others. They begin practicing the new formats the following day in hopes that the Snogs will accept the new formats.

The Snog captains come in 10 days to the Bonnie Brae and, surprisingly, accept the first two formats without argument.

 

 

 

“We have two more sets of matches to be held. Putt will describe the next one.”

 

 

Chapter 26B

 

 

“For want of a better name, we could call this next one a ‘Best of 4’ format. For the third set of matches, we would like to propose two teams of four players from our side pitted against the two teams of four from your side. The idea is that every member of a 4-man team hits their shot from the tee, then the team members choose the best of these shots, and the other three players will fetch their tee shots and all four will hit their next shot from the location of the chosen ball. Then the best shot of those four will be chosen, and this same procedure is followed until the ball is holed. That way, only one score for the hole is recorded, and we will again use match play scoring. * We believe each of the two matches that would be played should be worth two points, with one point each for a tie. What say you?”

Alex and Cameron conferred for a while, and then Alex said, “Once again, you have proposed an interesting format to which we have no objection. You see, this isn’t as hard as you thought it would be.”

“I must say,” said Putt, “we did not expect you to be quite so agreeable, knowing how you seem to prefer the more traditional approach to the game. We applaud you for your open-mindedness, and we are gratified to find such an agreeable pair to negotiate with.”

Putt was laying this on rather thickly, and I nudged his foot under the table to let him ken not to carry it any further lest they begin to get suspicious of our tactics. So far, it was going well, but now for the doubtful one that would really play to our advantage, more so than the previous two new formats. I believed they would realize this and that it was going to take a great deal of persuasion (and perhaps a bit of exaggeration) to get it approved. I explained it thusly:

 

“For the last match, we propose a full-team event, which we could call a ‘Fast Match.’ The idea is that each team-of-eight will play only one ball all the way around the links. The emphasis will be not only on the best total score for the entire links but also on the fastest time to achieve that score. Points will be determined by adding together the number of minutes played and the total score. ** However, the actual points earned for the team towards the final tally, we think, should be based on the amount that the team wins by. We need only figure out what the points awarded to the stroke-minutes differential should be.

“Huh?” both Alex and Cameron said simultaneously.

“We ken this is a lot to digest, but we will try to make it clear,” I said. “But before that, let’s think about the different ways we might assign points for this event. We could simply say that the winning team score will earn, say, 4 points for the win, whether it’s by 1 stroke-minute or 30 stroke-minutes, but that seems rather arbitrary and not a very fair way to do it. Better to base the points on the size of the victory. Putt will explain with an example.”

“First of all,” said Putt, “would you agree that a score of 50 would be a good score for the 12-hole course played at a normal speed, and a normal speed for your team would be approximately 60 minutes for one person to play by himself? You’ve played the course before. Does this sound reasonable?”

“I suppose so,” said Cameron.

“Alright, then. So, you ken the Foos will likely play faster than that, say, in 50 minutes instead of your 60, but because we have sped up, we won’t be as accurate, and it will take us 55 strokes to complete the 12 holes instead of your 50. Does that sound about right?”

“Let’s say it does,” said Cameron.

“Okay, so let’s lay this out on paper,” said Putt.

I had been drawing this up as he spoke, and this is what I showed them:                                                        

 

                            

 

I said to them, “You can see by this example that the Foos have won by 5 stroke-minutes. The question is: How many points should we earn for this win? Should it be 1-for-1, meaning 1 point per stroke-minute making us win 5 points? Or should it be some lesser amount?”

Alex and Cameron went into a long conference over this question. After ten minutes of debating between themselves, Cameron finally said, “Look, fellows, I don’t like this format at all, but I am willing to give it a try, only because it’s your turn this year, and I’m a reasonable man. The most we would be willing to grant would be 1-for-5, meaning one point for every five whole stroke-minutes. This particular victory would thus yield one point for your side.”

I said, “That doesn’t seem like much, but let Putt and me discuss that now. Would you mind terribly if we go into the kitchen and discuss it with Aggie too?”

“Not at all,” said Alex.

 
Putt and I got up from the table and retreated to the kitchen. As soon as we got inside, I caught Aggie’s eye and said with a big smile, “They went for it!”

She and Putt and I gave each other a group hug over this good news. Indeed, that was exactly the result we were hoping for. I admit we were a bit deceptive in the sample match that we showed them because our practice sessions this past week revealed that, using the play techniques we had developed with a team of 8, we could actually play the links in 15 minutes rather than 50 and still manage to shoot a score between 50 and 55. We were counting on the fact that Alex and Cameron would not have thought through the best strategy of utilizing an eight-man team to speed up play. Thus, we stood to earn a lot more points than only one for the win, even at a 1-for-5 award rate.

Aggie had just finished making a large pot of turtle soup and a couple loaves of oat bread, which she placed on a tray for us to bring out and share with our guests. She decided to join us for lunch and would pour us all some ale as well. We left the kitchen with the trays of food and rejoined Alex and Cameron at the table.

Upon seeing his old friend, Aggie, Alex stood up and said, “Agrawinnia, my dear. How are you, old friend? It’s so good to see you.”

“Hello, Alexander. It’s good to see you too. I trust our boys have not made it too difficult for you to accept their terms for this year’s matches?” she said as she gave Alex a hug.

“That depends on what you’ve all decided for the final match—the so-called Fast Match.”

“We accept the 1-for-5 award of points,” I said, and we all shook hands on it.

Alex then introduced Aggie to Cameron before she left to fetch the drinks for everyone. When she returned with a tray full of mugs, we sat down to a wonderful lunch together. The mood was relaxed, and even the normally dour Cameron seemed quite jovial.

Putt, Aggie, and I were delighted with the results of the negotiations. We had gotten everything we had hoped for and felt confident we had a fighting chance of winning this year. We had one more week of practice before the matches would begin a week from today.

Author Notes

* Today, this format is known as a "Scramble" or a "Captain's Choice." ** Today this format is known as "Speed Golf." Scottish words ken: know gowf: early term for golf CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings Hamish MacLachlan: The Bonnie Brae's resident tippler

Chapter 33
Saving Mr. Calvin - Ch. 27/28A

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

 

Recap of the past few chapters: Kirk and Putt resume their house-building job the next day, and we learn the history of how the town of Foon came to be. Five years ago, Kirk, Putt, Aggie and their families had been living in Castasnogwary, but tiring of its ponderous ways, moved away and settled on an abandoned tract of land nearby and created their own town which they named Foon. The town has been growing and thriving ever since. Each year they hold an annual golf match with the “Snogs” as they call them. They are the “Foos.” When they return to the Bonnie Brae, Aggie serves them lunch and hints at a surprise to show them later.

The surprise turns out to be a new ball invented by Aggie made of boiled goose feathers stuffed tightly into a leather pouch and then sewn shut. It goes much farther than their older balls and will make a great weapon against the Snogs in their annual match. It is the Foos turn to set the rules of the match that will be held at the Foon Links, and Kirk, Aggie, and Putt plan the format of the matches to overcome the infernal slow play of the Snogs and which will reward their own much faster play.

The Snog captains come in 10 days and surprisingly accept the first three formats without question. Kirk and Putt then explain the “Fast Match” format which combines both speed and accuracy and are able to convince the Snog captains to accept it by using some mis-direction with their explanation of it. With the format of the matches agreed upon, the four plus Aggie enjoy lunch together.

 

 

Chapter 27

 

 

At 4:00 this afternoon, the team met on the first tee of the 12-hole Foon Links. All eight of us managed to make it, which was perfect because then Putt and I wouldn’t have to repeat what we planned to say.

I started off. “Team, Putt and I are happy to say that the Snog captains have agreed to all of our formats.” This was met with cheers, cries of “Well done, lads,” and many pats on the back. “Even the conversion of stroke-minutes to points came out favorably to us at 1 to 5. I have every confidence that our practice methods will enable us to win at least five points in this one event if we play well.”

One doubting-Thomas in the group asked us to repeat how we believed that we would have such an advantage in the different formats with our methods. We had been over this when the formats were introduced 11 days ago, but maybe they bore repeating so they could fully grasp the advantages Putt and I saw. Putt answered him now.

“I think the level of talent between the two teams is about the same,” he began, “but it is their incredibly slow pace, which has haunted us over the past few years, that has been the biggest difference accounting for their ability to beat us. You ken me and how I hate waiting for some slow-coach to hit his blinkin’ ball. Knocks me off my game, it does. They just take all the fun out of it. What we’ve devised is an attempt to lessen the amount of slow play so that we get less irritated and will be in a better frame of mind to win. We could not avoid preserving the individual matches, and we don’t expect to prevail in those. I just hope we can win a few. But because we have cut the number of balls being played in half with the Alternating Shot format, we should have a decent chance of at least winning half of those matches.”

One of the team members then asked, “So, what advantage do we gain with the Best-of-4 format when everyone will still hit each shot?”

“Good question,” Putt responded. “The idea here is to not waste the additional time looking for balls and playing from inferior lies, which take a lot more time for them to determine the best way to play them. When they all play from the best of their shots, presumably one with a good lie of the ball, it should go much quicker.”

I then added, “The real place where we will undoubtedly win many points will be in the Fast Match. The scheme we’ve been practicing and will continue to perfect this week plays to our strengths in the game and our speed. I guarantee you the Snogs will not come close to using anything like our methods to play fast, and they won’t see it coming when we can complete a round in 15 minutes or less.”

 

 

For the remainder of the week, we continued practicing, especially the Fast Match format, where we hoped to win most of our points. By the end of the week, the well-choreographed plan was set, and each player had their own set of instructions on exactly what to do and where to be for each of the 12 holes comprising the Foon Links. We were ready for the two-day matches that will begin tomorrow morning.

 

 

Chapter 28A

 

Aggie and I awoke around 6:00 AM and dressed in matching blouses and breeches—our team uniform. Aggie refuses to be confined by dresses or skirts when she plays, as does Catriona, the other woman on our team, so we all settled on light blue blouses over dark blue breeches. Aggie’s breeches were cinched in around her slim waist, but flared out nicely over her hips and bottom. Her blouse also fit rather tightly around her ample bust. She filled out her uniform quite tidily. I tied a braid in her long red hair for her so it hung down her back and would not be a distraction while she played. She may well be a distraction to her opponents, though.

We had prepared a couple of meat pies last night and baked them early this Saturday morning. We served ourselves a slice for breakfast and set the rest out on a table in the tavern with a sign saying that the overnight guests should help themselves, as we needed to be at the links by 8:00 AM.

 

During the week, we had prepared a schedule of the events that would take place this weekend, which looked like this:

 

 

5th Annual Castasnogwary-Foon Gowf Matches
Held this year of 1458
At the Foon Links of Foon, Scotland
On Saturday and Sunday, August 5 and 6

 

Saturday matches

 

Alternating shot:        4 matches of 2-man teams
(4 pts)              Beginning at 9:00 AM

 

Best-of-4:               2 matches of 4-man teams
(4 pts)              Beginning at 1:00 PM

 

Sunday matches

 

Singles matches:     8 individual matches

     (8 pts)          Beginning at 12:00 PM

 

Fast matches:          2  8-man timed matches
       (pts TBD)         Castasnogwary at 3:00 PM
                Foon at 4:00 PM

 

 

Putt made a big sign that looked just like this to post in the center of Foon. Ordinarily, he would have made one to be put up in Castasnogwary too, but we didn’t want to risk the king’s men seeing it, since gowf has been banned. But they never come to Foon, so we didn’t worry about ours. We also displayed one all week inside the Bonnie Brae and on a sign board outside next to the door to the tavern.

Aggie and I arrived at the links just after 8:00. Putt was already there, setting up the official scorer’s table and checking on a myriad of small details. He is very thorough, and I was confident he wouldn’t have forgotten anything.

 

Our team began arriving shortly after we got there and started warming up for the matches. In just a few minutes, the Snog team arrived in a large horse-drawn cart. Putt and I greeted them and went over the rules of the matches with their captains, Alex and Cameron, while their other team members warmed up with our team. Everyone knows everyone, and we get along reasonably well together, especially when not playing.

As we were warming up, the crowd began entering the links property—not only Foo folk but quite a few Snog folk too. Many of them crowded around the 1st tee to watch the opening tee shots. At exactly 9:00, Putt and I stood in the middle of the 1st tee and raised our arms for silence.

“Welcome all!” I began. “Welcome to the 5th Annual Gowf Matches between the teams from Castasnogwary and Foon. We have some new types of matches to be played this year, and we hope you will find them enjoyable to watch.”

Putt then took over. “The first event will be an alternating shot event in which the members of each 2-man team will play one ball between them and alternate hitting the shots. We ask only that you try to remain still and silent during the striking of the balls, unless you are encouraged to make some noise by the players. Cheering and applause afterwards is always encouraged.”

“We are ready to begin,” I said, “and the starter may now announce the first group.”

The starter was none other than Hamish MacLachlan, our resident tippler. He has a resonating, loud voice and makes a wonderful announcer when he’s sober enough, which we hoped he was at this hour.

“Our first group today,” shouted Hamish, “will be Kirk Pate and the lovely Aggie Lang from the Foo team versus Alexander MacGillycuddy and Muireadhach Androscoggin of the Snog team. Good luck, ladies and gentlemen; you may play away now.”

With much applause from the huge crowd, Aggie took to the tee. She would be hitting first on the odd-numbered holes, while I would take the even-numbered holes. This might be the largest crowd of the day to watch a tee shot, and she wanted to impress them with the length she got with her new feather ball. None of the Snogs had seen this ball in action yet.

She made a small cone of sand and placed her ball on it. Without taking a practice swing, she just stepped up to her ball and struck a shot that was pure barry. The ball sailed high and far and came down in the short grass 190 ells away. The crowd roared its approval.

Alex gaped at the shot in amazement and said to her, “My goodness, Agrawinnia, how you have improved! That was a braw drive if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Thank you, dear friend. I’m sure you’ll be able to top it, though.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He teed his ball up then and hit a good shot—not his best, however—and it came down 20 ells behind Aggie’s ball. “See what I mean?”

We were off for the first match of the day.

 

 

Much of the crowd followed our group, especially the men. Aggie looked very fetching in her tight blouse and snug breeches, and I’m sure this was the main reason. There is also something very appealing about a slim, young girl with a marvelous swing who can drive a ball such a long distance. With her new ball, she was consistently as long or longer than Alex, who also teed off on the odd-numbered holes. Aggie and I got a nice rhythm going (as we so often did in other ways) with the alternating shot scheme and kept our shots out of trouble for each other.

Alex is relatively fast for a Snog, although his partner, Muireadhach, plays like a typical Snog, often taking two or three practice swings and 30 seconds to aim his shots, not to mention seven or eight waggles of the club head before striking his ball. Rather than watch this nonsense, Aggie and I took to looking each other in the eyes and making silent cracks about it to each other. It was fun trying to figure out what the other was saying just by reading lips. Some of the things said were very naughty, but it made it a lot more fun than watching Muireadhach play and kept us in a light-hearted mood.

We won this match 3-and-2 on the 10th hole. A very good start to the day. Being the first group out and finishing after only 10 holes, Aggie and I joined the gallery to root our other team members on.

Playing behind us were Putt and his partner, Catriona Clark, whom we all call Cat, and we joined their gallery. They were also doing well and ended up winning their match 2-up on the 12th hole. Unfortunately, we lost both of the remaining two matches, so at the end of the morning rounds, the total was even at 2 points to each team. This was about what we expected the result to be.

 

 

Author Notes

Scottish words tidy: beautiful gowf: early term for golf links: golf course by the sea ell: unit of measure equal to about a yard (37 inches) pure barry: utterly fantastic ken: know braw: brilliant, fantastic CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings Hamish MacLachlan: The Bonnie Brae's resident tippler

Chapter 34
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 28B

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: The Snog captains come in 10 days and surprisingly accept the first three formats without question. Kirk and Putt then explain the “Fast Match” format which combines both speed and accuracy and are able to convince the Snog captains to accept it by using some mis-direction with their explanation of it. With the format of the matches agreed upon, the four plus Aggie enjoy lunch together.

After a week of practice, the matches begin the following Saturday with the “Alternating Shot” matches first. Kirk and Aggie win their match, and Putt and Cat win theirs too, but the other two teams lose for a score of 2-2 at the end of the morning matches.

 

 

Chapter 28B

 

 

The morning matches were completed in plenty of time to have lunch before the afternoon matches began, and it is traditional for the hosting team to provide the meal. Volunteers from the town prepared a glorious spread of a variety of dishes from meat pies to vegetable concoctions to soups and stews of all kinds. There was even a roasted pig that someone had begun roasting at 3:00 AM. We had to avoid the temptation to stuff ourselves, lest we be sluggish for the afternoon matches. There were plenty of leftovers that were later sold to the crowd until they ran out.

When 1:00 rolled around, Hamish announced the first of the Best-of-4 matches, which happened to be Putt, Aggie, Cat, and me, Kirk. We called ourselves the PACK team for our initials. Before teeing off, Hamish explained the format to the crowd.

“Ladies and gen’lmen, I’m gonna ‘nounce to you how this format be a’workin’.“ It was obvious from the start that Hamish had been imbibing all morning. “All four players be hittin’ their own balls, then they all hit the bes’ one next and—”

“You mean all four aim at the same ball and try to see who hits it first?” shouted some joker from the crowd.

“Naw, ya ninny. They take turns at it! Then they do it all o’er again on ta nex one until the ball be holed.”

“Ya mean one of ‘em hits it, then they go and fetch it back so the next one can hit it, fetch it again and so on?” asked the same joker who was clearly trying to confuse poor Hamish.

Hamish stood there nonplussed as he tried to make sense of that question. The crowd was tittering their delight at this exchange, so I thought I’d better step in or we’d never get going.

I shouted to the crowd, “I think everyone gets the picture or they will figure it out as we go, so I think we will just begin. Our first player to hit will be Aggie Lang.”

She stepped onto the tee box and, without wasting any time, uncorked a beautiful drive to much applause from the crowd. It was a terrific start. We planned to have the women hit first on the drives because they could be relied on to put a good one out there, and then Putt and I could really try to smash one, knowing that even if it went wild, there would be a safe one to play next. That proved to be an important strategy to use for all shots, not just the drives—get a good first shot, then the remaining players can take risks, which you would not ordinarily take if playing just your own ball, to improve upon it.

Hamish took over then and announced each of the rest of us, and we all stepped up and hit quickly with no wasted time. Then it was time for the Snog team to be introduced and take their starting shots.

Their first player stood on the tee box, gazing down the hole. He bent down and pulled a few blades of grass and tossed them in the air to test the direction of the wind. After taking two practice swings then standing behind his ball to aim it, he finally took his stance beside the ball, constantly moving his feet slightly while he waggled the club about 12 times. During this tedious process, we heard a number of snores coming from the crowd, and one wit said out loud to his friend, “I think I’ll take a nap. Wake me when he hits, wouldja?”

This caused the player to step away from his ball and look angrily at the man, before stepping back in and repeating the process of waggling and shifting his feet. The Foos in the crowd groaned. Finally, the man was ready and hit just a mediocre drive into the rough on the right. This interminable process was then followed by each of the Snog team members until finally everyone had hit, and we headed down the fairway for our second shots.

The PACK team was prepared for this. We decided ahead of time that rather than put ourselves through the torture of watching all four Snogs prepare to and then hit their shots, we would amuse ourselves with a number of activities instead. Putt was a fair magician and had a few tricks to show us. We would gather in a circle, well away from the Snogs’ current shot, so as not to distract them, and watch Putt do his magic tricks. At other times I would juggle gowf balls and try to teach the others to juggle. Cat would ask us riddles, and Aggie told us jokes. She had learned many in her role as innkeeper and barmaid. These tactics did wonders in keeping us from getting annoyed at the Snogs for their incredibly slow play and helped us maintain a stress-free mood. I had encouraged our other group of four to do the same in their match.

The crowd, however, had not figured out how to do this, but resorted to taunts instead. There were some good ones, but there were two that stood out. One old gaffer said to a Snog player when he was taking even longer than usual, “C’mon, laddie. You’re slower than me bowels this mornin’.”

The one I liked best was from another cheeky old fellow who said, “You’d better hit, young man, before the grass grows up and swallows yer ball.”

The Snogs bore it well enough, but it didn’t seem to have much impact on their pace of play. At least we didn’t let their pace get to us.

 
Where we really excelled in the match was on the greens. We had Putt hit last on the greens because he was the best holer of the ball. On longish shots of perhaps 15 or 20 feet, it often came down to him hitting fourth to try to hole the ball after the three of us had missed. By this time, he had a good read on the break. Putt also loved the noise from the crowd and encouraged them to make noise while it was his turn. The crowd would begin a slow chant of “Putney… Putney… Putt.. Putt.. Putt..Putt. Putt. Putt,” faster and faster, ending with “Ppptppptppppttptttptptptptppptptp.” More often than not, he would sink the shot to wild applause and cheering.

People would often say, “Did you see that Putt? He never misses!” and after a while, they began calling the shot on the green a “putt” and the action of stroking the ball toward or into the hole, “putting.”

He ended up sinking enough of these putts that we easily won the match 4-and-3 on the 9th hole.

 

 

Our other foursome did not fare as well and lost their match on the last hole when all four failed to hole a 12-foot putt to tie the match. It was a heartbreaking loss, but we were still where we hoped to be by this point in the matches with a total score of four points for each team. Today was done, and we would resume with the individual matches tomorrow at noon following church in the morning.

 

Author Notes

tee box: the area where the opening shot of a hole is hit from. Named as such after the small box located there that holds sand with which to construct a "tee" waggling: the process of waving the club back and forth slightly to stay loose before hitting a shot CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie (Dumbo) Dumbrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings Hamish MacLachlan: The Bonnie Brae's resident tippler Catriona (Cat) Clark: One of the golfers on the Foo team

Chapter 35
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 29A

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: The Snog captains come in 10 days and surprisingly accept the first three formats without question. Kirk and Putt then explain the “Fast Match” format which combines both speed and accuracy and are able to convince the Snog captains to accept it by using some mis-direction with their explanation of it. With the format of the matches agreed upon, the four plus Aggie enjoy lunch together.

After a week of practice, the matches begin the following Saturday with the “Alternating Shot” matches first. Kirk and Aggie win their match, and Putt and Cat win theirs too, but the other two teams lose for a score of 2-2 at the end of the morning matches. The afternoon matches begin using the “Best-of-4” format. The Pack team easily win their match, but the other team of 4 lose a very close one. At the end of the first day, the totals are equal at 4 points each.

 

 

Chapter 29A

 

After a big breakfast and church the next morning, Aggie and I changed into our team uniforms and headed to the links, where we joined Putt and our other teammates. Putt and I let them know the pairings for the individual matches that would begin at noon. We had worked these out with Alex and Cameron yesterday afternoon after the Best-of-4 matches had been completed. We made every effort to pit the best players from each team against each other. Putt and I were the top two players on our team, and we decided to have my match against a fellow named Alastair McCreighall be the first one. Putt would anchor the matches in the last group against our good friend Alex.

At precisely 12:00 noon, Hamish announced in his loud but slurred voice, “Welcome to all a yuz on thish secon’ day of the Sna’-foo matches. The shcore be curren’ly tied at 4 each. Thish afternoon we begin wiv the shingle matches.”

“Ya mean they be teein’ off from atop ta roof, Hamish?” cried one wiseacre.

Unperturbed, Hamish waved the man off and continued. “Firsht off the tee is Kirk Pate of the Foosh against Alashstair McCrack… McCraga… Alashstair MacRagoole of the Shnog team.”

He butchered the name badly, but no one tried to correct him, or we might be here all day before he finally got it right, so I just headed to the tee box and ripped a long one down the left side of the fairway. Alistair followed it with a beautiful drive 20 ells past mine. I had played against him many times before, and it promised to be a good match.

Alistair was one of the speedier Snogs, limiting himself to a single practice swing and only three or four waggles before striking his shots. We thus completed our match well ahead of the next group, also because he beat me rather handily 3-and-2 after 10 holes.

 

 

Following my loss, I went to see how my teammates were doing in their matches. One young lad of only 15 complained to me that he was getting very discouraged watching his opponent play so slowly, and it was throwing off his timing. He just couldn’t seem to get into a proper frame of mind for the match and was losing badly. I tried to console him. This was his first year on the team, and he hadn’t yet developed any techniques to counteract the snail’s pace of his Snog opponent. His match looked grim at this point. This was roughly the same story with most of the other teammates I visited with.

Aggie was one who did not let her opponent, Cameron NicEachainn, get to her. Aggie was outgoing and would chat and joke with the crowd while waiting for Cameron to hit. They were clearly on her side and razzed Cameron unmercifully as he went through all his folderol. Plus, her added length due to her new feather ball allowed her to hit just as far as Cameron, who was a pretty decent gowfer, and in the end, Aggie prevailed for our first point in the individual matches.

No one else had a similar success, and our only hope for another point rested on Putt in the final pairing. Putt was quite a good player and was well-matched against Alex, who has been his friend since childhood. Putt was longer off the tee, thanks to the feather ball, but where Alex really excelled was in his approach shots to the greens, hardly ever missing one with a makeable long shot. Putt was often able to nullify this with his excellent short game, especially his putting. We were all hoping today would be one of those days when he couldn’t seem to miss.

So far, he hadn’t been doing anything exceptional, and by the 9th hole, Alex had him two down with three left to play. It was definitely time for Putt to make his move, as one more loss of a hole would seal his fate.

The 10th hole was a tricky one-shot hole with a hard right-to-left crosswind as the hole made the turn from the ones along the edge of the North Sea before the two finishing holes, which made their way back inland. Alex hit first and laid a beautiful shot down on the green 20 feet from the hole. Putt, whose normal shot shape was left-to-right, decided to aim right for the flag in the middle of the green in hopes that his normal fade would counteract the hard right-to-left wind, but he forgot to take a longer club than normal, and he ended up on the front of the green, woefully short—perhaps 50 feet from the hole. Alex was almost sure to take two putts from his much shorter distance, so the best Putt could probably expect would be a tie on the hole if he could manage to get down in two also. But that would mean he would be dormie in the match, meaning two down with two to play—not a very good prospect for winning.

Nevertheless, he decided to give it his best and encouraged the crowd to make some noise for him as he stroked his ball. They began their chant, “Putney…….Putney…….Putt……Putt….” as he took his long backstroke and whacked it. “…Putt….Putt…Putt…” and the ball continued its path across the green, “..Putt.Putt.Putt.Putt,” and as it neared the hole, the chant dissolved into the long, drawn-out “Ppptptptptptpptppptptptptptptptpptptpp” as, miraculously, the ball finished its long trip by dropping into the hole for a 2! The crowd went wild, and it was some time before they settled down enough for Alex to hit his own putt. His ball lipped the hole on the right side but stayed out. After hoping for a tie, Putt had improbably won the hole and halved Alex’s lead. He was now just one hole down with two left to play—a much better position to be in—with this remarkable, long putt.

Putt had the honors on the 11th tee and smashed a long, straight one. The combination of the new feather ball and the wind at his back allowed him to carry the ball a good 230 ells down the fairway, a tremendously long drive. Alex likewise struck his well but only managed 200 ells with his old-fashioned ball. However, he managed to put his next one on the green 30 feet from the hole—a very good shot.

The wind was gusting now and was difficult to judge. In fact, the second that Putt struck his ball from the fairway, it seemed to die, and he landed short in a bunker in front of the green.

 
Bunkers have become quite common on the links, wherever the sheep are allowed to graze. They are hollowed out of the ground by the sheep to obtain a measure of protection from the elements. The sheep would dig through the turf down into the sand beneath and huddle together there when a cold wind was blowing or they were out in a storm. They became a natural hazard on the golf links, and a rule was made that a player would have to address the ball without setting the club down behind it because it was too easy to make the ball move in the loose sand. Bunkers were a challenge to hit a ball from, especially because balls would often nestle down in the indentation where they landed, and sometimes would actually plug halfway into the sand. Gowfers were generally happy just to hit their ball out of one without worrying about how close to the hole they were able to put it. Special, extremely lofted clubs were fashioned just for extricating balls from the sand.

This is what Putt faced now. His ball lay in the bunker at the bottom of a huge slope up to the green, so that it was almost as deep as Putt was tall. He could just see the surface of the green when he looked toward the hole. He would need to get his ball in the air very quickly, but without too much speed that would carry it over the green. This would be a daunting task because the hole was only 30 feet away. The only way to get it out of the bunker and anywhere close to the hole would be to smash down an inch or so behind the ball and let it fly out on a cushion of sand. The sand would slow the club enough so the ball wouldn’t fly over the green, but it would permit him to slide the clubface under the ball and use its full loft to get it up quickly over the lip of the bunker. It was a tense moment because losing this hole would mean losing the match. If he could get down in two strokes from here, he would still be alive, so that was his goal.

Putt took his stance by digging his feet into the sand so they wouldn’t slip when he swung. He also aimed his body well left of the hole but opened up the clubface so it pointed to the right to increase the loft on it. Then he took a big swing. His club plowed through the sand an inch behind the ball, which popped up and over the lip as the sand went flying. The ball came down five feet short of the flagstick, bounced once on the green, struck the flagstick about halfway up, and dropped straight down and into the hole for a 3!

The roar from the crowd was deafening. Almost all the spectators who had come to watch the matches today surrounded the green for this final match of the morning. It was near hysteria as Putt ascended from the bunker, strode to the hole, and extracted his ball. When a shaken Alex failed to hole his putt for a 3, that meant Putt had actually won the hole, and the match was now even with one hole left to play.

Putt was mobbed, and I and the other teammates had to protect him and make a path for him through the crowd to reach the 12th tee. He and Alex still had one hole to go, and it was anyone’s match.

 

Author Notes

Scottish words ell: unit of measure equal to about a yard (37 inches) bunker: a sand trap CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings Hamish MacLachlan: The Bonnie Brae's resident tippler Cameron NicEachainn: One of the captains of the Snog team along with Alex Catriona (Cat) Clark: One of the golfers on the Foo team

Chapter 36
Saving Mr. Calvin - Ch. 29B/30A

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: After a week of practice, the matches begin the following Saturday with the “Alternating Shot” matches first. Kirk and Aggie win their match, and Putt and Cat win theirs too, but the other two teams lose for a score of 2-2 at the end of the morning matches. The afternoon matches begin using the “Best-of-4” format. The Pack team easily win their match, but the other team of 4 lose a very close one. At the end of the first day, the totals are equal at 4 points each.

The second day of the matches begins with the eight singles matches. Kirk is in the first pair out and loses his match to the Snog’s best player. He begins following the other matches to give support to his players. Most of the matches are not going well, as expected, because the Snog’s very slow play rattles the Foo players. Aggie, however, is not bothered by her opponent Cameron’s slow play because she talks and jokes with the crowd instead of watching him. She wins her match. All the rest of the Foos lose and it comes down to the final match—Putt vs. Alex—to pick up one more point. Putt is 2-down with 3 to play and manages to win the 10th and 11th holes to pull the match even with one hole left to play.

 

 

Chapter 29B

 

 

The home hole at the Foon Links ends up with its green next to the 1st tee, with both of these holes starting and ending in the center of the town! This arrangement exemplifies the importance of gowf in our little community by the fact that these two holes have such a prominent presence in the town. A low, thick hedge had been planted behind the 12th green to stop any balls that went over the green from rolling into the town square, and a local rule allows a free drop from this hedge in the event a ball runs into it. A number of stepped platforms had been put up for this event to raise the gallery above the hedge in order to watch the final hole that we hoped would loom large in our long-awaited victory this year. The platforms filled up, as news of this match spread quickly through the crowd.

The 12th hole was a short one, requiring only a drive and a short shot to the green. It was a benign finishing hole, and one that a good gowfer could score a 3 on with three well-struck shots. It had decided many a match over the five years of its existence, and there was an excellent chance that would be the case today. Before Putt took to the tee, I had a brief moment to talk to him.

“Those were some incredible holes, those last two, Putt. I can’t believe you made that putt on the 10th. I told some folks in the crowd, ‘Put a putter in Putt’s hands, and Putt’ll put a putt in like only Putt can putt ‘em.’ That was amazing!”

“Yes, about as amazing as that last sentence.”

“And that was quite a bunker shot on the last too. You’ve definitely shaken our friend, Alex. Why don’t you just finish him off now by winning the 12th?”

“Hey, that’s a good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Go get him,” I said as I patted him on the shoulder.

 

 

Putt had the honors and hit a perfect final drive. Once again, the wind was at his back, and he was left with a very short shot to the green. Alex also hit a good drive. His ball was a fair amount farther from the hole than Putt’s, but the green was still very easily reachable for him. He hit first and stroked a good shot, perhaps 15 feet from the hole. Now it was Putt’s turn to try to get inside this shot and hopefully 1-putt, but unfortunately, the wind at his back chose the wrong moment to gust, causing Putt’s shot to fly too far and end up on the very back of the green, 60 feet from the hole.

The wind was not only gusting now, but swirling in all directions, and by the time Putt reached his shot and turned back to face the hole, the wind that he had expected to be in his face was now quartering from his rear. The green sloped severely from back to front, so he had a long downhill and downwind putt, which could easily get away from him and roll well past the hole if he hit it slightly too hard.

To the cries of Putney…….Putney……..Putt……Putt.…Putt….Putt…Putt..Putt..Putt.Putt. Ppptptptptptpptppptptptptptptptpptptpp” he stroked his ball, but the wind died down then, and it appeared he hadn’t given it enough. The ball looked like it would stop at least 10 feet short until, miraculously, a huge gust of wind coming directly from behind pushed the ball forward some more as the crowd wildly cheered it on. It took an agonizingly slow path down to the hole and stopped a mere two inches short of it. The crowd groaned loudly at his coming this close to going in. In truth, he was happy to have gotten it this close, which meant he would secure a 4 on the hole, and a tie, assuming Alex missed his, but as he began walking up to his ball, another sharp gust took it the rest of the way to the hole, and it dropped in for a 3!

The crowd went wild and rushed onto the green to congratulate Putt on his victory, forgetting that Alex had a putt left and could still tie the hole if he made it.

Poor Alex. By the time the crowd realized he still had a shot left and they departed the green, there was virtually no chance for him. There were now many footprints around the hole, and any ball going in from this distance would be extremely lucky indeed. It was not to be, and as his ball skittered off to the right and away from the hole, the match was over, and Putt was the victor.

Through a combination of skill and good luck, he had finished the round with a 2 and two 3s and managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat through the incredible events of the final three holes. Being the good sport that he was, Alex walked over and gave him a long hug. I could see Putt shaking his bowed head as Alex spoke to him. Putt seemed overcome with emotion and thanked his good friend, who beat a hasty retreat as the gallery surged onto the green once more to congratulate Putt on his victory.

The Snogs had won six of the eight matches, and we had won only two, so the score at this point was 10 to 6 in favor of the Snogs with one final event—the Fast Match—yet to play.

 

 

Chapter 30A

 

 

Due to the speed nature of this match, we decided that the eight-man teams should play separately so as not to interfere with and possibly slow down the other team’s play. Each group would have a rules official with it to make any necessary rulings, and to keep the score.

Time would be kept for each of the two rounds with an hourglass filled with dry sand. A little valve between the two halves, when opened, would permit the sand to fall through from top to bottom, and when it was closed at the fall of the final putt, the gradations on the side would indicate the minutes that had elapsed.

At 3:00, the Snog team took to the first tee—all eight of them. They had a four-point lead on us and were exceedingly confident they would win without too much effort at speed because, at the 1-to-5 conversion rate, we would need to beat their score-plus-time total by 25 stroke-minutes to earn the necessary five points for the overall win.

As soon as their opening tee shot was struck, the valve on the hourglass was released, and the sand began to fall. Putt and I decided to observe the first few holes to see what the Snog strategy was for playing this round. They had obviously not put a great deal of thought into this format and had most likely not practiced it very much because their efforts at speeding up were rather lame. As I said, all eight of them stood on the 1st tee to watch the opening drive. They did at least jog to their ball to hit the second shot, while a few of them began jogging ahead. They had also decided to limit their practice swings from the normal three down to one. On the greens, they would only read the break from behind the ball rather than from all four sides. When they holed out, they would jog to the next tee, carrying their ball, and hand it to the player who would hit the next tee shot.

That appeared to be the extent of their Fast Match strategy to speed up. They seemed to put far more emphasis on shooting the best possible score at the expense of speed, and we hoped this would be where our methods would shine.

By the time they holed out on the 12th hole, they had turned in a round of 49 strokes and a time of 44 minutes for a stroke-minute total of 93. We would thus need at most a 68 (a difference of 25) to earn the five points necessary to beat the Snogs. Putt and I thought our chances were good.

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings Hamish MacLachlan: The Bonnie Brae's resident tippler Cameron NicEachainn: One of the captains of the Snog team along with Alex Catriona (Cat) Clark: One of the golfers on the Foo team

Chapter 37
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 30B

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: After a week of practice, the matches begin the following Saturday with the “Alternating Shot” matches first. Kirk and Aggie win their match, and Putt and Cat win theirs too, but the other two teams lose for a score of 2-2 at the end of the morning matches. The afternoon matches begin using the “Best-of-4” format. The Pack team easily win their match, but the other team of 4 lose a very close one. At the end of the first day, the totals are equal at 4 points each.

The second day of the matches begins with the eight singles matches. Kirk is in the first pair out and loses his match to the Snog’s best player. He begins following the other matches to give support to his players. Most of the matches are not going well, as expected, because the Snog’s very slow play rattles the Foo players. Aggie, however, is not bothered by her opponent Cameron’s slow play because she talks and jokes with the crowd instead of watching him. She wins her match. All the rest of the Foos lose and it comes down to the final match—Putt vs. Alex—to pick up one more point. Putt is 2-down with 3 to play and manages to win the 10th and 11th holes to pull the match even with one hole left to play. The wind plays havoc with Putt’s shots on the 12th hole, but he manages with the help of the wind to sink a long putt and beat Alex for the win. As the Snogs won 6 of the individual matches while the Foos won only 2, the score now stands at 10-6 in the Snogs favor going into the final set of matches.

The Fast Matches begin with the Snogs turning in their score first, which the Foos hope to beat by a lot to earn the 5 points they need to win the championship.

 

 

Chapter 30B

 

 

Our round began at 4:00. A few minutes prior to this, our team made its way out along the 1st and 2nd holes. Everyone on the team knew exactly where to be stationed on every hole. We had planned this out carefully and adjusted the scheme constantly during the past couple of weeks to take advantage of everyone’s strengths in the game. Each of us carried our own individual maps, which showed the location of all the holes and where we were supposed to be on each one. As soon as a player would hit a shot, it would be time to move to the next location on the map. The idea was to reduce the time between shots to the absolute minimum by making sure someone was in close proximity to the expected landing point of every shot.

Depending on the layout of the holes, this sometimes required running to the next location. This was especially true of the long string of holes that bordered the North Sea. There would be no dilly-dallying between shots, and it would sometimes be necessary to hit while out of breath from the running.

Putt and Aggie were our two best putters, and they would be stationed at the greens, with Putt taking the odd-numbered ones and Aggie the even-numbered ones. The same idea applied to the best drivers of the ball who kept to a schedule of every other tee shot. We also positioned our short-game specialists near the greens to hit any approach shots that had missed the greens.

The scheme was a thing of beauty when players were hitting good shots, and our best time so far in all the practice sessions had been 13 minutes for the 12 holes.

As soon as our opening tee shot was struck by our best driver, Rory, the hourglass began flowing. The ball landed in the fairway, only a few ells from where I was standing waiting for it. I took little time to strike my shot, and it just missed the green a few ells to the left, where Cat was not too far away. She ran to the ball and pitched it up onto the green with a very good shot, and Putt was able to sink it with one putt for a four on the hole. As soon as he picked it out of the hole, he made a long toss of the ball to the 2nd tee, where our other driver retrieved it and placed it on the sand tee he had already constructed in anticipation of his drive. This drive was a beauty, which split the fairway, where another approach artist like myself was ready to hit his shot to the green. Meanwhile, I had run to the third hole, where I stationed myself, waiting for the next tee shot that would be hit.

The approach shot on the 2nd was a good one and hit the green where Aggie was able to hole it in two putts. She had a rather long toss to the next tee, so she ran about 20 ells before making the toss to Rory, who had moved from the 1st tee to the 3rd tee. Aggie then took off running for the 4th green.

The scheme was working perfectly until an unfortunate incident on the 7th hole. On his way to the 7th tee, as he was running through a patch of heather, I saw him go down hard to the ground. I ran over to him to see what had happened.

“Ah, Christ, Kirk, I’ve twisted me ankle. Stepped in a damn rabbit hole, and it hurts like hell.”

“I’m sorry, Rory. I don’t suppose you can continue on it, can you?”

“Naw. Even if I could hit, I couldn’t make it to the next hole in time. What are we gonna do?”

“I’ll figure something out; don’t you worry about it. I’ll also send some fellows back after the match to help walk you back in. You can lean on their shoulders.”

“Thanks, Kirk. Sorry about this.”

“Not your fault. We’ll be alright.”

I took off then, to alert two of our other players to a modified plan which I thought of on my way to meet them. I then ran back to the 8th fairway, where I took my normal position. Uncharacteristically, our other driver of the ball hit a big hook on his tee shot on the 8th hole, deep into the long grass in the rough on the left. This one might be hard to find, which would waste minutes. The drivers had been instructed that if they ever hit a tee shot where finding the ball in a reasonable time was in doubt, they were to stay on the tee for no more than two minutes before moving to their next location in the event they had to hit another ball. Taking an additional penalty shot would be preferable to wasting too much time looking for an errant ball. It took me almost the full two minutes to find the drive, and when he saw me getting ready to hit, he was then able to advance to his next location.

We were back in action, but we had lost precious minutes. The loss of Rory as well as the wild tee shot took a further toll on the scoring. In an attempt to make up for lost time, we started losing accuracy and began wasting a stroke here and there, which also added further to the duration. By the time we reached the final hole, we knew it would be close. We were a couple of strokes over what our best stroke total had been in practice and also a few minutes behind our best time.

Our other approach shot player unfortunately skulled his second shot to the 12th green, which went sailing over and into the hedge behind it. Cat had to run around from the front, where she had been waiting for any shot missing the green, and found the ball right away when the crowd pointed to where it was. She was allowed a free drop, which she took. Our score total at this point was 51. Assuming we could get down in two more strokes—a pretty tall order when hitting toward a hole at the back of the green that sloped away from back to front—that meant that we would need a time of no more than 15 minutes to shoot the 68 it would take to win. I think we were already very close to that amount. Cat’s shot was crucial now, and she took a few extra seconds to line it up and get comfortable over the ball. She struck it with a nice click and lofted it high onto the green, where it struck the ground on the very edge and started rolling toward the hole. It was a masterful stroke, as the ball took a beeline to the hole, gently nudged the flagstick, and fell in. She had holed it for a 52! The moment she did, the hourglass was stopped. No one knew just yet the final outcome, but the crowd went crazy for Cat’s holed shot, knowing it may well make the difference in the match.

Putt, who was standing at the back of the 12th green watching, ran up to Cat, threw his arms around her, and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and raised her arms, punching the air as the crowd cheered and cheered. When Putt finally let her down, he planted a big kiss on her mouth. They looked at each other in surprise and kissed again.

This may be the start of something new for them!

I found Aggie, and together the four of us met the official, who had been keeping our score, over at the scorer’s table where the hourglass was. They compared notes and had the final totals, which they fed to Hamish to make the announcement of the match results.

I had previously asked some fellows to keep an eye on Hamish and make sure he ceased drinking this afternoon so that he would be sober enough to make an accurate announcement of the winner. They were successful in this as Hamish took to a podium that had just been placed on the 12th green and faced the crowd. The tension was palpable, as it held its collective breath.

In a loud, clear voice Hamish said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the final results of the Fast Match are in. The Snog team rounded the links in 49 strokes and 44 minutes for a combined score of 93. The Foo team rounded the links in 52 strokes and a whopping 16 minutes for a combined score of 68. The difference is 25, which means five points for the Foos and victory in the Fast Match.” The rest of what Hamish said was drowned out by the crowd, who knew that the total put the Foos ahead by one, giving them the victory for the entire tournament by a score of 11 to 10.

Pandemonium ensued within the crowd as the Foo team and the Snog team came out onto the green and shook each other’s hands. Many hugs and pats on the back were given as well. When this was done, the Snog team left the green, and Hamish presented our team with the silver cup that had been in possession of the Snogs for the past two years. The winning team would keep this cup until it was won back by the other team. The Foos clasped hands in a long line and raised all their hands in the air, as well as the silver cup, as the crowd continued cheering and whistling and enjoying every moment of this long-sought victory.

 

 

(2 more chapters until the end of Part 2. Part 3 will begin next week.)

 

 

Author Notes

skulled: A shot in which the bottom of the club hits the middle of the ball, resulting in a poorly hit, low shot that often goes too far when hit by a short iron. CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings Hamish MacLachlan: The Bonnie Brae's resident tippler Cameron NicEachainn: One of the captains of the Snog team along with Alex Catriona (Cat) Clark: One of the golfers on the Foo team

Chapter 38
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 31

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

 

Recap of the past few chapters: After a week of practice, the matches begin the following Saturday with the “Alternating Shot” matches first. Kirk and Aggie win their match, and Putt and Cat win theirs too, but the other two teams lose for a score of 2-2 at the end of the morning matches. The afternoon matches begin using the “Best-of-4” format. The Pack team easily win their match, but the other team of 4 lose a very close one. At the end of the first day, the totals are equal at 4 points each.

The second day of the matches begins with the eight singles matches. Kirk is in the first pair out and loses his match to the Snog’s best player. He begins following the other matches to give support to his players. Most of the matches are not going well, as expected, because the Snog’s very slow play rattles the Foo players. Aggie, however, is not bothered by her opponent Cameron’s slow play because she talks and jokes with the crowd instead of watching him. She wins her match. All the rest of the Foos lose and it comes down to the final match—Putt vs. Alex—to pick up one more point. Putt is 2-down with 3 to play and manages to win the 10th and 11th holes to pull the match even with one hole left to play. The wind plays havoc with Putt’s shots on the 12th hole, but he manages with the help of the wind to sink a long putt and beat Alex for the win. As the Snogs won 6 of the individual matches while the Foos won only 2, the score now stands at 10-6 in the Snogs favor going into the final set of matches.

The Fast Matches begin with the Snogs turning in their score first, which the Foos hope to beat by a lot to earn at least 5 points they will need to win the championship. The Foos have a much better plan for playing the Fast Matches and after a nailbiter of a round, they just manage to eke out a 5-point victory in the Fast Match, giving them an 11-10 overall total and a victory in the championship.

 

 

Chapter 31

 

 

The Bonnie Brae Tavern was normally closed on Sundays, but Aggie made an exception today and announced to a select few of our closest friends and both teams that it would be open at 6:00 pm. It was 4:45 now.

The two of us hurried home and went upstairs to freshen up. “You ken what this means, don’t you?” I said to Aggie.

“Of course I do. We will announce our wedding date to the crowd tonight. I really didn’t want to wait another year, Kirk. I love you and want to be your wife, not just your betrothed forever and ever as it has seemed.”

“I love you too, my dearest Aggie, and I can’t wait to be your husband. I always imagined that you would be my wife one day, even when we were kids together in Snogland. Remember when we were six and we practiced kissing like we had seen our parents do it?”

“Like this, you mean?” and we embraced each other and kissed then, only we didn’t break it off after a few seconds. We toppled into bed together and spent the next half hour enjoying another highlight of the day.

We didn’t have time for more, as the guests would be arriving soon, so we hurriedly got dressed and went downstairs to make preparations for them. Putt and Cat came in together, holding hands, at around 20 minutes to 6:00 and assisted us in the preparations for the crowd. Cat would be helping us serve the beer and ale and providing snacks. Aggie’s younger siblings would also help. No big meal tonight, as we had not had time to prepare anything—just drinks and snacks.

We unlocked the door to the tavern right at 6:00, and both teams and the friends we had invited, including Hamish MacLachlan, filed in and sat down. The mood was jubilant, even among the Snog team, who didn’t seem to hold a grudge about the partisanship that had been shown by the crowd today. That was normal and was always strongly in their favor when the matches were held on their links.

When everyone had been served a drink or two (or three in Hamish’s case), Aggie and I stood in front of the bar and captured everyone’s attention with a loud whistle.

“Good evening, friends!” I shouted as the crowd finally quieted down. Clasping Aggie’s hand, I said, “I think you ken what this victory means today. My dearest, sweetest, astonishingly beautiful and wonderful Aggie Lang, the love of my life and I will be getting married in two weeks’ time!” Thunderous applause and cheers greeted this announcement.

When they quieted again, Aggie stepped forward and said to the crowd, “We’ve been waiting to make this announcement for a long time now.” She became wistful then and took a few moments to continue. Her voice cracked as she continued, “I only wish my mother could be here to see us wed. She loved Kirk and would have been so pleased to welcome him into our family.” She shed a tear then and had trouble continuing, but finally said, “I’m sure she will be there in spirit as my wonderful Kirk and I begin our wedded life together. All of you here tonight are invited to celebrate with us, even you Snogs, who helped make us very happy today, thank you. And to show our appreciation, the next drink is on the house!”

This was accompanied by cheers and applause and many cries of “Hear, hear” and “Congratulations, Kirk and Aggie!”

“And the next one after that’s on me!” cried Hamish to many a slap on the back and toasts to his health. Hamish was indeed quite wealthy, and this would hardly dent his pocket.

Putt, Cat, and Aggie’s siblings took care of the drink orders while Aggie and I made the rounds, much as we did a few weeks ago. We spent a good bit of time talking with Alex and Cameron, who were sitting together.

“You know, Kirk,” confessed Alex. “Your team is to be congratulated on a fine victory over us today. You deserved to win. I don’t ken what is in the food or water here, but you all seemed to have picked up 20 or 30 yards on your drives. Aggie, you hit it past me on a number of occasions today. So, what is your secret?”

“Oh, so, it’s ‘Aggie’ now, is it? What happened to ‘Agrawinnia’ as you’ve always called me, Alex?”

He just waved his hand. “Tell me.”

“I must confess to making a new, firmer ball. It’s stuffed with a pail of goose feathers instead of cow’s hair, and when they are wetted, you can stuff them in much tighter before sewing up the leather. When they dry, the ball gets firmer still.”

Alex looked at me. “You have an incredibly smart soon-to-be wife there, Kirk. Don’t ever let her go.”

“I have no intention of ever doing that, although she has to let me go from time to time to fulfill my duty to my country.”

“Please don’t spoil the mood tonight with that thought, Kirk,” she said to me. “Hopefully you’ll be home for a good long while, maybe permanently now.”

I took her hand and kissed it. “We’ll see.”

Alex then said, “You know, Kirk, we never took that Fast Match very seriously. We figured with a four-point lead, there was no possible way you would catch us up or pass us. It’s clear now that we will have to rethink our approach if we do this again in the future. We saw the way you attacked the links with a man or woman in place for every shot you took, and what an amazing time-saver that was. I have to confess: that Fast Match format was rather fun. Wouldn’t you agree, Cam?”

 

Cameron looked at him strangely. “Cam?” After a few seconds, he said, “Well, I will grudgingly admit that it was kind of fun, but certainly not my preferred way of playing. I enjoy savoring a round, looking at each shot and carefully considering the best way to play it, and achieving the best possible score I can for each hole. It’s just the way I am. I’m not talking so much about the Fast Match, but playing the way you Fools do with hardly ever a practice swing and without carefully considering all the factors that go into a shot just isn’t for me. Especially with holing the ball on the greens; you’ve got to read those breaks carefully.”

“Well, you’re a good gowfer, Cam,” I said, “and for you it may mean something, but what I’ve often thought is that unless you are a very top player, all the extra time with ‘putts’—the name we call them now after our friend, Putt, over there at the bar—reading them from all directions, just isn’t worth the time it takes. In fact, it often confuses you, as I’ve found your first impression of the read is usually the most accurate.”

Alex said, “I’m not sure we’ll ever agree on all of this, but you’ve certainly given us a lot to think about. And you can bet we’ll give you a better go at the Fast Match if we do it again.”

“Fair enough, friend. And now, other guests await. It’s been a wonderful day and a wonderful discussion with you and Cam.”

“Thank you,” said Alex, “for a sobering but great competition, and we will see you in two weeks at your wedding, my dear old friends.”

 

 

(One more chapter until the end of Part 2. Part 3 begins Monday.)

 

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings Hamish MacLachlan: The Bonnie Brae's resident tippler Cameron NicEachainn: One of the captains of the Snog team along with Alex Catriona (Cat) Clark: One of the golfers on the Foo team

Chapter 39
Saving Mr. Calvin - Ch. 32/33

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: As the Snogs won 6 of the individual matches while the Foos won only 2, the score now stands at 10-6 in the Snogs favor going into the final set of matches.

The Fast Matches begin with the Snogs turning in their score first, which the Foos hope to beat by a lot to earn at least 5 points they will need to win the championship. The Foos have a much better plan for playing the Fast Matches and after a nailbiter of a round, they just manage to eke out a 5-point victory in the Fast Match, giving them an 11-10 overall total and a victory in the championship.

That night at the Bonnie Brae, the teams celebrate. Kirk and Aggie announce their wedding which will be held in two weeks. Everyone is invited. Kirk and Aggie make the rounds, thanking the folks for their good wishes. They hold a long discussion with Alex and Cameron about the differences in style of play between the Snogs and the Foos, and the Snog captains grudgingly admit the Fast Match was kind of fun.

 

 

Alex said, “I’m not sure we’ll ever agree on all of this, but you’ve certainly given us a lot to think about. And you can bet we’ll give you a better go at the Fast Match if we do it again.”

“Fair enough, friend. And now, other guests await. It’s been a wonderful day and a wonderful discussion with you and Cam.”

“Thank you,” said Alex, “for a sobering but great competition, and we will see you in two weeks at your wedding, my dear old friends.”

 

 

Chapter 32

 

Alex was wrong about that because it was one week later that Putt and I saw him at archery practice in Castasnogwary. There we received a rather stern chewing-out from the captain because we had missed the last few.

He said, “I know what you lads have been up to with your gowf matches. You are aware old James II has given the word to desist with the gowf, yet you treat it as no more than a friendly suggestion. It is not a suggestion; it is an order, and you will cease further playing as commanded! You need the archery practice, and you are jeopardizing your lives and those of others by not taking it seriously. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” we said in unison. We had heard this before, but never put quite so strongly. We spent the remainder of the day shooting at targets from a standstill, while running, and from horseback. Our arms were very sore by the end of the day.

 

 

The wedding took place the following Saturday. Aggie was gorgeous in her white, high-waisted gown, with her long, red hair spilling down her back. Her father, who was normally confined to his quarters upstairs due to his weakened condition, escorted her down the aisle of the church, where I waited with Putt beside me at the altar. Most of the townsfolk were in attendance, dressed rather well for the occasion, and I had on my best clothes too. We exchanged rings and were pronounced married by the priest.

Soon after, we headed back to the Bonnie Brae, followed by all our friends and families, and we celebrated far into the evening with plenty of food and drink, plus music and dancing.

At long last, Aggie Lang has become Aggie Pate, and we hope for an era of peace and good health going forward that will enable us to enjoy our lives together and soon raise a family.

Alas, this fantasy of a clear, bright future came to an end the following day when Putt and I reported to archery practice at the church in Castasnogwary where it had been decreed the practices would take place. The captain announced another muster in three days’ time. We would be going to battle yet again, only a month or so after the previous battle. Aggie and I were heartbroken. She was as fearful as ever that I would not return. We tried to enjoy our first few days of marriage, but the looming battle put an unfortunate damper on things.

As we lay cuddling in bed the night before the call to muster, Aggie said to me, “Kirk, it just isn’t fair! When will those wretched English finally give it up and slink back into the hole they came from and leave us alone?”

“My dearest, I wish I knew. Each time we return from battle, I think it will be our last, but it never is. Someday they are bound to get the message that we will never yield to them, and we will have peace. But I must continue to defend Scotland for the foreseeable future. I wish this moment in time, here with you, could last forever. I love you very much.”

I felt gentle tears fall to my chest as she lay with her head on it. “I love you too, my dearest husband.”

 

 

I left early the next morning and joined Putt on the way to Castasnogwary, where we joined the muster. We met Alex there, and the three of us marched together again to battle, ending up quite near the same place as the previous one. The day was overcast, and eventually rain began to fall.

Scouts had been sent out earlier on horseback to try to reconnoiter the strength of the enemy forces. Troopwise, we thought we may have a slight advantage, but spirits were low in the miserable weather. Still, when the captains announced the charge, we charged, and like it or not, we engaged the enemy on the field of battle. As before, we began with a volley of arrows fired from a distance, then a joining of battle with the spearmen and swordsmen and axe-wielders on the field. The fighting was fierce, and I used up all my arrows before drawing both my sword and dagger from their sheaths. Putt and Alex fought next to me as we helped guard each other’s backs.

At one point, an enemy axe-wielder, who had been lying on the ground as if dead, sprang up suddenly and buried his axe into Alex’s back beneath his right shoulder blade. Alex screamed, and both Putt and I stabbed the man with our swords, putting him out of action for good. But Alex was down and was bleeding profusely.

“Be at peace, old friend,” I said to him. “I’ll be back for you when the battle is over. Rest easy; you’re not going to die today.”

His voice was weak, but he said in little more than a whisper, “I hope this battle will be a Fast Match, and will soon be over, Kirk. If I don’t make it, may you and Aggie live long and have lots of children. You’ve been a dear friend to me, and I wish I had moved to Foon with you when I …” He trailed off then.

“Well, maybe you can move there when this war is over. Rest now. Putt and I will be back for you, Alex.”

He closed his eyes, and we left him there, not knowing if he would make it, as we rejoined the battle.

In another hour, it was over for today. Putt and I both sustained minor wounds in our arms and legs, but we would be alright. The battle had moved far afield, and it took us some time before we were able to locate Alex lying where we had left him. He was still breathing but was very pale and unconscious from the loss of blood.

The rain had finally abated some as we trudged off the field carrying Alex’s limp body. I couldn’t wait for this wretched war to be over and for me to return once more to my beloved Aggie. If only Alex wasn’t so mortally wounded.

Putt and I carried him into the woods where we hoped to find some help for him.

 

 

Chapter 33

 

Santa Barbara, California

2032

 

 

As Paul and I stepped under the trestle, we looked around, but it was only the two of us. Alex was not there with us. On top of the bank, though, were Art Calvin and Ernie, watching us.

“Been somewhere?” asked Ernie after Paul and I scrambled up the hill together.

Paul looked back under the trestle but saw nothing but the grassy field beyond. He shook his head to clear it. “He wasn’t bullshitting us, Ern; it was real!”

“Jesus, guys! Now you’re in cahoots and bullshitting me together. Nice try, though.”

Paul grabbed him by his shirt and said, “Listen, you big dope. I told you I was going with him to call his bluff and prove he made it all up. He didn’t. It’s true. We just left our friend Alex behind in 15th-century Scotland. We were battling the English, and he was bludgeoned with an axe. We don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

Ernie looked at Art then. “I think he’s serious. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Oh, he’s serious, alright. I don’t think anyone is that good of an actor. Why don’t we go back to where we were, and they can tell us about it?”

We headed back beneath the shade then and sat down for another long story. I began:

“When we first went under the trestle, we ended up in the woods. We were soldiers, both of us archers—actually, all three of us, including our good friend Alex—and we were about to join battle with the English. We were just outside Edinburgh, Scotland in the year 1458. I had jumped into Kirk Pate and Paul into Putney Pell, but everyone called him Putt.

“We survived that battle and returned home that day, where I rejoined my beloved Aggie…. Wait a minute. I just realized something. Aggie was 22 and looked amazingly similar to my beloved Arie from Holland when I left her at age 22. In fact, she was a lot like her in many ways. This is too weird!”

Paul picked up the story then. “This is weird. Look at the names: Kevin Parsons—Kilian Prost—Kirk Pate. And me, Paul Putnam—Putney Pell. Incidentally, Ern, the term ‘putting’ in golf came from my nickname, Putt, because I sank everything. Oh, we should tell you, there’s a lot more golf in this story. They called it ‘gowf’ in Scotland. Like Kevin says, this is so weird!”

“Alright, guys. I’m beginning to be convinced. I don’t think either of you is creative enough to come up with this sh… stuff. So, what happened in old Scotland?”

We then proceeded to tell him and Art the whole story.

 

 

When we were finished with it, I said to Ernie, “Convincing enough for you?”

He looked at Art then, who just nodded to him. “Pretty darn. I guess the only way to know for absolute certainty is to go with you myself. Anyone up for another trip?”

Paul said, “Not me. I think just you and Kevin, if he wants to, should go by yourselves. How about you, Art?”

“I think my time-traveling days are over now, fellas, but I’m delighted to hear about your adventures. It brings it all back to me. Many of my travels were the most memorable and special times of my life. They have taught me much, as I’m sure they are doing to you. I think you should go with him, Ernie.”

“I’m scared, though. What if we don’t make it back?”

 

I said, “I think all you would lose would be the memory of having been there and what you may learn there. You see, I think you would still be here in 2032 just as you are. It’s like your mind is in two places at once. It doesn’t leave here, leaving you essentially unconscious here. I think it somehow duplicates itself when you walk through the portal, and the new part goes through into another time. If or when it comes back through the portal, it merges with your mind that remained here, and now you will gain the complete memory of the time there. If it never makes it back through the portal, it will just be as if it never left here in the first place.

 
“From the perspective of the person whose mind you share while there, whether you stay with him or leave again will have no effect on him. He is never even aware of your presence in his mind. In fact, you won’t even be aware of your 2032 self when in his mind. And when you come back to 2032, he just goes on living as he always has. When I left Holland and now Scotland, Kilian and Kirk just went on living their lives as normal. That’s my theory anyway.”

“I think he’s absolutely right about all that,” said Art.

“So do I,” said Paul.

I could see Ernie thinking this over and debating with himself, but finally he said, “Alright. Let’s hurry, though, before I chicken out. Where do you think we’ll end up?”

“I haven’t a clue. Art, do you have any insight about that?”

“The only thing I can tell you is that each time I went, it was in a later era than the previous one. But you’ve got another five hundred years open to you, so it’s anyone’s guess.”

“Alright, let’s get going then,” said Ernie. “See ya soon,” he said to Paul and Art as we headed down to the trestle together and stepped underneath.

 

 

 

(End of Part 2. Part 3 begins on Monday.)

 

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 1458 Scotland Kirk Pate: A 22-year-old house builder and part time soldier from Foon. He is the narrator of this part of the story. Putney Pell (Putt): Kirk's best friend and business partner in Foon and a fellow soldier Alex MacGillycuddy: Kirk and Putt's childhood friend who lives in the nearby town of Castasnogwary and is a fellow soldier Aggie Lang: Kirk's 22-year-old fiance. She runs the Bonnie Brae Inn and Tavern owned by her father Jack and Isla Lang: Aggie's younger siblings Hamish MacLachlan: The Bonnie Brae's resident tippler Cameron NicEachainn: One of the captains of the Snog team along with Alex Catriona (Cat) Clark: One of the golfers on the Foo team

Chapter 40
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 34

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: Kirk and Aggie are married at last, but soon after, Kirk must go to war again. He and Putt leave and meet up with Alex, and the three join the muster. During the battle, Alex is severely wounded, and when Kirk and Putt carry his wounded body into the woods to find medical help, they pass under the trestle and back into 2032 Santa Barbara. They meet Ernie and Art Calvin and tell them the story of their journey to 1458 Scotland. Ernie is convinced the travels are real now and decides to go on one with Kevin. The two of them pass under the trestle.

 

 

Author's Note: Just a few words before we get into Part 3. Based on some of your reviews, I realized that some things were unclear about the time travel aspect of the story and the effects that it might have had on those left behind in the eras that were visited. Consequently, I have rewritten the end of the last chapter of Part 2, which I will include now before beginning Part 3. I hope this will clarify any misconceptions I may have caused. Rewriting this also helped me clarify my own thinking about how this time travel business works and what is really happening to the characters, both present and past, to enable things to occur the way they do.

Two other minor points before we get started. I changed the name of the Dutch character Kilian Pauls to Kilian Prost because of the similarity of the surname Pauls to the first name of one of the characters from 2032, Paul Putnam. (That's a name similarity that was unintentional!) Also, I no longer refer to Ernie Dombrowski as "Dumbo." My wife said it made her cringe whenever she heard "Dumbo," and we can't have a frequently-cringing wife. From now on, he will always be called either Ernie or Ern.

We pick up the end of the previous chapter right after Ernie says that he's scared he might not make it back to 2032 if he were to go with Kevin on another time travel:

 

 

I said, “I think all you would lose would be the memory of having been there and what you may learn there. You see, I think you would still be here in 2032 just as you are. It’s like your mind is in two places at once. It doesn’t leave here, leaving you essentially unconscious here. I think it somehow duplicates itself when you walk through the portal, and the new part goes through into another time. If or when it comes back through the portal, it merges with your mind that remained here, and now you will gain the complete memory of the time there. If it never makes it back through the portal, it will just be as if it never left here in the first place.

 
“From the perspective of the person whose mind you share while there, whether you stay with him or leave again will have no effect on him. He is never even aware of your presence in his mind. In fact, you won’t even be aware of your 2032 self when in his mind. And when you come back to 2032, he just goes on living as he always has. When I left Holland and now Scotland, Kilian and Kirk just went on living their lives as normal. That’s my theory anyway.”

“I think he’s absolutely right about all that,” said Art.

“So do I,” said Paul.

I could see Ernie thinking this over and debating with himself, but finally he said, “Alright. Let’s hurry, though, before I chicken out. Where do you think we’ll end up?”

“I haven’t a clue. Art, do you have any insight about that?”

“The only thing I can tell you is that each time I went, it was in a later era than the previous one. But you’ve got another five hundred years open to you, so it’s anyone’s guess.”

“Alright, let’s get going then,” said Ernie. “See ya soon,” he said to Paul and Art as we headed down to the trestle together and stepped underneath.

 

 

Part 3

 

USA (2002)
 

 

 

 

Chapter 34

 

Altoona, Pennsylvania
2002

 

E.J. and I stepped out of the door from the kitchen that led to the parking lot of Kettle Creek Country Club. I had just gotten through complimenting the chef on the meal following the annual Member-Guest tournament. E.J. and I, although we had won this event for the past two years, were not able to capture the victory for the third time, as we were soundly beaten by a net score four strokes better than ours. It was still a wonderful day, capped off by a fabulous meal of prime rib and Yorkshire pudding with a side of green beans with almonds, followed by a slice of Boston Cream Pie for dessert.

We said goodbye to each other in the parking lot, and he thanked me for inviting him to play again this year.

I met E.J. 15 years ago. He had been a caddie at Brentwood Country Club up in DuBois, where I had just become a junior member. I was 22 at the time, and he was 39.

You might say E.J. Budrowski was a late bloomer. He had had a problem with alcohol back then, but with the help of Abby, who was his best friend—despite the fact that she was little more than half his age—he was able to turn himself around and was now quite successful. He was a professor of computer science at Penn State University.

My name is Kenny Payne, and Abby is my wife of 14 years. I met her shortly after joining Brentwood, where E.J. caddied. She worked at the snackbar and as a waitress in the restaurant during the summer, right before she started grad school at Penn State. It had been instant attraction for both of us, and a whirlwind romance led to marriage a year later.

Back then, I was a mechanical engineer working in the food industry, but I eventually became a partner with my best friend, Eddie Phillips, and we are now the co-owners of a golf equipment company. We produce mainly putters, and our clientele includes many PGA Tour pros.

 

 

I got home in time to see the kids before they went to bed. Our daughter, Claire, was ten years old, and our son, Greg, was eight. After saying goodnight, I went down to the family room to read a trade journal. Abby came down later after kissing the kids goodnight.

Abby was and still is beautiful, with long red hair, large green eyes, full lips, and a sprinkling of freckles over her cheeks and nose. She is also extremely intelligent. She was a math major with a minor in engineering and, after getting her graduate degree, went to work as an actuary at a large insurance company. Following a few leaves of absence to give birth to our two kids and stay home with them for a year, she has since worked her way up to being the manager of the actuarial department.

As we sat in the family room, I told her all about the Member-Guest tournament at the club today and how E.J. and I couldn’t three-peat.

“Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Did you have fun, though?” she asked me.

“Yes. I always love playing with E.J. He really is an excellent golfer. Hits the ball a ton for a guy with his slight build.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, and I’m glad you are such good friends. You two go back almost as far as he and I do.”

“You’re his best friend, though, except maybe for his wife now,” I said to Abby, because indeed she is, or was at any rate. She had helped to inspire him and to save himself from a life of slow, steady ruin around 15 years ago.

Abby told me about her day today, then picked up a book and started reading while I went back to my trade journal. After a few minutes, I looked up at her and noticed she was just staring straight ahead, deep in thought.

 

“Penny for your thoughts,” I said.

She took a moment to collect herself, but then she looked at me and said, “I want to run something by you. I’ve been thinking a lot about my career lately. Things are going so smoothly at work now, and the challenge just isn’t there for me anymore. Besides math, you know I’ve always loved engineering, but being in the insurance world, I haven’t had anything to do with engineering since college. I’m getting antsy now and thinking that I need a new challenge—something involving math and engineering.”

“It’s interesting you say that. I’ve often wondered how long you might stay in the insurance field. Some actuaries are involved in engineering fields too, you know. Are you thinking along those lines?”

“Possibly, but I feel like I want to create something. I had a wild idea after talking to Claire a couple weeks ago, and it’s been rolling around in my head ever since.”

I put down my magazine and turned my full attention to her. “Let’s hear it.”

“You know how difficult golf can be to learn for many people. I think the game would be more popular if it were easier to learn, but many people want instant success and don’t have the patience to learn it slowly and correctly and with the proper instruction, which is hard to find.”

“You seemed to pick it up awfully fast,” I told her. “Remember when I taught you how to play and you hit a number of good shots your first time trying?”

“That’s because you were such a good teacher.”

“For you I was anyway. I haven’t had as much success with Claire.”

“Well, that’s just it. Claire has been struggling to get the hang of the golf swing for a while now, and nothing we say or show her seems to make much difference. I think a lot of people are like that. I think I was able to pick it up quickly because I’m a very visual learner. I saw you swing a few times, then I could just copy you. Not everyone learns best that way, though. We’ve certainly demonstrated a good swing to her enough times. I think she actually needs to feel a correct swing. What if someone were to invent a ‘golfing suit’ for lack of a better term, that you could wear and that would teach you the proper motions of the swing by swinging for you? It wouldn’t force you, but it would urge you to swing the correct way.”

“Huh! Eddie and I go to a lot of golf equipment shows, and I’ve never seen or heard of anything like that before. How would you get it to urge you to swing?”

“I picture the suit having thousands of miniature servo motors sewn into the fabric, all connected by tiny wires to a microprocessor and power source. The correct motion would be initiated when you start your backswing, and then the suit takes over. You could fight it and mess up the swing, but if you just let it do its thing, it will cause you to take the club back and then down again on the correct plane with the same tempo and timing every time. If you use it enough, eventually you won’t need to use it, because it will have taught you the correct swing, which you should now be able to duplicate.”

“Do you think this is really doable?”

“I don’t know. It would take a lot of collaboration and brainstorming between a mathematician, a mechanical engineer, a computer genius, and an experienced inventor who knows his way around fabrication. Do you happen to know any of those?”

“I think I do,” I said, laughing. “Why don’t we invite E.J. and Eddie over this weekend, and we can all bat it around?”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll get on the phone and invite them over for lunch on Saturday, but I won’t tell them what it’s about just yet. Let’s surprise them with it.”

 

 

Author Notes

Yes, it's true. Those of you who read my previous novel Some Call It Luck will recognize portions of this scene from that story. We have jumped right into that story and will be here for a while as the swing suit is developed. I had originally conceived of this novel before Some Call It Luck, but chose to write that one first and decided to use the swing suit in it when I was part way through writing it and merge the two novels together. In Saving Mr. Calvin, though, this segment is from Kenny's point of view instead of Abby's which it was in Some Call It Luck. It is also enhanced quite a lot from the original, so don't fear that I am just regurgitating the exact same thing. The one change I had to make, though, was that Kenny will be in one scene that he was not in in Some Call It Luck. You'll realize that when we get to it. CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer. Claire Payne: Kenny and Abby's 10-year-old daughter. Greg Payne: Kenny and Abby's 8-year-old son. Eddie Phillips: Kenny's partner who originally founded the golf equipment company.

Chapter 41
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 35

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: After passing beneath the trestle, Kevin and Ernie end up in the minds of Kenny Payne and E.J. Budrowski in Altoona, Pennsylvania in the summer of 2002. They come out the door to the kitchen of Kettle Creek Country Club where they had been complimenting the chef on a fine dinner following the member-guest tournament to which Kenny had invited E.J.

At home, we meet Kenny’s wife Abby, another beautiful and smart redhead who, after working as an actuary for a number of years, is longing to get back into engineering. She has dreamt up a golfing suit teaching aid, which can be worn by a golfer, and will guide him or her to a perfect golf swing. The idea was inspired by the difficulty their 10-year-old daughter, Claire, was having in learning the swing. Kenny and Abby invite E.J. and Kenny’s partner Eddie Phillips to join them for lunch on Saturday.

 

 

Chapter 35

 

 

E.J. and his wife Susan, as well as my business partner Eddie, accepted Abby’s invitation to lunch on Saturday. She told them she had an idea she wanted to discuss with them but didn’t reveal what it was, only that it had to do with golf.

We prepared a barbecue with hamburgers and hotdogs, potato chips, and a few salads. While I was grilling the meat, the rest were putting on the backyard putting green I had built a couple of years ago. It was a real bentgrass green too, just like on a golf course. Our kids, Claire and Greg, who were 10 and 8, were joining us, and they shared in the fun on the putting green.

When I had finished grilling the meat, we sat down on the porch at a large picnic table. Susan said, “Okay, Abby, what’s this all about? You were very mysterious on the phone the other day. Have you got some sort of golfing vacation to an exotic spot planned for all of us?”

“Not exactly. It’s an idea Kenny and I have been talking over, and we thought all of you might be interested in being a part of it.”

“Me and Greg too?” asked Claire.

“Actually, yes, but it will be a while before we bring you into it.”

“What is it, Mom?” said Claire excitedly.

I said, “Claire, take it easy and just listen. Let Mom explain it in her own way. It will be at least a couple of years before you’ll be involved in it anyway.” She clammed up then and stuck her lower lip out in an affected pout. It was very cute. Claire looks like a miniature version of Abby, with red hair and freckles.

“Okay, here it is,” said Abby. “We all know how difficult golf is to learn. Susan, I believe E.J. is teaching you to play right now. Would you agree with that?”

“I absolutely would. E.J. is very patient with me, but I’m not too athletically inclined, and it’s a struggle for sure.”

“I think Claire would probably agree with you on that. She’s been struggling to master the golf swing for some time now.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom. You don’t have to tell everyone about it.”

Abby smiled. “Well, it was the talk you and I had about it a few weeks ago that gave me the idea. The golf swing is a complicated motion that is not very intuitive. You give someone a club to swing who’s never seen the game played and tell them to try striking a ball, and 9 times out of 10, the motion they take to strike it will look nothing like a proper golf swing. Kenny, describe the swing for us, would you?”

“Alright. It takes a coordination of all your main body parts—the hands, arms, shoulders, as well as your feet, knees, and hips all turning around your head, which stays steady throughout. Once they all turn back together, then they have to start back down in the correct sequence in order to maximize your power as the clubhead comes into the ball and to assure that both the direction of the clubhead path and the angle of the clubface are virtually square to the line of flight at impact; otherwise, the ball may fly off in any direction. When you consider the amount of distance the clubhead travels away from and then back to the ball and the fact that you must hit it in a small area in the center of the clubface for a good shot, it’s amazing anyone can ever hit a good shot.”

“That’s for sure,” said Abby. “It’s a very complicated set of motions that are not easily mastered, and there is so little margin for error. As I said, it’s not very intuitive, yet there are some folks who, once they see a good swing, are able to imitate it fairly easily and accurately. It’s like those musical folks who can hear a song once and then play it perfectly by ear on the piano. But that doesn’t describe most folks.

“There’s an expression in golf: ‘feel vs. real.’ What that means is that what you feel you are doing in the swing may not at all be what you are really doing. Except for the real visual learners—the good imitators—I think that’s where most people are. What if we were to create a device that could make the feel real? What if you could wear this device, and it could guide the swing for you? You would just have to let it pull and push your various body parts into the correct positions at the proper times and in a consistent fashion. Then you could develop a true feel for the proper swing. Do it enough times, and it will get built into your so-called muscle memory.

“So many people try the game once or twice and give it up very quickly because they expect instant success at it. Well, this device could give them that instant success, and they’ll be hitting good shots right away. The learning curve will be cut way down.”

She stopped talking then and let the idea sit with them for a minute.

Claire was the first to speak. “So, what would it look like, Mom, a robot you fit yourself inside of? And where do I come into it?”

“No, it wouldn’t be a robot, but a suit you would wear under your clothes. It would contain thousands of miniature servo motors connected by tiny wires hooked to a microprocessor, with programming to make them push and pull on your body parts in the right sequence to help them make a perfect, repeatable golf swing. You would still use your own power to lift your arms and turn your body, but the suit would guide you in the correct way to do it. I was thinking that, following the members of the design team, you would be our first guinea pig, Claire.”

“How about me, Mom?” said Greg. “Why can’t I be first?”

“You’re one of those visual learners, Greg. You don’t really even need it.”

Clare stuck her tongue out at her brother, who had picked up the swing rather easily, and he punched her arm.

”C’mon kids. Knock it off,” I told them.

“But I think it may be too big for you anyway,” continued Abby. “I think Claire will be big enough in a couple of years to try it, but I’m not sure you would be, Greg.”

“Abby,” said E.J. “Will this suit force you to swing the way it’s programmed? Will you have any say-so in the swing, like how far back to take the club?”

“I’d say it’s more a matter of urging you to swing a certain way than forcing you. You can override it, but that will introduce inconsistency into your swing, which will likely lead to a bad shot. Eddie, you’ve been quiet so far. What are you thinking? Possible?”

“This is a remarkable idea, Abby. I think it’s certainly worth pursuing. It would likely revolutionize the golf teaching industry. All those crusty teaching pros would be out of a job if the public could buy a device like this. They won’t like it very much and might even go the way of the buggy whip.”

“What the heck is a buggy whip, Uncle Eddie?” asked Claire.

“They used to use ‘em to whip horses with to get ‘em going when people rode in horse-drawn buggies. But when cars replaced buggies, they were no longer needed. Get the idea?”

“Yes. No more cruelty to horses!”

“Not quite what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. I was just kidding around.”

“Wisenheimer.”

“I’ve got a dumb question,” said Susan. “Who’s going to want to spend what this is likely to cost, use it only a few times, master the swing, and then not need it anymore?”

“That’s actually a very good question, Susan,” I said. “Here’s my thinking about that. While it’s true that someone who buys one of these may master the swing very quickly and not need it anymore, I would qualify that by saying ‘not need it anymore right away.’ After a while, though, bad habits begin to creep into your swing. Over time, your body also changes subtly, which can affect your swing. The suit can be put on periodically to reinforce the correct swing and help you get rid of any bad habits you may have developed. It will get you back on track, so to speak. Also, as we age, we are no longer as flexible and strong as we once were when we were younger. The suit will be programmable and calibratable for all sorts of body conditions and will allow you to adjust it as your body changes. You may even want to warm up with it and swing in it a few times before playing a round of golf. And finally, I’m sure there would be a good resale market for a used suit if you decide you didn’t need or want it anymore.”

“That was a great answer, Kenny,” said Susan.

“Okay, then,” said Abby. “Who might be interested in participating in such a venture? We would need to do a lot of brainstorming about the design and the programming and the materials before we got started building a prototype. If you all were to agree, I was thinking that E.J. and I could work out the mathematics and the algorithms together, and he would do the programming. Kenny, you and Eddie would figure out how to construct it and then manufacture it. Susan, if you would also like to help, I’m sure we could find a hundred ways to use your talents. As a paralegal, there will certainly be some copyright and legal issues down the road as we get into the manufacturing phase. So, with a show of hands, who’s in?”

Seven hands then shot into the air, including Claire’s and Greg’s.

“That’s terrific,” said Abby. “I’ve got some project management software on my computer here at home, and I will put together a tentative project plan. I’m really happy that you’re all willing to help with this.”

“I think this is going to be a lot of fun, Abby,” said E.J. “I, for one, can’t wait to get started on it.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, “let me spend a couple weeks of research time and think about the mathematics, and then we can get together and discuss some of the potential algorithms we must develop. How does that sound?”

“That sounds fine. Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll come down.”

“Eddie, you and I should start brainstorming too,” I said.

“Gladly. The nice thing is, that’s our job. We can do it at work.”

 

 

By this time, we had finished the meal, and I went inside to fetch a peach cobbler I had made earlier this morning and some ice cream, which we had for dessert. We then spent more time playing putting games on my green. It was a wonderful afternoon, and the whole group was very excited about this new venture.

 

The story is 70% complete.

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie. Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer. Claire Payne: Kenny and Abby's 10-year-old daughter. Greg Payne: Kenny and Abby's 8-year-old son. Eddie Phillips: Kenny's partner who originally founded the golf equipment company.

Chapter 42
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 36A

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: After passing beneath the trestle, Kevin and Ernie end up in the minds of Kenny Payne and E.J. Budrowski in Altoona, Pennsylvania in the summer of 2002. They come out the door to the kitchen of Kettle Creek Country Club where they had been complimenting the chef on a fine dinner following the member-guest tournament to which Kenny had invited E.J.

At home, we meet Kenny’s wife Abby, another beautiful and smart redhead who, after working as an actuary for a number of years, is longing to get back into engineering. She has dreamt up a golfing suit teaching aid, which can be worn by a golfer, and will guide him or her to a perfect golf swing. The idea was inspired by the difficulty their 10-year-old daughter, Claire, was having in learning the swing. Kenny and Abby invite E.J. and Kenny’s partner Eddie Phillips to join them for lunch on Saturday.

At the barbecue lunch on Saturday, Abby and Kenny describe Abby’s idea for the suit. The group is intrigued and all decide to join them in the project.

 

 

Chapter 36A

 

 

For the first few weeks, Abby did research on her own. As she told the group, we would be using a vast array of miniature servo motors in the suit. A servo motor is an electric motor that allows for precise control of angular or linear position, speed, and torque. It consists of a motor coupled to a sensor for positional feedback and a controller that regulates the motor’s movement according to a desired setpoint. As the thousands of servo motors would act as a group, she told me she needed to study an area of mathematics known as group theory, and she soon got immersed in such things as Frobenius groups and composition series. This was way beyond my mathematical knowledge, which extended no further than calculus, most of which I had forgotten by now. She needed someone with a good math background to bounce ideas off. E.J. has a fairly strong background in mathematics, so she called him up to invite him down. They began getting together a few times a week to go over ideas.

I attended the first meeting with them to hear Abby’s overview of what they needed to do. She started out with a question: “Have you ever seen a flock of birds, or a murmuration of birds to be precise, take off at the same time and fly in a coordinated manner, changing direction all at once?”

“Sure. I've always wondered how they do that,” said E.J.

“There are various theories. Some think it’s a rudimentary form of telepathy. Others think it’s like the wave going around a baseball stadium, where people see their nearest neighbors’ actions and time their own moves accordingly. But how they do it is not as important to us as the simple coordination that is necessary to make it happen.”

“And that’s what we have to achieve with our thousands of servo motors,” agreed E.J. He thought for a moment. “But do you picture it as more of the telepathic theory where the correct swing message is sent to all the servo motors at once, or will it be more like the baseball wave theory, where each servo motor is responding to what is happening with its neighbors? By this, of course, I mean the programming that supports them.”

“I think it has to be both. The correct swing is pre-programmed, which urges the wearer to swing a certain way, but the suit has to be able to respond to any deviation from this if the wearer overrides the correct way.”

We tossed around ideas for several hours. E.J. admitted that much of the mathematics was also beyond him, but he told us he would try to come up to speed on such areas as geometric group theory and vector spaces.

 

 

Over the next year, E.J. and Abby continued to meet for a few hours most weekends, developing the mathematical algorithms he could then apply his programming skills to. Abby admitted to me that we never could have succeeded in this without his help and his terrific programming ability. When they’d finally developed all the algorithms and had gotten the programming in place, they were ready for Eddie and me to apply it to our plans for the construction of the suit.

As Abby and E.J. had been developing the software, Eddie and I had likewise been working on the mechanical aspects of it. We discovered early on that the servo motors by themselves would not be quite powerful enough for all the intended actions of the suit. The main source of power is the wearer himself or herself; the servo motors help to guide this power in the correct way and respond to deviations. But we realized that this would need supplementation with a few strategically placed regular electric motors connected to hydraulic devices to provide the extra power needed, primarily in the armpit, right elbow, right hip, and wrist areas. Luckily, all of us on the design team, as well as Claire, were right-handed, so we only needed one prototype for a right-handed person.

 

 

For the past two years, it has been a true collaboration between the four of us, and after thousands of man hours and tens of thousands of dollars, we now have a working prototype and are ready to begin its testing.

Abby’s swing suit version 1 works like this: First of all, it’s parameter-driven and designed to be totally adjustable to the person wearing it. Before putting it on, you have to enter your height, weight, body type, age, physical condition, and answer a number of other questions to assess your current skill level.

Future models will be able to calibrate the device for you after you take a few practice swings in it, but for now, you have to manually input much of the data.

You also need to tell it what percentage of a full swing you wish to use; there’s a little keypad on the side for that. If you can estimate the carry distance of your shot correctly, you can input that instead, and the device will cause you to swing the proper amount, but it assumes you are using the correct club for the shot. Even if you were built like Tiger Woods, you wouldn’t be able to hit, say, a 9-iron 250 yards.

There are safety considerations built into it. For example, Claire wouldn’t be able to input a carry distance of 250 yards because, with her size and body type, there’s no way she could hit a ball safely that far, even with her driver.

The golfing suit fits over your arms and torso, as far down as the bottom of your knees. That way, it can train all your golfing muscles to get you to swing on the correct plane at the same tempo and timing on every swing.

The suit is made of stretchable fabric, worn under the clothes, and is one-size-fits-all for now, with future plans for small, medium, large, and extra-large sizes. Hand-sewn into the suit are the several thousand tiny servo motors and the additional motors and hydraulics, which urge you to swing the correct way.

We patterned the “ideal” swing after mine because I have a very natural-looking swing with a tempo, timing, and consistency that are quite effective. Future models will allow golfers to set the tempo of their swings to match their own natural tendencies. And even newer versions will enable golfers to adopt the swings of different professional golfers, assuming they give us permission to measure their swings.

The suit is for training purposes only and cannot be legally worn during, say, a tournament, as the Rules of Golf are very strict about prohibiting the use of training aids.

I could talk about all this for hours, but won’t go into any more details. The prototype is ready for Abby to try it out for the first time, which will be tomorrow. A few weeks ago, I talked E.J. into planning a little surprise for her when she takes her first swing in it.

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie. Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer. Claire Payne: Kenny and Abby's 10-year-old daughter. Greg Payne: Kenny and Abby's 8-year-old son. Eddie Phillips: Kenny's partner who originally founded the golf equipment company.

Chapter 43
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 36B

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: At home, we meet Kenny’s wife Abby, another beautiful and smart redhead who, after working as an actuary for a number of years, is longing to get back into engineering. She has dreamt up a golfing suit teaching aid, which can be worn by a golfer, and will guide him or her to a perfect golf swing. The idea was inspired by the difficulty their 10-year-old daughter, Claire, was having in learning the swing. Kenny and Abby invite E.J. and Kenny’s partner Eddie Phillips to join them for lunch on Saturday.

At the barbecue lunch on Saturday, Abby and Kenny describe Abby’s idea for the suit. The group is intrigued and all decide to join them in the project.

Abby and E.J. begin figuring out the algorithms to drive the software, while Kenny and Eddie figure out the mechanics of the suit. Over two years’ time, their combined efforts result in a completed prototype that is ready for testing.

 

 

Chapter 36B

 

 

It was early on a Saturday morning in the summer of 2004 that we all gathered at the local high school. Besides the four of us on the design team, Claire and Greg, as well as Susan Budrowski, were in attendance to watch the test. There was a large athletic field behind the school that was empty of people at this hour, so we figured this would be the perfect time and place for the test.

Abby slipped into the suit and brought up the saved set of parameters known as “Abby-age 36” for her height, weight, body type, and so on. She had brought a 7-iron and indicated through the keypad on the side that she wanted to hit the ball 140 yards, her usual 7-iron distance. She would take a few practice swings first before stepping up to a ball.

I decided to remind her of a few things. “Remember now, sweetie, to let the suit guide you and try not to influence it in any way. This will undoubtedly be hard at first, but that was your concept of it.”

“I actually do remember that, which will be hard for a control freak like me, but I’ll do my best.”

“Okay then. E.J., drumroll please,” and E.J. started up an iPod with a drumroll on it.

Abby smiled, then began taking the club back, which set the suit in motion. Everything started out fine, and she was in a perfect position at the top of the backswing, but all of a sudden, the suit froze and the iPod switched from the drumroll to the disco sound of “Do the Hustle.” I took the 7-iron from Abby’s hands and watched as the suit guided Abby into dancing the hustle. She cracked up and went with it.

After a few bars of this, the music switched to Chubby Checker’s “The Twist,” and Abby and I began twisting to the music. The rest were delirious with laughter, watching as we stood out in that field dancing to “The Twist.” In a few more bars, it switched to Michael Jackson singing “Billie Jean,” and Abby began doing the moonwalk. The playlist finished with a beautiful rendition of “The Blue Danube” waltz, and I waltzed Abby around and around.

“You guys!” she said when it was over. “I never dreamed we’d be able to give Arthur Murray a run for his money too. Now I know why you gave me that reminder about letting the suit do its thing, Kenny. Alright, that was really special. E.J., how long did it take you to program all those dance steps into the suit?”

“Not too long, really. Once we had our basic movement algorithms broken up into distinct subroutines, it was fairly simple to rearrange the order to create dance steps. I had to watch a few online Napster videos to get them right, but it wasn’t too difficult.”

“Well, that was great. Do you mind if we check out the golf swing now?”

“Not at all,” said E.J. “C’mon over here, and I’ll download the correct software from my laptop.”

After the download, Abby was ready to try her practice swing again. I handed her the 7-iron, which she took with a smile and a shake of her head, and once again she addressed the ball and started her backswing. This time, after she got to the top of the backswing, her hips began sliding forward as her shoulders stayed back a beat, then her arms and hands began dropping the clubhead down into the slot, and finally her hands started uncocking when the club was about halfway down. With maximum acceleration and a whoosh through the hitting area, the clubface came squarely into where the ball would be, and she took a shallow divot in the grass as her body turned through the shot. She finished with a nice high follow through in perfect balance, with her body facing in the direction the ball would fly and with most of her weight now on her left side. It was a beautiful swing.

She took two more of these practice swings, and then it was time to try hitting a ball. I had brought a shag bag full of them and spilled a few out on the ground near her. She raked one over, took her address, and started back once again. Her swing looked just like it had during the practice swings, and the clubface contacted the ball perfectly, taking a shallow divot in front of the ball as it should. It rocketed away with a beautifully straight shot with just a yard or two of draw. Total success! We all cheered for Abby’s shot, but we were really cheering our skill in collaboration to create an invention that works. It was a jubilant moment.

This was to be Abby’s day. It was her idea that got us started on this, and we decided to let her be the one to do all the testing today. We put the suit through a variety of paces with a number of different clubs—with half-shots, with higher-than-normal shots as well as knockdown shots, with intentional draws as well as fades. E.J., Eddie, and I made extensive notes, as we could see a number of tweaks that would need to be made. Some of the shot types were more successful than others. Some would require simple programming changes, E.J. said, but others looked like they might take some tweaking of the electric motors and hydraulics.

I asked Abby when she was finished hitting balls for the day what it was like to let the suit do the work for her.

“You do have to really make up your mind to just provide the power but to let the suit take complete control over the direction and timing of the swing. Some of the shots that weren’t so good, I know were the result of my attempting to exert some force against the suit. But I’ll tell you what; it really helped demonstrate to me an aspect of my swing I would frequently get wrong. I sometimes tend to rush my transition and start down too quickly from the top, but the suit urged me to take a fraction of a second pause before changing direction and starting down. Each time I rushed it, I could feel it pushing against me to stop. Once I put that fraction of a second pause in there, it was as smooth as silk and offered no resistance. This did wonders for my timing, and I was able to pick up maybe five or ten yards on my shots with a little more accuracy. The feedback it provides is amazing. If you do everything right, it offers no resistance anywhere, and the swing just feels perfect.”

“Great,” I said. “So, even you, a good golfer, learned something from it.”

“I did!”

We were all delighted by the fact that the suit could teach a good golfer like Abby something new. It ended up being a very successful first day of testing the prototype—better than anyone expected.

 

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie. Susan Budrowski: E.J.'s wife. She is a paralegal. Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer. Claire Payne: Kenny and Abby's 10-year-old daughter. Greg Payne: Kenny and Abby's 8-year-old son. Eddie Phillips: Kenny's partner who originally founded the golf equipment company.

Chapter 44
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 37

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: At the barbecue lunch on Saturday, Abby and Kenny describe Abby’s idea for the suit. The group is intrigued and all decide to join them in the project.

Abby and E.J. begin figuring out the algorithms to drive the software, while Kenny and Eddie figure out the mechanics of the suit. Over two years’ time, their combined efforts result in a completed prototype that is ready for testing.

Abby is the first to test it. Kenny and E.J. play a little trick on Abby and the suit guides her into dancing the Hustle, the Twist, and a couple other steps. Once E.J. loads in the correct software, Abby takes her first swings in the suit. The first day of testing went remarkably well, and the suit works, though it does require a few tweaks.

 

 

Chapter 37

 

For the next three weeks, E.J., Eddie, and I all took turns in the suit. As Abby said, you do need to put your faith in it and try not to influence the swing in any way; otherwise, the results are less than desirable.

 
Claire began bugging us almost daily during the past week, asking if it was ready for her to try it yet. Finally, the time came to give her a turn at it. It was at breakfast on Saturday that Abby broached her on this.

“Claire, if you’re not doing anything this morning, do you think you’d like to give the suit a try?”

“Mom! Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course, I’d like to try it!”

“Claire! Language!” Abby said and frowned, while I attempted to look stern. But then Abby smiled and said, “Alright, but you’ll need to put it on under some sweat pants and a long-sleeved blouse. I don’t want to call attention to it just yet. We’ll change here and take you to the club, where you can try it out on the practice tee. We’ll go soon before it gets hot and the suit makes you sweat too much.”

“Allriiight!” She began dancing around, throwing quick jabs like a boxer, she was so excited.

“Can I come too?” asked her brother.

“Well, of course,” I said. “We can’t leave you home unsupervised. Why don’t you bring your clubs, and you can plan on practicing on the range too?”

In about an hour, it was time to get ready to go. Abby helped Claire change into the suit and get it adjusted correctly, cinching it in here and there because Claire was very slim. There were a few buckles for this purpose. When they got it just right and she had put her long clothes over top of it, it was time to go.

We drove to Kettle Creek Country Club then got some range balls at the pro shop. We headed over to the practice tee, where we started instructing Claire on what she had to do.

Abby began with, “The thing you have to keep foremost in your mind, Claire, is to let the suit do the work for you. You still have to use your own power to make the swing, but just let it guide you in how to do it. If you try to counteract what it’s urging you to do, it’s bound to lead to a less-than-perfect shot. Sometimes you might get lucky and still hit a good one, but more often than not, it won’t be very good. This is the hardest thing about using the suit—to trust it and let it just take over after you first start the club back, which triggers it.”

“But Mom, how will I know what it’s urging me to do?”

“Oh, you’ll know. It will feel like it’s pushing or pulling against your various body parts to try to correct you. It’s when you don’t feel anything at all while swinging that you know you’re doing it exactly right. Make sense?”

“I guess.”

“Okay, Kenny, what’s the practice plan?” Abby asked me.

“Claire, why don’t we just start with some half-wedge shots? We’ll set it to swing at only 50%, and you’ll use your pitching wedge. The balls should go 40 to 50 yards.”

“Can’t I try my driver first?”

“No, let’s start small and work up to that. You’ll hit a few before the day is done, though. Just be patient.”

“Awww. Okay, half-wedges it is.”

“Take a few practice swings first,” I said.

She pulled the pitching wedge from her bag and took her stance. She then started the club back a little too much to the inside on her backswing, and the suit immediately corrected this to a more upright takeaway. When it got to half-swing distance, Claire seemed to give it a little extra to send the club back even farther, but this threw the timing off, and the club missed the grass and failed to take any divot.

“Yow!” said Claire. “That felt so strange not having total control over the club. That felt weird when it didn’t like my takeaway and wanted me to change the direction of the club. Then I thought it didn’t take it back nearly far enough for a half-shot, and I felt resistance at the top. The swing felt like it was all over the place.”

“See what I mean?” said Abby. “You’ve got to put your trust in it that it’s doing the right things. You noticed how it wanted you to reroute your backswing. With a square stance, which you started with, the club should go back straighter than you usually take it, which is too much to the inside. This time, try initiating the backswing by taking it back straighter, and the suit won’t fight you. Also, let it stop your backswing where it will, and don’t try to put any more oomph into the shot. Let it be the guide.”

She tried again with a few more practice swings, and it seemed to get easier for her with each one. “Can I try a ball now?”

“Okay, but don’t let the presence of the ball change anything. Just keep swinging like you’ve been doing on these last few.”

Claire raked a ball over then and took another swing, but ended up hitting a low skull without a divot. “What happened that time?” she asked.

I asked her, “Did you feel like you were fighting it again, like on your first practice swing? It looked like it to me.”

“Yes, but that didn’t happen on the last couple of practice swings.”

“Yeah, there’s something about when the ball is there that does that to people. Practice swings always look better and more natural than swings at an actual ball. It’s the human tendency to want to give it extra oomph that can kill a swing. Why don’t you try hitting one with your eyes closed and see how that works?”

“Seriously?”

“Try it. What do you have to lose? If it works, it will prove my point.”

She set up for another ball then, and right before taking the club back, she closed her eyes and just let the suit take over. Smack! She took a shallow divot, and the ball flew away on a high arc, landing about 50 yards straight down the range.

“I did it!” she exclaimed. “With my eyes closed too.”

“Great job, Claire,” said Abby. Try it with your eyes open now, but just let the suit do everything. No extra motions by you.”

She tried it again with another perfect shot and then again with the same result.

“Alright, Claire!” I said, giving her a high five. “Why don’t we set it to a full 100% shot? Try not to change anything. Just swing, but let the club do all the guiding. It will let you go farther back this time, but it will urge you to stop at the right place.”

“I think.. I get.. the point.. Dad.”

“Okay, let’s see if you do.”

I entered 100% on the keypad, and she hit another shot. It was a beauty, landing just short of the 100-yard flag on the range and straight as an arrow.

“Wow! I’ve never hit that good a wedge shot, and it hardly felt like I put anything into it. I usually take the club back a lot farther than this for a full wedge, and I swing a lot harder and faster than this makes me. It just felt so different to me. How could it go so much farther and straighter with such a slow, short swing?”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” said Abby. “When the timing is correct and your greatest acceleration and clubhead speed come in the right place—at the bottom in the hitting zone—that’s what creates the best shots. With your usual swing, you tend to uncock your wrists too early in the downswing, and you lose a lot of your power that way. The suit swings like Dad swings, which is beautifully timed for maximum power, yet it is slow and smooth throughout except for right through the impact zone when he really bashes it.”

“I still can’t get over how it went so far. The backswing felt so short!”

“It really wasn’t, though, Claire,” I said. “It was certainly shorter than your usual backswing, but it wasn’t what I’d call short. Do you see the difference between ‘feel’ and ‘real’ now?”

“Yeah, I guess so. It also wouldn’t let me bend my left wrist back to be able to take the club back farther, but kept it straight or even bent the other way a bit.”

“The fact that you always ‘cup’ your wrist—that’s what that bending is called—instead of keeping it flat or even ‘bowing’ it a little is one of the major reasons why you slice the ball. You can’t get your clubface square again when you cup it. This way just keeps it square throughout the swing.”

“I think I get it, Dad. Can I try the driver now?”

“Not yet. Let’s try the 7-iron next, then the 5-iron, and then perhaps the driver. Okay?”

“I guessss,” she said with a note of disappointment.

 

Ah, the impatience of youth.

 

 

She continued hitting balls with each club, and by the time she had finished with the driver, she was ecstatic. Her drives went about 200 yards with a touch of draw to them instead of her usual 150 or 160 with a big slice. This was very encouraging to all of us.

Abby said, “Claire, it’s starting to get hot out now, and you look like you're sweating quite a lot. Why don’t we go into the locker room and you can take a shower and change into your shorts and t-shirt that I packed for you?”

“Okay, Mom. This was great. I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“The real test will be next time when you hit for a while with the suit on, then try removing it and hitting again without it to see if you’ve made some actual progress. Maybe tomorrow we can try that, okay?”

“Great!”

Before she left for the locker room, I said, “Claire, if you ever go to change into your regular clothes, either bring the suit with you if you go back out again, or lock it up in the locker using the lock. Okay? We don’t want to tempt anyone into stealing it. It’s worth a lot of money.”

“I will, Dad. Don’t worry.”

“It’s important.”

“Okaaaay, Dad!”

 

Author Notes

pitching wedge: a very lofted club which hits the ball high but not far fade: a shot that curves gently from left to right for a right-handed golfer slice: a shot that curves a lot from left to right for a right-handed golfer draw: a shot that curves gently from right to left for a right-handed golfer skull: a poorly hit, low shot in which the bottom of the clubface strikes the middle of the ball divot: a thin slice of turf lifted out of the ground when an iron strikes the ground CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie. Susan Budrowski: E.J.'s wife. She is a paralegal. Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer. Claire Payne: Kenny and Abby's 10-year-old daughter. Greg Payne: Kenny and Abby's 8-year-old son. Eddie Phillips: Kenny's partner who originally founded the golf equipment company.

Chapter 45
Saving Mr. Calvin - Ch. 38/39A

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: Abby and E.J. begin figuring out the algorithms to drive the software, while Kenny and Eddie figure out the mechanics of the suit. Over two years’ time, their combined efforts result in a completed prototype that is ready for testing.

Abby is the first to test it. Kenny and E.J. play a little trick on Abby and the suit guides her into dancing the Hustle, the Twist, and a couple other steps. Once E.J. loads in the correct software, Abby takes her first swings in the suit. The first day testing went remarkably well, and the suit works, though it does require a few tweaks.

Twelve-year-old Claire finally gets her chance to try out the suit. It is challenging for her because she has so many swing flaws, but she finally gets the hang of it. Dad gives her a stern warning to always lock the suit up when not in use.

 

 

Chapter 38

 

 

During the following week, Claire developed a good practice routine. I would come home for lunch at noon each day and have lunch with her at home, then drop her off at Kettle Creek to spend the afternoon practicing until Abby would pick her up at 4:30. Claire began her practice sessions with the suit on, but after an hour she would take it off so she could practice without it. I hadn’t actually seen her hitting shots without it yet, but she assured us that the suit was making a big difference in her unaided swing, and she was hitting the ball much better—not quite as consistently as when wearing the suit—but still much better than she had previously. Abby and I both reassured her that changing bad swing habits was not an overnight thing and that she should try to remain patient. She accepted that but still wished the progress would be faster.

Then one afternoon, disaster struck! When I came home from work, Claire was up in her room with the door closed, while Abby was down in the kitchen, sitting at the kitchen table with her head leaning against it. She raised her head when I came in, and the look of anguish on her face was heartbreaking. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Claire lost the suit.”

“What? You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not kidding. The suit is gone. She says she used it for a while on the range, then went into the locker room to change out of it and hung it in the locker. Then she went back out on the range to hit balls without it. Then she says she came back in to take a shower, but when she returned from the shower, the suit was gone. She had forgotten to lock it up, and apparently someone stole it out of the locker. We looked all over for it, but it was just gone. I really read her the riot act for not locking it up, and she’s up in her room now. Kenny, what are we going to do?”

She stood up from the table, and I went over and gave her a big hug. “I guess we’re going to start building a new one. All the plans and programming are in the computer, so all that work isn’t wasted, but we’ve got to have another one because we still have a lot of testing to do. Let’s just wait a little before starting in case we somehow manage to get it back. How does Claire feel about things?”

“She was crying, and she feels really sorry about it, but we’ve got to figure out some sort of punishment for this. She’s a good kid, but she has to learn to be more responsible and get her head out of the clouds.”

“You’re right, but let’s just sit on it for a while before deciding what the punishment should be. Then we can go about it with a little less emotion.”

“Okay.”

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry this has happened, but it’s not the end of the world or the project. It’s just a temporary setback, but we’ll manage it.”

“I know. But wait ‘til I get my hands on whoever stole it, if we ever figure that out. We just have to keep our eyes open.”

 

 

After a week, Abby and I came up with a punishment for Claire. Because it had been such a costly mistake, we debated whether the punishment should be determined accordingly. Or should we be more lenient with her because it was really just a single oversight—forgetting to lock the suit up in her locker? I’m more of a softy with Claire and tended toward a lighter punishment, but Abby felt it needed to be more stringent. In the end, we compromised and decided to require that she work it off during the next three weeks before school starts again by putting in 36 hours of work helping to rebuild the suit. That will put a significant crimp in her time with friends and her enjoyment of the end of summer, but we thought that would have more of an impact on her than any lesser amount.

“36 hours!” Claire whined when we told her. “How did you come up with that amount?”

Abby said, “Your father and I decided that two hours a day, Monday through Saturday, for three weeks would be a fair amount. You can have Sundays off. Consider yourself lucky, young lady, that it isn’t more!”

“Okay, Mom, but does it have to be every day like that, or could I double up one day and skip the next?”

“I’ll trust you to put in the 36 hours however you want to. I know you’ll be honest about it, right, Claire?”

“I will, Mom. I know I messed up.”

Her brother teased her unmercifully when he found out about it, and Abby finally had to holler at him to stop, or he would end up helping out too. He stopped!

We were going to begin rebuilding the suit in a couple more weeks following the Ladies Club Championship at Kettle Creek. Abby would be playing in it and wanted a couple weeks without the worry of getting started on a new suit to spend some time practicing for it. She had won it the previous year and was looking forward to a repeat of her win.

I would have to miss the first day of the two-day tournament because my partner Eddie and I would be presenting at a big golf equipment show in Boston on Friday and Saturday, and the Club Championship began on that same Saturday. I had been Abby’s caddie for it the previous year, so she needed to find another one this year and asked E.J. if he would caddie for her for the two days. He said he would be delighted to do it.

I got home from the golf show on Saturday night as planned and found out that Abby had done well that first day, shooting a 4-over-par 77, but was two strokes behind the leader, a woman named Dana Padgett, who shot a 75.

Abby and Dana had a long, unpleasant history together, going back to their childhoods in Butler, Pennsylvania. They hadn’t seen each other in 20 years until Dana showed up one day earlier this summer, having recently moved to Altoona and joined the club. Abby had been a bookworm as a young child and wore glasses. She had been teased and bullied by Dana and her friends for years during school because they had been jealous of Abby’s intelligence. It was quite a surprise when Dana showed up one day a couple of months ago. Abby had actually had lunch and played golf with Dana that day, both of them having been invited by another member who didn’t know of their background together. Abby had told me that Dana was a good golfer, but perhaps not quite as good as she was. At any rate, being the two leaders, they would be playing together in the final twosome tomorrow.

 

 

Chapter 39A

 

 

Sunday began overcast and cool, which is not that unusual for late August. Abby decided to wear slacks instead of a skirt, plus a sweater and windbreaker. She figured she could always take off layers if it started to warm up this afternoon.

Abby, E.J., and I, along with Claire and Greg, sat together at lunch in the clubhouse before the final round. It was pleasant, although Abby said she was a little nervous about playing with Dana in the last group.

After lunch, she hit a few balls on the range and putted for several minutes to warm up before heading to the first tee. Claire, Greg, and I will be following her around today to give her moral support.

It had warmed up a little but was still on the cool side, so Abby kept her sweater and windbreaker on to start. Dana was similarly dressed. E.J. was already just in shirt sleeves.

Dana and Abby were cordial enough to shake hands and wish each other luck before starting. The starter announced the final group, and Dana teed off first.

The 1st hole is a long par-4 of 380 yards from the forward tees. Dana stroked a beautiful drive with a slight draw on it that ended up on the left side of the fairway. Abby had told me previously that Dana hit the ball a long way but was normally a fader or slicer; however, this drive was perfect. She had a good-looking swing. Abby also hit a good drive, but it was twenty yards behind Dana’s on a similar line.

Abby hit a crisp 4-iron to the front of the green for her second shot. There were a few of us who would follow along with the match, and we applauded the shot. The kids shouted, “Way to go, Mom!”

Dana required only a 7-iron to similarly hit the green. It was another good shot with a slight draw on it. They both 2-putted for par and moved on to the 2nd hole.

As we stood next to the 2nd tee, I overheard Abby say to E.J., “I might have my work cut out for me today. She’s looking good so far.”

“So far,” said E.J. “But you just keep putting the pressure on her with good shots like those last two, and we’ll see if she can hold up. There’s a long way to go, and you’re looking strong too.”

Abby thanked him for his encouraging words. Dana still had the honors and hit another good drive down the middle. Abby followed suit, but was 20 yards behind her once more. They ended up halving this hole with pars again and moved on to the 3rd.

By the end of the 7th hole, Dana had gained another stroke on Abby when she birdied the 6th hole to Abby’s par. Abby was playing well at even par, but Dana was 1-under for the day, which, coupled with her 2-stroke lead to start the day, put her 3 strokes ahead. It was going to be difficult to beat her. She was swinging well and striking the ball very consistently. An inkling of a thought crossed my mind then, but I didn’t really pursue it.

 

 

(The remainder of Chapter 39 to be presented on Monday.)

 

 

Author Notes

forward tees: the front-most tees, also called the red tees or the ladies' tees CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie. Susan Budrowski: E.J.'s wife. She is a paralegal. Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer. Claire Payne: Kenny and Abby's 10-year-old daughter. Greg Payne: Kenny and Abby's 8-year-old son. Eddie Phillips: Kenny's partner who originally founded the golf equipment company.

Chapter 46
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 39B

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: Twelve-year-old Claire finally gets her chance to try out the suit. It is challenging for her because she has so many swing flaws, but she finally gets the hang of it. Dad gives her a stern warning to always lock the suit up when not in use. Unfortunately, Claire is careless and forgets to lock it up one day, and the suit is stolen. Abby is furious and shares her frustration with Kenny. Kenny promises they will make a new suit because further testing is needed, but they will wait to begin until after the two-day Ladies Club Championship in two weeks. Claire will have to help in making the new suit as punishment.

After the first day of the tournament, Abby is in second place behind her arch-enemy from her childhood, Dana Padgett, who she hasn’t seen in 20 years, but who has recently joined the club. They begin the final day paired together, and Dana is swinging unusually well, but even though the day is warming up, she stays bundled up. Kenny begins to get suspicious.

 

 

Chapter 39B

 

 

It was starting to warm up, so Abby removed her windbreaker but kept her sweater on. Dana didn’t follow suit and kept her jacket on.

They played another six holes, and Dana’s lead had increased to five over Abby, who’d had a double bogey, a birdie, and the rest pars for 1-over so far, which was very good for her, but Dana kept making par after par and another birdie to gain two more strokes on Abby.

I could hear E.J. trying to buck her up, but I think even he could see the writing on the wall. Also, the kids had quit cheering out loud as they could envision the final result. All of us urged her to keep trying, but it wasn’t looking good at this point. There were only five holes to go, and Abby was five strokes behind. She was playing well but just couldn’t keep pace with Dana.

The afternoon continued to warm, and Abby was starting to sweat, so she removed her sweater and was down to her shirtsleeves now. Dana, however, kept her jacket on and looked like she was sweating too. She looked downright uncomfortable, to be honest. I noticed Claire staring at her with a frown on her face.

She called Abby over and said, “Mom, I have to talk to you.”

“What is it, honey?”

“There’s something fishy about the way Mrs. Padgett is playing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve seen her practicing on the range before, and she’s not this good. She always has this really fast swing, and she slices a lot, like I used to. Plus, she really appears to be sweating now.”

“Go on,” Abby said, though I guessed what she and Claire were both thinking.

“I think she might have stolen your golf suit that day and is using it now! See how she doesn’t take her jacket off, even though she’s sweating a lot?”

E.J. then said, “You know, Abby, I was wondering about that myself. The way you described her to me the last time we talked about her is not at all the picture that we see today. She’s swinging beautifully—so smoothly and with perfect timing. She’s hardly had a mis-hit all day. I think Claire might be right!”

“I confess I’ve had the same suspicion for a few holes now,” Abby said. “I know you’re both right.”

“I think so too, sweetie,” I said.

“Me too,” piped in Greg.

Abby smiled at him. “Then it’s unanimous.”

“What are you going to do about it, Mom?” asked Claire.

“Well, you can bet I’m going to get that suit back, but for right now—nothing. I’m just going to try to keep playing well and beat her.”

“But Mom, she’s cheating! You can’t wear training aids when you’re playing in a tournament. You told me that yourself.”

“You’re right, honey, she is. But I haven’t decided yet the best way to deal with it, so I’ll just keep playing my game and see how it comes out.”

E.J. and I both nodded our approval at this. We know her well enough to know she will have to work this out on her own.

 
She turned to me and said as we began walking, “I’m not too surprised by this. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that the chief tormentor of my youth shows up one day, and soon after, the suit goes missing. That girl spells trouble wherever she goes.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Not a coincidence.”

By the time we arrived at the next tee, Dana appeared very agitated. She still had the honors but couldn’t seem to get comfortable over the ball. She yanked the club back and lashed at it awkwardly, and the result was a topped shot off the heel of her driver. It was her first bad shot of the day.

She appeared to be fighting the suit rather than allowing it to take the lead, and the outcome was predictable.

Over the course of the next four holes, she had a number of other bad shots, while Abby continued to play steadily. She had managed to close the gap down to one stroke coming into the final hole.

Dana was visibly shaken and was barely holding on to her lead as the perspiration kept running down her face and neck, and she continually wiped it with a handkerchief.

Abby had the honors on the final tee shot and hit a good one into the center of the fairway, leaving her with only a short iron to the green. Dana’s drive was mediocre at best, leaving her with a long iron to the green.

 
After fidgeting around and trying to get comfortable for her second shot, she jabbed at the ball. She skulled a low one that barely got off the ground, but it had a lot of speed on it, and it bounded up just a couple of yards from the front of the green, narrowly avoiding a bunker.

The flag was in the back, and Abby hit her second shot to the rear of the green, leaving her with a 15-foot putt for a birdie. The small gallery applauded. I called out, “Great shot!” and the kids cheered loudly. Dana looked shaken.

She took a lot of time preparing for the chip and hit a good one just four feet from the hole.

Abby also took her time lining up her putt because anything could happen now. She could either win outright, tie, or lose, depending on what they both did with their putts. Abby’s 15-footer had about a foot of break on it, and as it approached the hole, it looked like it might drop, but it just veered off at the end and rolled 10 inches past. She tapped in for a par and a final score of 2-over par for a 75 and a two-day total of 152.

Dana took a long time reading and setting up to her 4-foot putt. If she made it, she would shoot 76, which, combined with yesterday’s 75, would give her a total of 151 and the probable victory (we still didn’t know how any of the other players were doing, but no one else was that close after yesterday’s round).

Finally, she stroked the putt. It looked a little too firm, but it hit the back of the hole, jumped up an inch, and dropped in. She let go of her putter then, closed her eyes, put her head down, and breathed an immense sigh of relief that it was over.

Abby walked up to her, shook her hand, and congratulated her on a fine round and a probable victory. She thanked Abby and told her she played well too then took off for the clubhouse with her caddie. The rest of us walked back to the clubhouse together to post Abby’s score and see the final results.

As we began walking, Claire said, “Mom, are you going to tell everyone that she cheated to win? You should have won!”

“Well, we don’t know if she’s won yet because we haven’t seen all the scores. But even if she does win, I don’t think I’m going to say anything right now. I will handle this in my own way at another time. Please don’t say anything to anyone about this, okay?”

“But Mom, it’s not fair!”

“Claire, please. I know you’re outraged, and I am too, but there’s a better way to handle it than to come right out and accuse her of cheating in front of everybody. Please promise me you won’t say anything.”

“Okay, Mom. I promise. But I’m still really mad about it. You should have won!”

“Well, thank you, sweetie. I appreciate your support all day and yours too, Greg,” she said, giving them each a hug. “It means a lot to me. Now let’s just go and turn in my score and see how it ends up.”

E.J. squeezed her shoulder and smiled at her while she and I walked arm-in-arm back to the clubhouse.

“I’m proud of you, sweetie,” I said. “You gave it your all right to the end. No matter what happens, you did your best and should be very proud of yourself.”

She squeezed my arm and said, “Thank you.”

Sure enough, Dana ended up winning with her 151, while Abby came in second with 152. The next closest score to theirs was 156. Everyone congratulated Dana on her victory, but she looked very uncomfortable and didn’t say much. I’m sure she couldn’t wait to get home and take that suit off.

Wednesday night will be the celebration dinner, where she will receive her trophy and see her name on the plaque that hangs in the clubhouse. Abby said she wasn’t sure yet if she, herself, would be going.

After accepting a few condolences from some of her friends at the club for coming so close, we all left together in my car. It had been a long afternoon but, as it turns out, the best part of the day was yet to come.

 

Author Notes

par: The score a good golfer should make on a hole with all good shots birdie: One under par for a hole bogie: One over par for a hole double-bogie: Two over par for a hole skulled: A bad shot in which the bottom of the clubface contacts the middle of the ball chip: A short shot taken when the ball is close to the green CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie. Susan Budrowski: E.J.'s wife. She is a paralegal. Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer. Claire Payne: Kenny and Abby's 10-year-old daughter. Greg Payne: Kenny and Abby's 8-year-old son. Eddie Phillips: Kenny's partner who originally founded the golf equipment company. Dana Padgett: Abby's nemesis. A childhood bully of hers who has recently joined the same country club.

Chapter 47
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 40

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: Twelve-year-old Claire finally gets her chance to try out the suit. It is challenging for her because she has so many swing flaws, but she finally gets the hang of it. Dad gives her a stern warning to always lock the suit up when not in use. Unfortunately, Claire is careless and forgets to lock it up one day, and the suit is stolen. Abby is furious and shares her frustration with Kenny. Kenny promises they will make a new suit because further testing is needed, but they will wait to begin until after the two-day Ladies Club Championship in two weeks. Claire will have to help in making the new suit as punishment.

After the first day of the tournament, Abby is in second place behind her arch-enemy from her childhood, Dana Padgett, who she hasn’t seen in 20 years, but who has recently joined the club. They begin the final day paired together, and Dana is swinging unusually well, but even though the day is warming up, she stays bundled up. Kenny begins to get suspicious.

After a while, it becomes obvious Dana is playing over her head and refuses to take the jacket off even though it is quite warm now and she is sweating. She must be wearing the suit that she had stolen. She begins hitting bad shots, and Abby pulls within one stroke by the 18th hole. Dana just manages to end up winning by a stroke. Claire demands that her mother accuse Dana of cheating by using a training aid while playing, but Abby tells her she will handle it in her own way.

 

 

Chapter 40

 

 

When we got home, Abby went upstairs to shower. E.J. also showered in the downstairs bathroom and changed into an extra set of clothes he had brought with him. He would be staying for dinner with us.

When she came down, I asked Abby, “Did you decide what you’re going to do about Dana and the suit while you were in the shower?”

“Yes. I’m going to call her up after dinner and demand it back. Then I’m going to go over to her house and get it.”

“What if she denies cheating or refuses to give it back?” Claire asked.

“I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it, but I bet it won’t come to that. I think I hear the pizza guy coming, so let’s forget about it for now and just enjoy our meal.”

We had a lively dinner, and we spent some time speculating on what might have happened to Dana if all her sweat had shorted out the suit while she was wearing it. Greg did a lively impersonation of her writhing and vibrating on the ground as the suit was electrocuting her. Claire said she would probably shrivel up into nothing and vanish in a puff of black smoke. We had a lot of fun with that.

Abby appeared not to be worried in the slightest about calling Dana up. She has come a long way from the once shy and timid girl she was when we met. I was very proud of her.

 

 

She set out for Dana’s house after she had called her. I offered to go with her, but she told me she could handle it herself. When she returned 45 minutes later, she had the suit in a bag. She said she would tell me how it went later, after we put the kids to bed.

By this time, it was around 9:00, and the kids were getting ready for bed. We went into Greg’s room first, and Abby told him she had gotten her suit back. He was very happy for her. We kissed him goodnight and went in to say goodnight to Claire, who was in her bed reading.

“Did you get it back, Mom? I was so worried she wouldn’t give it back.”

“I did, sweetie. I didn’t even have to confront her; she had left it hanging on the front door knob. I just took it and left.”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief and gave Abby a big hug. “I’m so happy you got it back. Does this mean I don’t have to put in the 36 hours now?”

We cracked up. “You’re not getting off that easy! Your infraction was that you failed to lock up an expensive piece of equipment, as you had been repeatedly warned to do. You’re still guilty of that. You won’t have to work on the suit now, but Dad and I will find something else you can help us with. Nice try, though.”

She smiled impishly. “I guess that’s fair. I guess I did cause you to lose the club championship today.”

“You know, Claire, I don’t care too much about that. It would have been nice to win, but I know I played my best today, and I can take great pleasure in that. Plus, I had my family and my good friend there, rooting me on. Who needs more than that?” Abby hugged her then and kissed her goodnight.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, sweetie. Goodnight.”

I kissed Claire too and said, “Goodnight, and sleep tight.”

“And don’t let the bedbugs bite!” she chimed in as we left and closed her door.

Abby and I got ready for bed then. It was still early, but Abby was exhausted. When we got into bed, she cuddled up next to me, and I said, “Okay, I’m dying to know how the phone conversation went with Dana and how you got your suit back.”

“Well, when I went into the bedroom to call her, I thought for only a minute about what I would say to her, then I just picked up the phone and called. ‘Hello, Dana. This is Abby,’ I said to her. ‘I’m going to come by your house tonight and retrieve the suit you stole from Claire a few weeks ago. I realized you were using it today, and now I want it back.’ Short pause, and then she said, ‘What are you talking about, Abby?’ and I said, ‘Dana, you know what I’m talking about. I put thousands of dollars and hours into creating that suit, and I’m going to get it back from you.’ After a very long pause, she finally said in a weak, shaky voice, ‘You invented that suit?’ I think that surprised the hell out of her. Then I said, ‘Yes. It’s just a prototype and far from perfected yet, but I need to get it back to continue working on it. I’m coming over now, and I expect you to give it back to me. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.’ I didn’t even raise my voice; I just said it calmly. I waited for her to respond, but then I just heard a click as she must have hung up.

“I memorized her address from the phone book. On the way over to her house, I wondered what I would do if she failed to answer the door or if she refused to give it back to me. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t deny stealing it; she as much as admitted it when she asked me if I had invented it. I thought that if she wouldn’t answer the door or refused to return it to me, I would have to get the police involved. I could also threaten legal action, and a case of grand theft like this would undoubtedly carry both a fine and jail time. I hoped it wouldn’t go that far because it might be difficult to prove she stole it, and legal fees can be expensive. If I lost the case, I would be out not only for the golf suit but for the lawsuit. I had a strong feeling she wouldn’t fight me on it, though.

“When I got to her house, I walked up to her front door. The porch light was on, and I could see a bag hanging from the door knob. I looked inside, and there was the suit. What a sense of relief flowed over me to see it again! And then I left, just like that. I guess neither of us really wanted to confront the other about it. I can’t very well go to the tournament committee and accuse her of cheating now; how would I ever prove it? Let her have the darn title. I figure it will end up being a Pyrrhic victory for her; how can she possibly enjoy it knowing that she cheated to get it and that I know it too? I don’t care that much about the title—at least not in comparison to the joy I feel in getting the suit back.”

“You’re amazing, you know that? You certainly have a good sense of what’s really important. Sure would have been nice to have won, though.”

“You know, I feel like I did win. I just didn’t get the recognition for it, which isn’t that important to me.”

“So, is that the end of it?”

“I guess so. Except that this experience pointed out the need for me to take out an insurance policy on it. If it gets lost or stolen again, at least we could get some money back for it. Also, I’ve got to get it dry cleaned the first thing after I do that tomorrow. It really stinks! I think all the foulness in her soul just exuded into it.”

“You know, one good thing came out of this. It proved that the suit really works and is simple enough to figure out how to use even without instructions.”

We mused on that for a while, then we kissed goodnight and fell asleep soon after.

 

 

(Two more chapters until the end of Part 3 and Part 4 begins. 81% complete.)

Author Notes

I mentioned in my responses to a few of you in your previous reviews that I had a plot issue I wanted your input on, but I think I found a way to satisfy the issue I was having; however, it won't really be revealed until the next chapter which I will post on Friday. In my notes for that chapter, I will describe the dilemma and maybe you'll comment on whether my solution works well enough. CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie. Susan Budrowski: E.J.'s wife. She is a paralegal. Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer. Claire Payne: Kenny and Abby's 10-year-old daughter. Greg Payne: Kenny and Abby's 8-year-old son. Eddie Phillips: Kenny's partner who originally founded the golf equipment company. Dana Padgett: Abby's nemesis. A childhood bully of hers who has recently joined the same country club.

Chapter 48
Saving Mr. Calvin - Ch. 41/42A

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: After the first day of the tournament, Abby is in second place behind her arch-enemy from her childhood, Dana Padgett, who she hasn’t seen in 20 years, but who has recently joined the club. They begin the final day paired together, and Dana is swinging unusually well, but even though the day is warming up, she stays bundled up. Kenny begins to get suspicious. Dana continues playing over her head plus she is sweating profusely now as it warms up. It becomes apparent to the whole family that it was she who had stolen the suit and is wearing it now. She fades badly at the end but just manages to maintain her lead and wins by a single stroke over Abby’s score. Abby has to convince Claire not to say anything now because she doesn’t want the suit to be debuted by saying Dana was cheating with it.

Later at home she calls Dana up and reveals to her that she had created the suit and wants it back. Dana is shocked by this and leaves the suit hanging on her door for Abby to pick up, not wanting a confrontation. Abby returns home with the suit and explains what happened to the family.

 

 

Chapter 41

 

I phoned E.J. this morning. “Hi, E.J. This is Kenny.”

“Yes, my good man. Tell me, how did Abby make out getting the suit back?”

“It’s now back in her possession. It wasn’t very difficult, either. I’ll tell you all about that later. Listen, E.J., I’d like to plan my own little award dinner for her since she won’t be receiving the award this year. You feel like coming down later this week, and we could play golf at the club, and while we’re at it, we can talk to the chef about holding it right here in a private room? It would just be a small party—mainly the design group and a few of our closest friends—but the chef here does a marvelous job, and I’d like to hold it here.”

“Sounds great. That’s such a shame she can’t receive the real award, though. She certainly deserves it.”

“Yeah, it was unfortunate she didn’t win, but she’s not that bothered by it. She was just so happy to get the suit back.”

“I’ll bet. She certainly has her priorities straight. I’ve got some time Thursday if that works for you for the golf.”

“Thursday works,” I said. “Why don’t you meet me here at the house at 1:00, and we can have lunch at the club then play afterwards?”

“I will, and thanks, Kenny. I’ll see you then.”

 

 

On Thursday, E.J. showed up a few minutes before 1:00. I hopped in his car, and he drove us over to Kettle Creek.

On the way, I told him the story of how Abby got the suit back from Dana.

E.J. said, “Seems like Dana’s getting off scot-free, and she gets a Club Championship out of it too.”

“Well, it would seem that way except that on Tuesday night, the night before the championship dinner, she calls Abby, and they talk for two hours. Apparently, Dana had been brooding about it for two days and had some sort of catharsis. She apologized to Abby for stealing the suit and said she was planning to go to the club, tell the truth about what happened, and resign her membership. Can you believe that?”

“Huh. Did she do it?”

“Abby talked her out of it. Dana revealed that she had been tortured by not only what she’d done but for how she’d treated Abby all through their school years together. Apologized for all of it and said Abby made her realize what a shitty person she’s been all her life. Abby said she sounded truly sorry. They even had lunch together on Wednesday to talk about it some more. Dana still said she thought she should set everyone straight and resign, but Abby convinced her not to. Said they should try to start over. You think someone can just change like that and turn into a good person after a lifetime of being a shit?”

E.J. took a few seconds to answer. “Speaking from experience, yes, I think it’s possible, but it isn’t easy. I can’t think of a better person to be on your side, though, than Abby.”

“Ain’t that the truth?”

“Man, I’m glad getting the suit back was as simple as that. The loss of it would have set us way back. I’ll bet Claire was pretty relieved.”

“That kid! She was hoping we’d forget about the punishment, but we weren’t about to let her off the hook.”

“Good for you. You know, that little episode proves there really is something to this suit. It was easy enough for Dana to figure out how to use it, and it seems to have made quite an improvement in her skills from what Abby told me about how she usually played. She was really hitting it great until she started fighting it. And Claire certainly seems to be improving since using it even without the suit on, which means she’s learning from it.”

“Abby and I said the same thing. I think Abby plans on using that tale of the stolen suit when we go talk to the money people next week to try to get the funds for ramping up the operation. We’ve still got more testing and tweaking to do, but I think we’re getting awfully close now to full-scale production. Eddie and I are really excited about producing them right here, and we’ve already devised the plans for upgrading our facilities to do that.”

By this time, we had arrived at the club. We dropped E.J.’s golf bag off at the bag drop, then we parked the car. I said, “Why don’t we go talk to the chef first before he leaves for the afternoon? He usually takes off after 1:30 and comes back for the dinner prep around 4:00.”

E.J. and I entered through the door to the kitchen then.

 

Chapter 42A

 

As we came back from under the trestle, there at the top of the bank were Paul and Art Calvin with expectant looks on their faces. “Well?” said Paul as we climbed the bank and joined them.

“I’m convinced,” said Ernie. “I don’t fully understand it, but you weren’t making it up.”

“I’ll tell you what, guys,” I said to them. “Why don’t we just finish this round, then we can have a few beers in the clubhouse and discuss this latest adventure?”

“Okay, Kev,” said Paul. But just tell us when and where you were.”

“Tell him, E.J…. uh, I mean Ern.”

“We were in Altoona, Pennsylvania about 30 years ago. We were there from 2002 to 2004.”

“Amazing,” said Paul, shaking his head. “You skipped ahead almost 600 years this time.”

The rest of the nine was uneventful, and we could all hardly wait to get back to the clubhouse to discuss the latest adventure. Plus, I still wanted to get Art Calvin’s take on all this as well as on the state of the game today in 2032.

We sat down at a table inside. “Is a pitcher of Coors alright with everyone?” They all agreed, and when the waitress came over, I gave her our order.

“So,” said Paul, “Altoona, Pennsylvania, huh? What’s so special golfwise about Altoona?”

Ernie said, “It wasn’t so much Altoona as the people we met there. Kevin ended up in a fellow named Kenny Payne, and I turned into a fellow computer guy named E.J. Budrowski. This is so weird. E.J. Budrowski—Ernie Dombrowski. Kenny Payne—Kevin Parsons.”

“Yeah, and don’t forget Kilian Prost and Kirk Pate. Omigod, Abby Payne, my wife in Altoona, and Aggie Pate once she married Kirk, and Arie Papin, who became Arie Prost when she married Kilian.”

“Was Abby Payne a beautiful redhead like Aggie was and Arie too?” asked Paul.

“Maybe not coincidentally, she was. And she was just like both of them in ways other than her looks. This is so weird. Art, what do you make of this?”

“You mean the fact that Arie, Aggie, and Abby were all beautiful redheads, or the similarity in everyone’s names, or just the entire time travel experience?”

“All of it,” Paul, Ernie, and I said simultaneously.

Right then, the waitress brought us the beer and set down the pitcher and three glasses. I looked up at her and said, “I think we’re one short. Do you think you could bring us another glass?”

She looked at me quizzically but went to retrieve another. When she returned with it, I poured everyone a glass, and I said, “Art, so what do you think about everything?”

 

 

(One more chapter before the end of Part 3 and Part 4 begins)

Author Notes

As most of you probably know by now, this part of the story is a jump into my novel Some Call It Luck. In that story, we got a much fuller picture of Dana's backstory and what made her the way she was. We also saw how she ended up repenting at the end and begging Abby's forgiveness. Her main role in that story was to serve as the opposite of Abby. The way I originally wrote Saving Mr. Calvin, I revealed nothing about the aftermath for Dana, and it looked like she was getting off scot-free for what she had done. She got to win the club championship with no apparent ill effect. I thought readers would be disappointed that justice wasn't done. Nobody, including me, likes to see the villain get away with it. But how much of the aftermath should I include in this story to explain that she really didn't get away with it because her conscience tortured her? It really has nothing to do with the plot of this story. Also, this part of the story is told by Kenny, and he wouldn't have been privy to Dana and Abby's conversation about it. Just a few days ago I solved the problem by having Kenny relate a brief version of this to E.J. I'm satisfied with that solution. I just wonder if my readers are? I'd be happy to hear your comments about it.

Chapter 49
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 42B

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: After the first day of the tournament, Abby is in second place behind her arch-enemy from her childhood, Dana Padgett, who she hasn’t seen in 20 years, but who has recently joined the club. They begin the final day paired together, and Dana is swinging unusually well, but even though the day is warming up, she stays bundled up. Kenny begins to get suspicious. Dana continues playing over her head plus she is sweating profusely now as it warms up. It becomes apparent to the whole family that it was she who had stolen the suit and is wearing it now. She fades badly at the end but just manages to maintain her lead and wins by a single stroke over Abby’s score. Abby has to convince Claire not to say anything now because she doesn’t want the suit to be debuted by saying Dana was cheating with it.

Later at home she calls Dana up and reveals to her that she had created the suit and wants it back. Dana is shocked by this and leaves the suit hanging on her door for Abby to pick up, not wanting a confrontation. Abby returns home with the suit and explains what happened to the family.

Kenny calls E.J. and invites him for a round of golf and to talk to the chef at the club about holding a dinner for Abby in honor of her real victory in the club championship. Kenny tells E.J. that Dana had called Abby two days later and apologized for stealing the suit and for a lifetime of ill treatment. Abby convinces her not to resign from the club but to start over. Kenny and E.J. enter the kitchen door to talk to the chef and end up back in 2032 as Kevin and Ernie. Ernie says he is convinced now. After the round they sit down for a beer in the clubhouse and discuss the latest trip to Altoona.

 

 

Chapter 42B

 

 

“Before we get into my take on things," said Art Calvin, "why don’t you finish telling us about your experience in Altoona? What was special about your trip there that really stood out?”

I looked at Ernie and said, “The suit?”

“Definitely the suit.”

And then we launched into a description of this wonderful invention and how it came into being. When we finished, Paul said, “If this really happened, how come we’ve never heard about such an invention? It was only 30 years ago. I know we could never verify the existence of Kilian and Arie from Holland or Kirk, Putt, and Aggie from Scotland because they lived so long ago, but it seems like we could verify whether Kenny, E.J., and Abby ever lived. Hell, they’re probably still alive. Would it be worth our while to try looking them up and contacting them?”

“To what end?” asked Art. “Merely to satisfy your curiosity about whether or not what you experienced was real? Or would you have some other motive? Because if you don’t have a good reason for contacting them, they will likely think you’re playing at some sort of scam.”

We were silent for a moment, thinking about this. Then I said, “I guess we’ve got to put some more thought into that. So, tell us what your impression is about all of this, Art.”

“Before I get into it, you asked me on the first tee what my impressions were of the state of the game today. Why don’t I tell you about that first?”

“That’s fine. Any way you want to tell it. You said you were a golf course architect, right?”

“That’s right. I designed this course and many others here in southern California and around the southwest, but they are all pretty much in the same boat now, that is to say, one that I fear has the same outlook as the Titanic. We are sinking, gentlemen, and there may not be enough lifeboats to carry us to safety. I fear the game is doomed for the loss of its playing field and other things as well. People are changing. Young people these days are a fast-moving generation. While it’s true that the game of golf has carried some of the seeds of its own destruction, such as slow play and the difficulties of learning it in the first place, I fear that the younger generation is losing patience with it.

“Everything has to grab their attention immediately, has to be quick to learn, and has to be fast-paced. There doesn’t seem to be any time anymore to savor the beauty of the golf course, even if it were still beautiful, and the politicians are making it so that the beauty of a golf course is being priced right out of existence. Walking those closely mown, lush fairways and smelling the aroma of cut grass in the air, seeing those brilliant white bunkers and those perfect, carpet-like greens—no other popular sport could beat that for the sensory experience of a round of golf.

“Even the desert courses were beautiful in their own right. Most of a desert course was rough, natural areas interspersed with beautifully maintained areas of turf comprising the holes, and their beauty was in the contrast of what man could produce in the middle of a natural area like a desert. Few are the courses designed in recent years that are all mown turf from fence line to fence line as in the old days. Instead, most courses now have many wild areas of untamed grasses and natural barrancas and waterways, and their beauty is often in the placement of the fine turf areas among the natural features.

“Water usage has often been problematic here in the southwest. That’s nothing new, but it just seems that the politicians’ unfounded edicts to disallow watering of the extremely small amount of acreage within the vast area of the southwest devoted to the game is simply unconscionable. By its very nature, the game is to be played on grass. Live grass.

“Those who’ve never played golf can’t appreciate how it just grabs you and works its way into your soul. To be honest with you, I’m afraid for the game. I think we may be the last generation to play it, as it is becoming less and less enjoyable for more and more people. You’ve all seen the sharp drop-off in its popularity here in California, and I fear that the rest of the country will soon follow. I don’t know what can be done about it, but honestly, I’m losing hope. I’m afraid it has lost most of its appeal, even to me. I still try to play the part with my old-fashioned attire and my desire to find individuals, like yourselves, who still believe in the game, but you are becoming fewer and farther between, and I’m not sure how much longer I will continue to play. I hate to say that, because this is the greatest game in the world. It has meant everything to me in my life, and I will never forget all the joy it has brought me over the years I have been a part of it.”

He stopped then, looked at his watch, and said, “I’m afraid the time is getting late, and I must be going now, but I do thank you greatly for reminding me of the joys of the game that you experienced in your travels. I wish you the best, young men, and I thank you kindly for the beer and the camaraderie.”

He got up then, tipped his cap to us, and left without another word.

 

 

We sat there silently for a time after he left us. He never did get to his impressions of our time travels except to thank us for sharing them with him. Despite what I’d just experienced in my journeys through time, I felt hollow inside at his despair.

“I don’t know about you guys,” I said to Paul and Ernie, “but I need some time to process what has happened to me today. I have a mixture of emotions running through me right now, and I think I need to be alone with my thoughts for a while. I think I’m going to take off like Art did just now, but I would like to get together with you guys before long and discuss this some more. Sound good?”

“I’m with you, Kevin,” said Paul. “This was a pretty amazing day, and I only went on one journey while you went on three. I wouldn’t mind getting together again and talking about this once we’ve had a chance to digest it.”

“Me too, gents,” said Ernie. “This has been the strangest day I’ve had for a while. Kevin, why don’t you give us a call later this week, and we can see about getting back together?”

“Will do, fellas,” I said, and we all got up to leave then.

 

 

(Final chapter of Part 3. Part 4 begins on Wednesday. - 82% complete)

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie. Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer.

Chapter 50
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 43

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: Knowing now that Dana stole the suit, Abby calls her up and reveals to her that she had created the suit and wants it back. Dana is shocked by this and leaves the suit hanging on her door for Abby to pick up, not wanting a confrontation. Abby returns home with the suit and explains what happened to the family.

Kenny calls E.J. and invites him for a round of golf and to talk to the chef at the club about holding a dinner for Abby in honor of her real victory in the club championship. Kenny tells E.J. that Dana had called Abby two days later and apologized for stealing the suit and for a lifetime of ill treatment. Abby convinces her not to resign from the club but to start over. Kenny and E.J. enter the kitchen door to talk to the chef and end up back in 2032 as Kevin and Ernie. Ernie says he is convinced now. After the round they sit down for a beer in the clubhouse and discuss the latest trip to Altoona.

They realize the most important aspect of that trip was Abby and Kenny’s swing suit. None of them has heard of it in 2032, which begs the question: whatever happened to it? Art Calvin is asked to explain his take on their time travels, but before he gets to that, he discusses his take on the state of the game today. He is pessimistic, not only because of all the environmental restrictions but also because of the current generation’s emphasis on fast-paced, short attention span, instant success approach to life which appears to be at direct odds with the nature of the game. He is on the verge of giving it up himself. He leaves after that, putting the guys in a funk, and they leave soon after.

 

 

Part 4

 

 

Chapter 43

Santa Barbara, California

2032

 

 

On the way home, I made my way to E. Cabrillo Blvd., pulled into the Waterfront Parking Lot, and headed onto East Beach, one of my favorite places in the city to relax. The sound of the waves was conducive to sitting and thinking, which I had plenty of to do now.

What had happened to me this afternoon? Or was it in the past 12 years, as it feels like it has been? The three separate travels I had made back through time were all delightful in their own ways, but the overwhelming feeling I came away with from the golf course was a sense of deep sadness. I keep seeing the look on Mr. Calvin’s face as he told us his perceptions of the game today and that he was thinking about quitting it—a game he had devoted his life to and without which he would be at an extreme loss. I was a little surprised at how deeply this affected me.

As I said earlier, I love the game and am a pretty decent golfer, but just like Mr. Calvin, my interest has begun flagging, and the way the game has become, it hardly seems worth playing anymore. And yet, do I feel the same way now after my time travels? Maybe not. In fact, the more I brooded on this, I think I could say, definitely not. I realized right then that what I had gained through my travels was a new appreciation for the game. How could I not, when I had been in the mind of the inventor of it and witnessed it from the very beginning? Seeing how delighted Arie was when she hit the ball squarely for the first time, when she invented putting, and how much she loved competing, that we ended up spreading the game around Holland just so that we could have some competition. Then I remembered the joy on Aggie’s face when she outdrove me and Putt with her newly-created feathery and when she smashed a beautiful opening drive on the first swing of the Snog-Foo tournament. And finally, the immense pride Abby felt in seeing her invention, the golfing suit, in use for the first time as she alone tested it on that first day of testing.

These three beautiful redheaded women had been my wives, and more than anything else, they brought me the most joy in playing and thinking about the game. If I were to let the game pass into obsolescence without doing anything to try to stop it, wouldn’t they all be extremely disappointed that I didn’t at least fight for it? All of a sudden, I felt strongly that I would be letting them, as well as Mr. Calvin, down and that they would then quickly fade from my memory. But what could one man do to save the game from extinction?

What indeed? And then I began putting my engineer’s mind to it. I sat there just thinking—for hours—long past the time when many people came down to the beach to watch the sun set in the west. I didn’t even notice that diurnal occurrence and only became aware of my surroundings when I started feeling chilly. By this time, it was dark out, and I made my way back to my car and drove to my condo. I realized I was starving, so I got out my phone and ordered a meal from McDrone’s. I also opened a can of Coors and sat down in my kitchen with a pencil and pad of paper to begin committing some of the ideas I’d been tossing around to paper.

In 15 minutes, the drone delivered my dinner, which I polished off, hardly thinking about it while making notes. I then made myself a pot of coffee and worked late into the night, getting my thoughts down and sketching a few diagrams. This plan I was developing would require the help of both Paul and Ernie, and I was convinced the three of us could do this. I didn’t get to bed until 2:00 AM, when exhaustion finally overcame me. This had been an incredibly eventful day, but I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

 

 

I awoke the next morning at 9:00. I worked from home most days. Being a mechanical engineer, most of my work is done on computer. I had all the equipment and software I needed right here at home and rarely had to go into the office, oftentimes only one afternoon per week. Paul and Ernie worked much the same way in their jobs as electrical and computer engineers.

 
I called each of them at home this morning and asked them if they’d like to meet for lunch today at my place. I promised to provide sandwiches and beer for everyone. It seemed from our brief conversations that they too had spent a good deal of time thinking about the events of yesterday and were as eager to discuss them as I was. I thought this might be the perfect time to broach the subject of my plans.

They showed up around noon, right after I got back from my trip to the deli where I bought a variety of sandwiches and chips. I had plenty of beer at home in the fridge.

After polishing off a few of the sandwiches, we sat down in my living room and began rehashing the time travels. They wanted to hear the whole story of the first Holland trip again, and this time they had no doubt of its authenticity and listened to it more carefully. This was probably my favorite of the three travels, not only because I was there the longest, but also because everything was so new and, in the mind of Kilian Prost, I got to invent the game of golf with my girlfriend and my buddies. Just to think that I was there at the very start of a game that had become so popular. Paul and Ernie seemed absolutely fascinated by it this time, as opposed to being incredulous and dismissive of it the first time they’d heard it.

We then had Paul review the Scotland trip and Ernie review the Altoona trip. These trips were fresh in our minds, and we savored every moment of the retelling.

 
Then the discussion settled on Mr. Calvin and his perceptions of the game today, and the mood turned somber. I said, “The thing that got to me the most about what he said was when he missed the pure beauty of the golf course—the lush, green fairways, the brilliant white sand, even the smells in the air of freshly mown grass. I miss that too when I think about it. I can remember as a kid, whenever we would pass by a golf course in the car, how I would always have my face glued to the window as we went past. And how whenever we would fly anywhere, my eyes were always looking for golf courses below—seeing the beautifully mown, green fairways and greens from overhead. They looked so cool from up there, in contrast to their surroundings. And I know what he meant by the odors of a golf course. I even enjoyed the faint whiff of the chemicals they used to keep the course looking green and healthy. I know that sounds weird, but it was all part of the experience. Is it just me, or did you guys feel anything like that?”

“It’s not just you… “ said Ernie, but he trailed off in thought.

“When I was a kid,” said Paul, “I lived a few blocks from a golf course. During the summer after dinner, I would put my bag over my shoulder and ride my bike to the back of the course, where I would meet my buddies, including you, Kevin. Ernie, you didn’t play golf yet. We would lay our bikes in the weeds and hop a fence to sneak in a few holes before dark. We would play until we could hardly see the ball anymore and had to go by the feel and sound of it to try to find it in the dark after we’d hit it. I remember the sound of the crickets coming on as night fell, and the dew forming on the grass. It was so peaceful out there. We were the only ones around, and we could play as fast or as slowly as we wanted with no one else around to bother us. And some of the trees had a certain smell to them that seemed to come out at night. Remember that? It was a magical time to play.”

I had never heard Paul wax so rhapsodic. “Yeah, I do. Do you remember how Art said the game just ‘works its way into your soul?’ He was right about that. If the game were gone, there are just so many things about it I surely would miss, now that I think about it, and it sounds like you both would too. Like the feel in your hands when you catch a ball right in the center of the clubface and watch it soar through the air and land exactly where you pictured it would in your mind. Or watching a flop shot from deep rough arc over a bunker to a tucked pin and coming almost straight down to a quick halt right by the stick for an easy tap-in.”

“I can only dream about that last one,” said Ernie. “Haven’t quite perfected that shot yet, but I know what you mean.”

“Well, guys, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this since we left the course yesterday, and I think I may have a way to save all of this. It almost feels like we were sent on a mission yesterday for this very purpose—to rediscover or reinforce our genuine love for the game—we who are in a position to do something about it. Look at us: a mechanical engineer, an electrical engineer, and a computer genius. What more would we need to create the ultimate golf simulator—something so far removed from today’s current simulators—that could be configured to allow you to play the game pretty much any way you might want to?”

 

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: A 37-year-old co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He is the narrator of this part of the story. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's 54-year-old friend who is a computer science professor and former golf caddie. Abby Payne: A 36-year-old insurance company actuarial department manager. She is an expert mathematician and engineer.

Chapter 51
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 44

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: After Kevin and Ernie’s return, they all finish the round of golf and retire to the clubhouse where they sit down for a beer and discuss the latest trip to Altoona.

After discussing the most recent trip, they realize the most important aspect of that was Abby and Kenny’s swing suit. None of them has heard of it in 2032, which begs the question: whatever happened to it? Art Calvin is asked to explain his take on their time travels, but before he gets to that, he discusses his take on the state of the game today. He is pessimistic, not only because of all the environmental restrictions but also because of the current generation’s emphasis on fast-paced, short attention span, instant success approach to life which appears to be at direct odds with the nature of the game. He is on the verge of giving it up himself. He leaves after that, putting the guys in a funk, and they leave soon after.

Kevin goes to his favorite thinking spot to think about the lessons of the trips and decides he must do something with the knowledge and inspiration he’s gained to save the game from extinction. He begins conceiving of a way to preserve the game and works on it until 2:00 AM. The next morning, he calls his two friends to join him and discuss their travels, which they do with fond remembrances of not only their travels but of golf in general. Kevin reveals to them that he has conceived of a solution for keeping the game alive for future generations: what he calls the “ultimate simulator.”

 

 

Chapter 44

 

 

“Okay, Kevin,” said Paul. “You’ve piqued my interest. What’s your concept of ‘the ultimate golf simulator?’”

“Before I get into that, let’s talk about the negative parts of the game first. We’ve just been discussing a few of the things we love about it, but Mr. Calvin also spoke of the game containing the seeds of its own destruction, including slow play and the difficulty of learning to play it well. We certainly observed those in our travels. Let’s start with slow play. Paul, what do you attribute that to?”

“As the Snogs showed us, it often comes down to personality. Some people are slow by nature and enjoy taking their time. When you couple that with a strong desire to do a thing well, that means they’ll likely take time to examine every factor that might affect a shot. But unless you are a pro or a very good amateur, which only a very small percentage of golfers are, much of the extra time to get everything just right is meaningless and won’t affect the outcome. As my host, Putt, observed, the Snogs could take extra minutes to read a putt from every angle, but chances were very strong they would miss it anyway. Like Putt, I like to play fast, and I know how to efficiently manage my prep time for a shot and what might pay off by taking extra time and what probably won’t. Some people try to play like a pro because it makes them feel like a pro. But a pro can take all that time because he’s good enough for it to make a difference in his score and because it means money.”

I added, “Unfortunately, the slow ones are not the only ones on the course, and all it takes is a few of them out there to slow down the entire field. Makes it hard to complete an 18-hole round on a crowded golf course in under five hours. At least it was when golf courses used to be crowded. That fact alone turned many people off to the game, especially younger people who didn’t have that kind of time to spend."

“But even assuming,” continued Paul, “that everyone was playing in a reasonable amount of time, golf can still take a foursome about four hours to complete a round, especially when walking. For many, that’s still too long. They can’t take that much time out of their busy schedules. And think of all the time wasted in a round of golf: looking for balls, waiting for the group in front to clear the green before hitting, raking bunkers, replacing divots, taking the time to read a range finder, and a host of other similar activities. For most people, wouldn’t it be great to eliminate all that from the game and just concentrate on the enjoyable parts?”

“I know I’d like that,” I replied. “Alright, let’s switch gears for a moment and talk about the difficulties in learning the game. Ernie, you used to break 90 about half the time when we kept score. How tough was it for you to get to your level of ability, and did you ever get discouraged and feel like giving up?”

“Many times, but you wouldn’t let me, if you remember. I wasn’t as athletically inclined as you and Paul; my strengths lay inside my huge brain, but you kept bugging me to get off my fat ass and do something physical for a change. I pretty much stunk at every other sport, but with all your coaching, I was able to become at least a fair golfer. But it wasn’t easy. My body didn’t always respond so well to what I wanted it to do, and I wasn’t always doing what I thought I was doing. That was the beauty of the golf suit. Unlike me, E.J. was a good golfer, so he didn’t really need to use the suit, but the few times he tried it out while I was inside him, I can remember the feeling of it as it took control. I can’t help but think that would be the absolute fastest way to learn a proper swing. I only wonder why we’ve never heard of it before. I sure would like to find out what happened to it.”

“I agree with you about the speed of learning. As Kenny Payne, the swing that E.J. and Abby programmed into it was mine, so it felt quite natural to me when I tried the suit out. Watching Claire improve, though, was amazing. And she may have picked it up even faster if she didn’t have the bad swing habits to undo first. I have to agree with Abby when she said that golf would probably attract a lot more people and keep them if it wasn’t so damn hard to learn.”

“So where are we going with all this, Kevin?” said Paul. “We’ve discussed what’s great about the game and what’s not so great. Does your ‘ultimate simulator’ maintain all the good features of the game and eliminate or reduce the bad features? I think that’s what it’s going to take to keep the game from fading away. One sure advantage is the fact that it will, I assume, be played indoors, meaning it will no longer have all the environmental restrictions that plague it now.”

“That’s true, and I believe it will satisfy the criteria for continuation on all fronts: No more need for water; no more chemicals that may pollute the environment; extended hours, as it can be played at any time of day or year and not just when or where the weather and climate are right for it; options to play either fast or slow depending on the desire of the players in your individual group; no golfers on the course ahead to slow you down or behind to push you; the ability to walk to your ball, take a cart to it, or neither—you can be there instantly; 360-degree simulation of being outdoors, complete with the sights, sounds, smells, and realistic features of nature like wind, sun, and shade—not rain, though; that would play havoc with all the electronics. It will have fairway, rough, and green-height turf; uneven terrain with uphill, downhill, and sidehill shots; real sand bunkers; different flight views, including completely realistic or with options to have flight trails or even a balls-eye view of shots; and finally, if we can get a hold of Abby, E.J., and Kenny’s swing suit, an option to learn to play with the suit on—either just to practice on the practice tee or to play a round of golf with it. So, what do you think?”

Neither of them responded for several minutes. I could tell they were both deep in thought, picturing the features I mentioned and quickly going over in their minds how they might work. I knew they were taking this seriously, and I didn’t try to interrupt their thought processes.

Meanwhile, I went into the kitchen and got myself another sandwich and a beer. When I came back out, Ernie asked, “Are these just nice ideas at this point, or have you begun thinking about how they will all work?”

“Kind of halfway between. I’ve definitely put pencil to paper on a few of the ideas, from the time I got back from playing yesterday until 2:00 this morning, and then again after breakfast. I’ve got some specifics to run by you, but this is all going to take a lot of brainstorming, and I’d be a fool to say I have it all figured out. The big question is: do you want to help me with it?

“I really want to do this. I want to save Mr. Calvin from giving up the game. Did you notice the similarity of his name, ‘Calvin,’ to the original name of the game that Kilian gave it—'kolven’? Do you think that’s just a coincidence? Seems to me to be right in line with the rest of the name similarities we’ve all experienced. It’s almost like he sent us on this mission to understand the game and what it will take to preserve it for future generations. He knew what our professions were because we told him. Maybe he’s been looking for folks like us who could actually do something about saving the game. I don’t know; just a thought.”

“You know, Kevin,” said Paul, “until yesterday, I would have laughed at such a preposterous notion as being sent through time on a mission, but I’m not laughing now. I don’t know if we’ll ever know, but you may be onto something. Maybe we should look him up and get back together with him and talk to him about this.”

“I don’t think we’ll find him again.”

“Why not?” asked Paul.

“Because I don’t think he’s still alive.”

“You mean he died since we last saw him?”

“No. I don’t think he was alive when we played with him yesterday.”

“You mean he was a ghost?”

“I prefer to think of him as the spirit of golf. Remember how he was dressed like the quintessential golfer of old in his plus-fours and his plaid cap? And do you remember how the waitress in the bar after the round only brought us three glasses, and I had to ask her for a fourth? I don’t think he was visible to her.”

“Alright,” said Ernie. “This is easy enough to check. Let’s Google him. He said he was a golf course architect, right? If that’s true, there will surely be a record of him.” He pulled out his phone then, opened his browser, and entered, “art calvin golf course architect” into the search bar.

Sure enough, several articles came up, and Ernie chose one. He skimmed through it quickly until he stopped to read the following to us:

        Arthur Calvin (1947–2028) … was the designer of many courses in

        southern California and the southwestern states…. One of his best-

        known courses was Malimar Park Golf Course in Santa Barbara,

        which he designed in 1992.

“God, Kev. You’re right; he’s been dead for four years. When did you suspect?”

“I guess it was early this morning, just thinking about everything.”

“Well, that’s incredible,” said Paul. “We’ve been given a mission by a ghost.”

“Does that mean you’re interested in pursuing this with me?” I asked him.

“Yes. Count me in. This is a fascinating idea. How about you, Ern?”

“Count me in too, but you know, I’d really love to see if E.J. and Abby and Kenny are still around and find out the story of the suit.”

“Alright, guys, let me get this straight. We’re really going to do this together?”

“Let me ask this first,” said Paul. “Ernie and I are both independent contractors and can pretty much do what we please when we please. I’m working on a few things now that I will be finishing up within a month or so. What’s your work situation, Ern?”

“I’m also working on a major job right now, but it’s scheduled to be done in six weeks. After that, I would be free to devote full time to this.”

Paul said to me, “You work for a mid-size company, Kev. How much time could you devote to this?”

“Let’s put it like this: If we’ve done sufficient brainstorming in the next six weeks to know that this is really going to be feasible, I will give notice and quit my job, and we can form our own startup company. We’ll have to consider whether to find a venture capitalist or seek a bank loan for the development of the prototype, or maybe we already have enough savings to finance this phase ourselves. We’ll look at that. I’ve even thought of a name for the company.”

“What?” they both asked at the same time.

“How about AC Golf,” with the AC standing for Art Calvin, the inspiration for the enterprise?”

“I like it.”

“Me too.”

“Okay then. In six weeks or sooner, after some brainstorming, we will make a decision on whether or not to go forward with AC Golf. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” they both said.

 

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing.

Chapter 52
Interlude

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

 

Recap of the past few chapters: After Kevin and Ernie’s return, they all finish the round of golf and retire to the clubhouse where they sit down for a beer and discuss the latest trip to Altoona.

After discussing the most recent trip, they realize the most important aspect of that was Abby and Kenny’s swing suit. None of them has heard of it in 2032, which begs the question: whatever happened to it? Art Calvin is asked to explain his take on their time travels, but before he gets to that, he discusses his take on the state of the game today. He is pessimistic, not only because of all the environmental restrictions but also because of the current generation’s emphasis on fast-paced, short attention span, instant success approach to life which appears to be at direct odds with the nature of the game. He is on the verge of giving it up himself. He leaves after that, putting the guys in a funk, and they leave soon after.

Kevin goes to his favorite thinking spot to think about the lessons of the trips and decides he must do something with the knowledge and inspiration he’s gained to save the game from extinction. He begins conceiving of a way to preserve the game and works on it until 2:00 AM. The next morning, he calls his two friends to join him and discuss their travels, which they do with fond remembrances of not only their travels but of golf in general. Kevin reveals to them that he has conceived of a solution for keeping the game alive for future generations: what he calls the “ultimate simulator.”

He describes the major components of the simulator to Ernie and Paul and how it should cater to virtually any player’s desire in how to play the game—from the fast-moving techy generation to the more traditional player seeking to preserve the game as they used to know it, but without the detrimental aspects of it. They learn that Art Calvin had actually died four years previous and that they had encountered his spirit when they played with him. They vow to undertake a feasibility study and make a decision in six weeks whether they will form a startup company called AC Golf (named after Art Calvin) to build a prototype. They still wonder what happened to Abby’s swing suit.

 

Interlude

 

Altoona, Pennsylvania
2032

 

 

Kenny Payne pulled his ringing phone from his pocket. “Hello.”

“Hi, my name is Kevin Parsons. I live in Santa Barbara, California. Is this Kenny Payne, one of the inventors of a golf swing suit back in 2002 to 2004?”

Long pause.

“Yes, it is. Would you mind if I put my phone on speaker so my wife can hear this?”

“Do you mean Abby? I would love for her to hear this too.”

Kenny put the phone on speaker then. “Yes, Abby is my wife. How is it you know about the swing suit, Kevin? It was never commercially available.”

“That’s a good question with a rather long and perhaps unbelievable answer, but I assure you it's true. My friend Ernie Dombrowski will also be calling E.J. Budrowski shortly.”

“Hello, Kevin. This is Abby Payne. I would also like to know how you found out about the suit.”

“Hello, Abby. As I was saying to Kenny, when I start telling you my tale, you may be tempted to think you're talking to a crackpot and want to hang up immediately. I implore you not to. I hope I'll be able to convince you I’m for real, as I’m hoping Ernie will be able to convince E.J. as well.”

Kenny looked at Abby with a quizzical look but said, “Okay, Kevin. Give it a shot.”

“Thank you. I’m going to start by saying that you don’t know me at all, but I know both of you intimately, at least until the late summer of 2004. That’s the extent of my knowledge about you.”

Abby said, “Kevin, you sound like a young man. Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”

“Not at all. I’m 28 years old, and I was born in February, 2004.”

Long pause.

“So let me get this right,” said Abby. “You knew us ‘intimately’—your word—when you were just a few months old in 2004?”

“Not quite, Abby. I actually met you two years earlier than that, in 2002—yes, before I was born. I told you this would be unbelievable, but let me tell you and Kenny something that may help to prove I’m for real. I first encountered Kenny and E.J. as they were leaving Kettle Creek Country Club from the kitchen door to the parking lot right after the two of them had come in second place in the Member-Guest tournament, four strokes behind the winning team. Kenny went home then, and that very night was the night you first told Kenny your idea about the suit. You got the idea because your daughter, Claire, was having trouble learning the swing, and you thought she needed to feel a proper swing.”

Very long pause as Abby and Kenny stared at each other.

Kenny then said, “Okay, Kevin, you obviously know things about us that are true. I don’t know how just yet, but we're willing to listen. How is it you know these things?”

“Alright, here’s the unbelievable part. Do you promise not to hang up immediately when I tell you?”

“We promise,” said Abby.

“Kenny, I shared your mind from the time you walked through that kitchen door in 2002 until you walked back through it two years later when you went in to find the chef to plan the victory party for Abby’s true victory in the 2004 Club Championship. The actual winner, Dana Padgett, cheated by using the suit which she had stolen from Claire’s locker. My friend, Ernie, was with me and shared E.J.’s mind during the same time period. That door to the kitchen was a time portal which Ernie and I went through from our time here to your time back between 2002 and 2004. We just got back from 2004 a few days ago.”

Another long pause. Kenny said, “Kevin, of all the possible explanations of how you know what you know, that has to be the last one I might have guessed. Alright, answer me this: If you were inside my mind, were you privy to my memories of earlier times than that?”

“Yes, but only memories that you actually had during that time. Would you like me to tell you a few?”

“By all means, but leave out the x-rated ones!”

Kevin laughed. “Fair enough. You and Abby met on the campus of Penn State University in March of 1987. You were sitting on a bench outside a fraternity when Abby came out the front door. You found out she was supposed to have gone to see One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest that night, but ended up at the fraternity party instead. You discussed the books of Ken Kesey, and you both preferred Kesey’s Sometimes a Great Notion. A few months later, you performed the Heimlich maneuver on her cat named Lester, who was choking, and he befriended you after that. How am I doing?”

“Well, I haven’t hung up on you yet. So why exactly have you called me now, 28 years after the fact?”

“I want to find out what happened with the suit.”

“And why do you want to know that?”

“Because I want to purchase a whole bunch of them and use them in a new golf simulator my friends and I are planning to build and market.”

Abby said, “Kevin, can we call you back later? Kenny and I need to discuss a few things first. You say your friend Ernie is also calling E.J? I think we’d like to discuss that call with him before talking with you again. I promise we’ll call you back.”

“That’s fine, Abby. Take all the time you need. I assume you have my number there in your phone, Kenny, so I'll look forward to your call.”

“Okay, Kevin. Bye for now,” said Kenny and hung up. He looked at Abby then. “Can he possibly be for real?”

“Strange as it seems, I don’t know how he could have known all the things he knows about us without being in your mind somehow. For example, did anyone ever observe you and E.J. both exit and enter Kettle Creek through the kitchen door to the outside when you did? And who besides us would have known how you saved Lester?”

Kenny thought for a minute. “The only ones who might have known all this stuff are Claire and Greg. But they would have told us if someone had been asking them about it. Also, did you ever tell anyone that we both preferred Sometimes a Great Notion to One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

“Not that I can remember,” said Abby.

“Alright then. Why don’t we reserve judgment until we talk to E.J. about his conversation with Kevin’s friend Ernie. Seems odd, doesn’t it—Ernie Dombrowski and E.J. Budrowski, Kevin Parsons and Kenny Payne? Why don’t we Google these guys and see if they're for real?”

“Okay. You take Parsons, and I’ll take Dombrowski.” After a few minutes, Abby said, “Well, Dombrowski is real. He’s even in Wikipedia. It says he is 29 years old, got his PhD from Berkeley in computer science, and was the inventor of the ‘Shepley Recurrent Series algorithm’ used in financial prediction software and many gaming apps. He is also an independent consultant to a variety of businesses, including transportation and insurance companies. He resides in Santa Barbara.”

“I found some info on Kevin Parsons too. He is a mechanical engineer employed by Wright-Madison Inc. in Santa Barbara, and has worked on projects for both the automotive industry and the aerospace industry. These guys sound like they are for real. What do you think?”

“I think—“

Just then, Abby’s phone rang. The caller ID indicated it was E.J. “Let me take this and see if E.J. just had a similar call.”

She answered the phone then. “Hi E.J. Let me guess. You just had a very strange phone conversation with Ernie Dombrowski?”

“And you and Kenny just talked to Kevin Parsons who claimed he was inside Kenny. Are you there too, Kenny?”

“Hi, E.J. Yeah, Abby just put her phone on speaker. So, are these guys for real?”

“I don’t know. Seems kind of incredible. That’s why I called you. What do you think?”

Abby said, “Much as I hate to admit it, we can’t think of any logical explanation for how he knew what he knew about us. Not that what he told us was logical either, but it is an explanation. So, what did Ernie tell you?”

“He said he was a time traveler and met us just a few days ago, but back between 2002 and 2004 and that he occupied my mind during that time. When I told him I don’t remember having any awareness of him at the time, he said it didn’t work that way. He said he was me, but I wasn’t him and that he didn’t actually take over my body or anything, but he just seemed to jump into my mind and share it for a couple of years. Sounds incredible, yet he knew things about me that no one else could possibly know except maybe for you, but I don’t even remember telling you some of what he knew.”

“That pretty much jibes with what Kevin told us too,” said Kenny. “Did Ernie say why he called?”

“They plan to build some sort of high-tech simulator, and they want to use the swing suit in it and wondered what happened to it. I told him that Abby would be in the best position to explain it and that we would get back to him on that. I Googled him, and he seems legit. So, what do you want to do about this?”

Kenny said, “We did the same thing—Googled both him and Kevin. They do seem legit. We also told him we would get back to him after discussing this for a while with you.”

E. J. thought for a minute and said, “Abby, I defer to you. You're the inventor of the suit. What would you like to do about it? I’m game for talking to them again if you are.”

“I’m not convinced about this time travel business yet, but he did pique my interest in possibly resurrecting the suit. You know how disappointed we all were not to be able to make a go of it back then because that damn Chinese company screwed us. Perhaps now there’s another source for the dysprosium needed in the manufacture of the servo motors. If there is, we might be able to move forward with it. My interest in it waned after a few years of trying to find another source, and I moved on to other projects. But maybe it’s finally time to give it another try. Okay, E.J. I’ll set up a Zoom meeting with them and invite you to it in a couple days.”

“Alright, you two. I look forward to it. Bye for now.”

“Bye, E.J.,” Abby and Kenny said together.

 

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS - 2032 California Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. CHARACTERS - 2002 USA Kenny Payne: Abby's husband. He's the co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He helped fabricate the swing suit with his partner, Eddie Phillips. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's friend, a retired computer science professor who helped in the programming of the swing suit. Abby Payne: She is an expert mathematician and engineer and inventor of the swing suit. Claire and Kevin Payne: Kenny and Abby's two grown children.

Chapter 53
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 45

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  Kevin describes the major components of the simulator to Ernie and Paul and how it should cater to virtually any player’s desire in how to play the game—from the fast-moving techy generation to the more traditional player seeking to preserve the game as they used to know it, but without the detrimental aspects of it. They learn that Art Calvin had actually died four years previous and that they had encountered his spirit when they played with him. They vow to undertake a feasibility study and make a decision in six weeks whether they will form a startup company called AC Golf (named after Art Calvin) to build a prototype. They still wonder what happened to Abby’s swing suit.

Kevin calls Kenny and Abby in Altoona, while Ernie calls E.J. with the hope of finding out what happened to the swing suit. It was a tough sell to convince the Pennsylvania folks they were for real, but Kenny, Abby, and E.J. are at least willing to discuss things further with them and reveal that the suit was never commercially available due to a problem with the motors that power the suit. They agree to hold a Zoom meeting with Kevin’s team in a few days to discuss it further.

 

 

Chapter 45

 

 

“Now that everyone is here, I’d like to begin by thanking Abby for setting up this Zoom meeting. I’m Kevin Parsons; I live in Santa Barbara, California, and I’m a mechanical engineer. I love playing golf, but my love for the game is slowly dying because of circumstances beyond my control. As you may know, golfing in California is no longer very appealing since watering of all grassed areas on a golf course as well as all fertilizer and pesticide applications have been banned by our state government. Except for a very few rich clubs that can afford the exception fees, golf courses are in a shambles now. Many have gone belly up, and the golfing population is now only one-fifth the size of just ten years ago. We fear this trend is beginning to extend beyond just California and that we will soon witness a decline in the game nationwide.

“I’ve recently experienced a revelation, and I no longer believe the decline of golf is beyond my control. My friends, Paul Putnam and Ernie Dombrowski and I, plan to embark upon a project we believe will save the game and restore it to its former glory and even expand it. The revelation to which I refer came in the form of time travel to three different eras in the history of the game of golf. Before we get into those, I’ll let my friends introduce themselves.”

“Hello, Kenny, Abby, and E.J. This is Ernie Dombrowski. E.J., I’ve already talked with you. I’m a computer scientist and engineer, also from Santa Barbara. Kevin, Paul, and I have been friends since childhood. I’ve played golf with these guys for about 12 years now, but I was never a golf fanatic or anything close; however, I’ve gained a new appreciation for it lately through my travels through time to Altoona, and I can see real potential in this project my friends and I are about to embark upon. Paul?”

“Hi folks. I’m Paul Putnam, an electrical engineer here in Santa Barbara. I too am eager to begin work on this incredible golf simulator my friends have briefly described in their previous phone conversations with you. We only hope we can interest you in participating in it by selling us your terrific golf swing suits. I’m going to let Kevin describe it in more detail. Kevin?”

“Are there any questions before I begin?”

“I have one,” said Abby. “Is it important for us to believe you have traveled through time for us to get involved with this? Because, frankly, that part is a little hard for us to accept right now.”

“The answer is no; however, we didn’t feel we could pull off a lie about how we learned of the suit. We want to gain your trust so that you will be willing to deal with us.”

“And you think you can do that by telling us what most would feel is an unbelievable tale of time travel?”

“It’s much easier to defend the truth than a lie, for me anyway.”

“Okay,” said Abby. “I guess we’ll reserve judgment until we hear more.”

“Thank you. As I said before, there have been travels to three eras in the history of golf. My friends have been on one apiece, but I’ve been on all three. Let me describe to you now how these travels came about.”

I then launched into a description of how we had met Art Calvin on the first tee of our round at Malimar Park and how I had hit the ball beneath the railroad trestle and what happened when I went beneath it to retrieve my ball. Kenny, Abby, and E.J. mainly just listened, with only the occasional question for clarification. I went into a moderate amount of detail about my trip to 13th-century Holland. I then described the trip Paul and I took to 15th-century Scotland. They had all been familiar with the king’s ban on golf, but not with the details about it that I provided. Then I told of Ernie’s and my trip to Altoona, in which I gave them a huge amount of detail that nobody other than Kenny, Abby, and E.J. would have been privy to, such as the four dance steps comprising Kenny and E.J’s little joke on Abby that were programmed into the swing suit. And finally, I ended with our post-round discussion with Art Calvin in the bar and how we discovered he had actually died four years ago.

At the end of it, Kenny said, “Kevin, as incredible as this tale has been, I can’t think of another explanation for how you would know the details you have related other than by being in my mind and experiencing them firsthand. I, for one, believe you now.”

E.J. then said, “Ernie, I half-believed you the other day when we spoke, but hearing Kevin just now makes me a full believer too.”

“Okay guys,” said Abby, “not having had my mind invaded the way Kenny and E.J.’s were still leaves me skeptical, but at least I believe you sincerely believe what you have related to us. I’m going to suspend judgment for now and just go with it. Could you tell us about your ideas for this simulator you’ve proposed?”

“Gladly,” I said. “Bear in mind that we’ve only been brainstorming this for a few days now, but it will continue for the next five or six weeks before we make a final decision on whether or not it’s a go. If we do, we will pass into the construction phase and begin building a prototype, much as you did with the swing suit. So here goes.”

I then launched into a detailed description of its major features and components. They interrupted me many times with questions and clarifications. E.J. and Ernie got very deep at times, discussing potential algorithms for a number of the simulations. Kenny and Abby both asked excellent questions about some of the design features and even proposed a few things we hadn’t thought of for consideration.

After a few hours of this, we finally got back to one of my main purposes for making this call to them: to find out what had happened with the suit, why it was never produced, and if it could be resurrected and produced now because I saw it as a critical component of the success of this enterprise.

Abby began, “All we were able to successfully produce were the four prototypes. As you well know, the suit contains over a thousand miniature servo motors sewn into the fabric. These servo motors were specially made for us by a firm in China that used a rare metal called dysprosium * that was only mined in China at the time. The dysprosium was alloyed with several other metals to create an extremely powerful servo motor for its size, and these were the only ones strong enough to power the motions of the suit. They are what was used in the four prototypes; however, on our first order for actual production of the suits, once we had ramped up our facilities to make them, the ones they sent us were not made with dysprosium. Even though it was in the specifications, they simply left that out of the alloy and didn’t bother to tell us. The suits would not work as designed.

“When we finally figured out what was wrong, they said they could no longer use dysprosium in these servo motors. Because it was a rare metal, their government had restricted its use to primarily military applications—their own—and the servo motors we needed could not be made with it anymore. We began looking for other companies in the US, Japan, Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam—all over, really—but none could provide us with servo motors made with dysprosium. China had a monopoly on it. And that was pretty much that. We tried a number of times over the next ten years to see if things had changed, but nothing had on that front, and so we eventually gave up trying as we moved into other things.”

I asked her, “Did you ever try to find a substitute for dysprosium that would work just as well in the alloy?”

“Oh, you bet. But there just wasn’t anything at the time that had the strength of it. It’s possible there is something now; I just haven’t looked into it lately, and my interest sort of waned, much as your interest in golf began waning. But maybe you are just the spark I need to get going again to try to find something else that would work. There’s something about your enthusiasm, Kevin, that is infectious. I would still love to produce this suit and would postpone my impending retirement if we could. I’m willing to start searching again, and maybe this is just the impetus I need.”

Paul said, “That’s wonderful, Abby. We’d be willing to help if you’d like. I have contacts in both the chemical engineering field and with some metallurgists I’ve worked with before who I could consult with. If you’re willing for me to help out and could send me the alloy specifications for the servo motors, I would have a better idea of what it will take and who to talk to.”

“I’ll take you up on that, Paul. You’ve got me excited about this again. If you give me your email address, I’ll send you the specs.”

Paul then rattled this off, and we all ended up sharing our email addresses with each other. Soon after, we said goodbye after promising to have another Zoom meeting with them in a couple of weeks.

 

 

(There are 6 more chapters in the novel. It is now 89 % complete.)

 

 

Author Notes

* Dysprosium (atomic number 66 on the periodic chart) is a rare-earth element often used in control rods for atomic reactors and in alloys used in permanent magnets for electric motors and wind turbines. 99% of the world's dysprosium is mined in China. CHARACTERS Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. Kenny Payne: Abby's husband. He's the co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He helped fabricate the swing suit with his partner, Eddie Phillips. He is now 67 years old. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's friend, a retired computer science professor who helped in the programming of the swing suit. He is now 84 years old. Abby Payne: She is an expert mathematician and engineer and inventor of the swing suit. She is now 66 years old.

Chapter 54
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 46

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters: Kevin calls Kenny and Abby in Altoona, while Ernie calls E.J. with the hope of finding out what happened to the swing suit. It was a tough sell to convince the Pennsylvania folks they were for real, but Kenny, Abby, and E.J. are at least willing to discuss things further with them and reveal that the suit was never commercially available due to a problem with the motors that power the suit. They agree to hold a Zoom meeting with Kevin’s team in a few days to discuss it further.

During the Zoom meeting, Kevin explains the circumstances surrounding the time travel and reviews each one. By giving further details about the trip to Altoona, he is able to convince Kenny and E.J. of their veracity. Abby is still skeptical. The Californians then describe the simulator to the Pennsylvanians and learn why Abby’s suit was never produced. Paul volunteers to help Abby find a substitute for dysprosium, and they all exchange emails.

 

 

Chapter 46

 

After we hung up with the Pennsylvania contingent, and since we were already gathered at my condo, Paul, Ernie, and I decided to continue brainstorming.

“You know, guys,” I said, “before we get too far into specifics, I think we should talk some more about the general approach—the principles that drive what we build into this simulator. Why don’t we start with the role of nature in our simulation?”

“What’s your main reason,” said Ernie, “for why we need to strive for such realism in the simulator the way you described it to us a few days ago and to them just now?”

“I think it’s what will make it stand out from all other simulators currently available. I think the closer we come to nature, the more appealing it’s going to be. People may even like it more than playing outside on a real golf course because of some of the inherent advantages it will have. I also think nostalgia for the past is a strong force in most people. If we can make it as close to nature as we experienced it when golf was enjoyable to play outdoors, that’s what we should strive for. You know how smelling certain smells can bring you right back to the time you may first have noticed that smell, and if it’s a pleasant smell, it gets the endorphins flowing with the fond memory? Golf courses are, or at least were, pleasurable places to be—with all that green grass that’s mowed so uniformly, with the odor of flowering trees coming to you on a gentle breeze, and with a little birdsong in the air. As Kilian Prost, I can remember the joy I felt looking out over the holes we had designed, wending their way between patches of whin and heather where the sheep had grazed. It was as green and beautiful as it could be. Even the occasional smell of sheep dung was part of the experience and never seemed to detract from the atmosphere out there.

“Wouldn’t people love the authenticity of playing the Old Course at St. Andrews in Scotland on an overcast day with the wind gusting at your back, so that you could hit the ball miles downwind, and you would have to try using knockdown shots while playing back into the wind and take more advantage of a ground game? I know that’s the way I would want to play St. Andrews.”

“I can see all that,” said Paul. “Plus, the idea of different grass heights is a great one. With today’s simulators, you’re hitting from a flat lie on short, perfect artificial turf every time, which isn’t realistic at all. If you hit an errant shot, you deserve to have the next one be from rough grass where the lie isn’t perfect.”

“The thing we can do is make it flexible enough to accommodate any style of play,” said Ernie. “There can be options that you would select beforehand, such as rough or no rough, to have nature sounds or not, to play with wind or no wind, etc. Or you could simply choose the ‘Complete Realism’ option that will make it play as close to an actual round of golf outdoors in nature as we can make it.”

“Okay, let’s talk about pace of play for a minute,” I said. “The beauty of the simulator is that the group playing will be in their own enclosed room as opposed to on a golf course shared by many, so that you can really play as fast or slow as you want without having to worry about other golfers. It will cost more the longer you take, but if you’re willing to pay the price, you can take as long as you want as long as your playing partners are agreeable. Some people just don’t like to be hurried. If they want to stand on the tee and tell a few jokes before teeing off, they’ll be free to. Thus, the Snogs would feel right at home there, as would the Foos. The Snogs would just have to pay a little more. And the real speed demons, the people who aren’t playing for the exercise of walking but want to play as fast as possible, can choose the option for ‘instant next shot’ rather than the option to either walk to or ride to their next shot. The simulator would simply advance to the ball without the golfer having to take a step. It would be far less realistic that way, but if you only have a limited time to play, that would be the way to go.”

“Do you really think folks are going to want to take a cart instead of walk or use the instant next shot feature?” asked Paul.

“I think so. It may not be that popular of an option, but for authenticity and also to give folks a chance to sit down while the other players are hitting, I think people will use it. Carts are so prevalent that it just seems like a given to build them into the simulator. Kids will love ‘em, and I think a lot of seniors will too. What are you smiling about, Ern?”

“Nothing. Just picturing myself as a kid driving a cart. Listen, Kev, let’s talk some about Abby’s swing suit and how we should present it as a training option, assuming of course that she can produce them. In fact, let’s talk about the whole concept of practice.”

“Okay, what’s your thinking about it?”

“Well, I think the individual modules can be configured by the players to be set up as a practice range only or as a course to play or both. When using it as a practice range, they could be set up like a real practice tee, and you could aim at practice greens different distances away. But unlike any practice tee I’ve ever been on, you could set the floor up for sidehill, downhill, or uphill lies and either fairway, rough, sand, or even a green if you want to practice your putting and chipping. You could be shown the statistics of each swing you make, like clubhead speed, ball speed, spin rate, apex height—all the usual stuff today’s simulators show you—but also a film of your last swing so you can watch yourself. In addition, you could rent a suit to help teach you how to swing, either in the practice area or during a round of golf if you want to. Can you imagine how much faster you can learn to play the game by wearing the suit and not have to figure everything out for yourself? And after practicing for a while on the practice range, you could then set the room up to play as many holes as you want, with or without the suit.”

“That all sounds excellent, Ern. I think you’ve nailed the concept of practice.”

“I agree,” said Paul. “I’ve been thinking a lot about how reservations would work too.”

“Let’s hear it,” I said.

“I think Great Clips, the hair-cutting place, has a great method with their reservation model. Their app shows you all the nearby Great Clips establishments and shows the wait time to get a chair at each. We could have our app do the same thing for spur-of-the-moment play. I envision that eventually we will have several AC Golfs around town, and our app will show the location of each, and golfers can enter the queue at any of them. But we can also have a normal tee time reservation system, which many courses have, to be able to schedule a room up to a week in advance.”

“This is great, guys,” I said. “I’m going to write all this up in our business plan and try to work out a schedule of the tasks using some project management software. Then we can go about planning all this in an orderly rather than a haphazard way. This should only take me a couple days. I’ll call you when I’m done and we can see about getting back together and assigning the tasks. Just remember, this is still the feasibility stage, so we’ll still be brainstorming, but at a more precise level than what we’ve been doing so far. Any questions?”

There were none, and they left then. I headed into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat.

 

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. Kenny Payne: Abby's husband. He's the co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He helped fabricate the swing suit with his partner, Eddie Phillips. He is now 67 years old. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's friend, a retired computer science professor who helped in the programming of the swing suit. He is now 84 years old. Abby Payne: She is an expert mathematician and engineer and inventor of the swing suit. She is now 66 years old.

Chapter 55
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 47

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  Kevin calls Kenny and Abby in Altoona, while Ernie calls E.J. with the hope of finding out what happened to the swing suit. It was a tough sell to convince the Pennsylvania folks they were for real, but Kenny, Abby, and E.J. are at least willing to discuss things further with them and reveal that the suit was never commercially available due to a problem with the motors that power the suit. They agree to hold a Zoom meeting with Kevin’s team in a few days to discuss it further.

During the Zoom meeting, Kevin explains the circumstances surrounding the time travel and reviews each one. By giving further details about the trip to Altoona, he is able to convince Kenny and E.J. of their veracity. Abby is still skeptical. The Californians then describe the simulator to the Pennsylvanians and learn why Abby’s suit was never produced. Paul volunteers to help Abby find a substitute for dysprosium, and they all exchange emails.

The guys continue brainstorming after their Zoom meeting. Kevin explains why they should strive for extreme realism—mainly to set this simulator apart from all others. They also discuss how it will address the two biggest deterrents to golf, namely slow play and the difficulty of learning the game. Kevin will formalize their key points into an official business plan.

 

 

Chapter 47

 

 

Over the next five weeks, the three of us began seriously delving into the design of the various components of the simulator. The attempt for realism was the real challenge.

We would be projecting the image of being on a golf course onto a spherical screen surrounding the room using a number of different projectors. With current simulators, you hit a ball into a flat or slightly curved screen, onto which is projected a 2-dimensional image of a golf hole. The ball strikes the screen with an audible thud and then drops to the floor, where you will hear another thud. This is unacceptable in a life-like simulator. Instead, we would be using a sound suppression system to eliminate the thuds of the ball striking the screen and the floor, but we also devised a way to disguise the image of the ball dropping to the floor by a method of visual camouflage. We would project the color of the background it would be moving down onto the ball itself. The golfer would be so absorbed watching an image of his virtual ball sailing away on the screen that he wouldn’t notice the camouflaged ball dropping to the floor, especially since it would be soundless.

We planned to make the floor (the ground) movable in several directions. To give it undulation, it would consist of thousands of tightly packed-together rods that could move vertically up and down from below to form hills and swales, but atop them would be a set of smaller rods that could move horizontally the way a treadmill moves. Their action would be initiated as soon as the golfer begins walking on them. In actuality, the golfer would remain in place, but it would seem as though he were moving forward. The golf cart would work the same way. As soon as you depressed the go pedal, it would trigger the floor to start moving backward to simulate the forward movement of the golf cart. The difficult part of this movement would be to have the surroundings move in conjunction with the floor so that it would look like real movement through the area. This was going to take some extremely complex programming on Ernie’s part to coordinate the projection of the surroundings onto the spherical screen surrounding the room with the movement of the floor.

You would be able to see an image of your ball on the ground as you approach it, but then, as you get right to it, there must be a real ball again for you to hit your next shot. This would come up from below the floor to replace the image of the ball projected on the floor and, if done right, you wouldn’t even notice the transition from image of ball to actual ball.

The top layer of the floor that moves horizontally to simulate forward motion would also house the artificial grass that would be capable of raising or lowering, depending on your lie. This would be accomplished by means of electromagnetic repulsion and attraction acting on metal bottom-tipped grass bunches that can extend up and down through a network of small holes in the surface of the top layer of the floor.

Let’s say you hit your drive into the rough on the right. From the tee, you begin walking down the fairway, which has nice, uniform, short grass. When you get near your ball, you start veering your steps to the right, and you cross from the fairway into the rough. While you are walking in the fairway, the rough would appear as a projected image ahead and to the side, but as you cross the boundary of the image on the floor, the grass would physically rise from below to rough height by extension of the artificial grass, but just like the ball rising from below to replace the image of the ball, the grass would smoothly transition from a projected image of longer grass to actual longer grass, which you would hit your next shot from.

Real sand bunkers presented another major design challenge. The image of a struck ball may roll or fly into a projected image of a bunker, but when you get to the bunker and step down into it to hit your ball out, it would have to feel like you are stepping into sand for the simulation to feel real. Once in the bunker, you would wiggle your feet to get a good footing in the sand, and an actual ball must fly out of actual sand when you blast out for the illusion to work. Most of the bunker would be a projected image, but where you and the ball are would be in a true sand layer. Beneath the floor, there would be a tray of sand that would move into place to replace the layer of grass that slides over out of the way, and the tray of sand would come up through the floor in its place. When the golfer takes his shot, the sand would fly up and out, landing on the surface of the floor in front, but would quickly be vacuumed out of sight from vacuums below the floor. That’s the concept anyway, and I know it will prove to be a real challenge for all three of us to get this to work with a sense of realism.

Realistic putting was also another challenge in design. We wanted to be able to simulate any length putt and have the ball fall into a real hole in the floor when sunk. Here’s how a 30-foot putt would work: The golfer would strike the ball on the green, and the ball would move forward a few feet before it sank into the floor out of sight to be replaced by a projected image of the ball moving toward the hole. If it misses by, say, three feet, you would walk ahead on the backward-moving floor until you reach the image of the ball, which is then replaced seamlessly by an actual ball raised into place from below. A real hole would also have opened up in the floor to replace the image of the hole. You could then putt the real ball into the real hole and pick it out again. If instead you had holed the 30-footer, you would have seen an image of the ball falling into a hole, but when you walk forward to the hole, it would convert to an actual hole with a ball in it for you to retrieve.

Once we had come up with these major design ideas, we were convinced we could really make a go of this, and we unanimously decided to go forward with the project. There were thousands of other smaller details to work out, but we had confidence that we could meet any challenges we faced.

Yesterday, we received some outstanding news from the Pennsylvania contingent when Abby called to tell us she had located a source for a rare earth element called neodymium, which is one of the 15 lanthanides like dysprosium that previously went into the manufacture of the servo motors for the suit. Abby claimed that neodymium is just as effective as dysprosium, but the best news was that within the past few years, it began being mined in West Virginia and is now commercially available right here in the US. She has also located a manufacturer to create the servo motors she needs for the suit that will use an alloy with a neodymium component. Abby said she and Kenny, along with some help from E.J., were planning to pursue the manufacture of the suits again. The timing might work out such that we would become their first customers, and we both could go a long way in promoting each other’s companies.

Everything seems to be falling into place, so very soon I will be giving notice at work that I’m resigning. This will come after I secure financing to get started on our prototype, since neither Paul, Ernie, nor I have enough capital to invest in what it will take to get started. I began researching some possible sources of funding.

 

 

(4 more chapters to go)

Author Notes

By now, I'm sure you've heard enough about how the simulator will work. I promise that's the end of it. We'll get back to the fun parts with the next chapter.

Chapter 56
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 48

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  During the Zoom meeting, Kevin explains the circumstances surrounding the time travel and reviews each one. By giving further details about the trip to Altoona, he is able to convince Kenny and E.J. of their veracity. Abby is still skeptical. The Californians then describe the simulator to the Pennsylvanians and learn why Abby’s suit was never produced. Paul volunteers to help Abby find a substitute for dysprosium, and they all exchange emails.

The guys continue brainstorming after their Zoom meeting. Kevin explains why they should strive for extreme realism—mainly to set this simulator apart from all others. They also discuss how it will address the two biggest deterrents to golf, namely slow play and the difficulty of learning the game. Kevin will formalize their key points into an official business plan.

The guys design the key components of the simulator, and by this time are convinced that it’s all systems go. They also receive good news from Pennsylvania when Abby reports that she has found a substitute for dysprosium called neodymium, which is mined in the US, as well as a company to manufacture the servo-motors used in the swing suit with it. Her team now plans to begin building the swing suits again. Kevin begins researching venture capitalists to invest in their new startup, AC Golf, named after Art Calvin, the inspiration for the project.

 

 

Chapter 48

 

 

I decided the best prospect for securing funds for our new startup, AC Golf, would be a venture capital company. Venture capitalists commonly provide financing to startup companies, which have high growth potential, are fueled by innovation, and will likely carve out a new industry niche. Many tech companies, like Hewlett-Packard, Apple, and Microsoft, were financed by venture capital. A traditional bank loan, if we could even get one, would require debt repayments, and we didn’t stand to generate any revenue while we developed our prototype to pay off that debt; hence, banks were a poor option. True, the venture capitalist would own a portion of the equity in our company, but so what? I think we have the potential to make millions with this enterprise. Another big advantage of going with a venture capitalist is that they can provide technical and managerial expertise.

Over the next month, we made our pitch to several different companies in the area, but so far, we haven’t had any luck. None of them seemed to have much interest in golf to be able to judge its appeal to people, and so far, none of them had particularly struck me as people I desired to work with either. We just had to keep looking for the right company.

After researching a few more in the area, which extended as far as LA, I found one right here in Santa Barbara called Payton Capital. I made an appointment with Ronald Payton himself, the president of the company, at 9:00 AM tomorrow. He said he was intrigued by my initial description of our product over the phone and that he was a golfer himself, which was an encouraging sign.

Paul, Ernie, and I all went to the meeting. We arrived at 9:00 and were shown to a conference room, where Mr. Payton greeted us. He was an older gentleman with a firm handshake and a bushy mustache over a ready smile. His thinning hair was solid gray, almost white.

“Gentlemen, help yourselves to some coffee. I keep a pot brewing all day. My daughter will be attending as soon as she finishes up with another client she has. She should only be a few minutes. I’ll be retiring shortly, and she’ll be taking over my client list as well as the presidency of this company. She’s currently a vice president, and I wanted her to hear your presentation. She’s not a golfer herself, but I think she may still be interested in your idea.”

That was fine, although I was a little disappointed by the fact that she didn’t golf, for I wasn’t sure she could generate the same enthusiasm for the project as a golfer might. We spent the next five minutes drinking coffee and small talking about nothing in particular. Then the door opened, and in walked his daughter.

“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Allie Payton. Allie, this is Kevin Parsons, Paul Putnam, and Ernest Dombrowski. They are the fellows who’ve invented the next-generation golf simulator.”

I nearly dropped my coffee cup when I looked up at Allie Payton. She was slim and had long, red hair, green eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles over her slightly upturned nose. She was practically the spitting image of Arie, Aggie, and Abby as they would have looked in their late 20s, which she appeared to be. This could not be just a coincidence; there had to be some significance to this.

“I’m pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” she said in a pleasant voice as she shook all of our hands. “As my father probably told you, I will be managing this account, should we decide we are a good fit for each other. I must admit, I’m not a golfer, but I’ve been to Topgolf once or twice and found it to be a lot of fun, although I wasn’t very good at it. I understand you are a new startup. Can you tell me briefly about the simulator you hope to build and what makes it different from the simulators currently available?”

I had gained enough composure after the initial shock of seeing her that I was able to say, “It’s very nice to meet you too, Miss Payton. There are a number of different simulators available today, but none promise the realism and flexibility that ours will. Most simulators will give you feedback on your golf swing by providing a variety of statistics about the shots you take. They will also allow you to play different courses by projecting the image of each hole on a 2-dimensional flat or nearly flat screen, but the experience of playing golf in this way is nothing like playing real golf on a golf course and, except for some good graphics, is totally artificial. In contrast, our simulator will have the ability to create a realistic golfing experience inside a 360-degree simulation, as if you were playing a round of golf outdoors on an actual golf course.

“You will be able to walk the holes or ride a cart. But if a quicker round of golf is your goal, you will be able to skip walking or riding and simply advance to the next shot automatically. You won’t hear the shots hitting the screen or dropping down to the floor, and you will be able to hit out of actual sand should your ball land in a bunker. You’ll also be able to putt any length putt into a real hole. The floor will be able to move up and down to simulate actual terrain, and you will hit from different length artificial grass depending on whether you are in the fairway or rough. And all this in natural conditions with variable wind and temperature, accompanied by natural sounds and odors. In short, no other simulator can do anything close to what this one will be able to do.

“And there is one other major feature that will make this the ultimate learning experience too, if your goal is also to learn golf or to improve your golf game. You will be able to wear a suit that will teach you the correct golf swing by guiding your body through the motions of the golf swing. You’ll be able to practice with it or even wear it during a round of golf. This suit was invented by a woman named Abby Payne and is currently being produced by her husband’s golf equipment company in Pennsylvania. We have been working closely with them.”

Throughout this summary, Allie Payton appeared to listen attentively with genuine interest. She smiled and nodded her head at a number of points. “Is that all?” she said with a chuckle, and we all laughed. “Gentlemen, I must say that is an impressive-sounding simulator. What exactly do you need from us?”

“What we will need from you is $500,000 over the next two years for funding the construction of the prototype simulator. Once this is done and proves to be a viable product, we will then need further funding to mass produce them for the first facility and then for franchises.”

It was tough to read the expression on Allie and her father’s faces when I said this. I honestly couldn’t tell what they thought.

Allie said, “It looks like you’ve brought a business plan with you, which my father and I would like to look over. Could you tell me what the AC in AC Golf stands for?”

I handed her a copy of the plan. “It stands for Art Calvin. He was an older gentleman, a golf course architect the three of us played golf with about six weeks ago, and it was his influence that started us down this path of creating the ultimate simulator.”

“I’m sure there’s quite a story there,” she said.

“You have no idea.”

She gave me an amused look. “Would you be seeking funding only or management expertise as well? I understand that you are all engineers, but do you have business experience that would prove helpful to starting a new company? Have any of you started or been involved with the management of any other companies?”

“Not really, no. I work for a medium-size company, while Paul and Ernie are both independent contractors, but as far as business management, we have very little experience, so I guess the answer is ‘yes’ about whether or not we’d like you to provide management expertise.”

“That’s fine. We can do that. And you understand that, as venture capitalists, we would provide you with the funds you will need by buying a portion of the equity in your company? There won’t be a loan to repay, as there would be if you borrowed money from a bank.”

“I think we understand that much about it, yes, but not a lot more.”

“Alright then. Do you have any questions for us at this point?”

I said, “When might we expect an answer about whether we’ll work together?”

Mr. Payton said, “Allie and I will read your business plan, and we should be able to get back to you in a week or so. How does that sound?”

“That sounds fine, Mr. Payton. We look forward to hearing from you. My contact information is in the report. We hope we’ll get the chance to work together, and thank you very much for meeting with us.”

We stood up then, shook hands all around, and said our goodbyes.

 

 

As soon as we got outside, I said to Paul, “Was she not the spitting image of a slightly older Aggie Lang?”

“That’s uncanny. What can this mean? This can’t be a coincidence.”

Ernie said, “She sure reminded me of a younger Abby Payne too. And did you catch the name similarity? Allie Payton—Abby Payne—Aggie Pate once she married Kirk, and Arie Papin. I don’t know what it means, but this is no coincidence!”

“I don’t know either,” I said, “but I think it bodes well. Hard to tell, though. I couldn’t read their faces when I put that number out there. Sounds like we’ll find out soon enough. Even if it doesn’t pan out, there are plenty of other venture capitalists out there, including a whole bunch down in LA. Alright, I’ll call you guys when I hear from them. Have we all got things we’re working on now? I think we should keep going.”

Ernie nodded, and Paul said, “No worries. Plenty to work on. Talk to ya soon,” and we all went our separate ways.

 

Author Notes

CHARACTERS Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. Kenny Payne: Abby's husband. He's the co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He helped fabricate the swing suit with his partner, Eddie Phillips. He is now 67 years old. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's friend, a retired computer science professor who helped in the programming of the swing suit. He is now 84 years old. Abby Payne: She is an expert mathematician and engineer and inventor of the swing suit. She is now 66 years old. Allie Payton: She is a venture capitalist and vice president of the investment company her father owns.

Chapter 57
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 49

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  The guys design the key components of the simulator, and by this time are convinced that it’s all systems go. They also receive good news from Pennsylvania when Abby reports that she has found a substitute for dysprosium called neodymium, which is mined in the US, as well as a company to manufacture the servo-motors used in the swing suit with it. Her team now plans to begin building the swing suits again. Kevin begins researching venture capitalists to invest in their new startup, AC Golf, named after Art Calvin, the inspiration for the project.

Kevin sets up a meeting with Payton Capital, a venture capitalist firm right in Santa Barbara. There he meets the Vice President of the firm, Allie Payton, a beautiful, young redheaded woman who bears a striking resemblance to Kevin’s three wives from his time travels as they would look in their late 20s. Though not a golfer, she claims she is interested in their simulator, which Kevin describes to her in detail. Kevin tells her they will need to have a $500,000 investment with which to build the prototype and, if it is successful, they will need more to finance construction. Mr. Payton says they will have an answer in a week after they’ve had a chance to review the business plan.

 

 

Chapter 49

 

After dinner, I sat at my computer researching universal joints, which would be needed in our flooring, but I wasn’t getting very far because my mind kept drifting to Allie Payton and our meeting this morning. I kept picturing that beautiful face and thinking how much she reminded me of the three different wives I’d had through the ages. Right then, my phone rang, and I answered it.

“Kevin, this is Allie Payton. We met this morning at Payton Capital.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Oh, yes, Allie. I’m kind of surprised to hear from you so soon. Do you have a question or something about our business plan?”

“Um, I have a number of questions for you, Kevin, but I’d rather ask them in person, if you don’t mind. Would you have some time to meet tonight?”

My pulse began quickening. After a short pause, I said, “Well, sure. Down at your office?”

“Yes, that would be fine. Can we meet there around 8:00?”

“Okay, yeah. I’ll see you then. Should Paul and Ernie come too?”

“Not necessary, just you. No need to dress up either. See you soon.”

My heart started beating a little harder, and I began feeling anxious, but it was a pleasant sort of anxious, if there is such a thing. What did she want to ask me that couldn’t wait until tomorrow and had to be asked in person? I knew I wouldn’t be able to get any more work done now. It was 6:30. I decided to go for a half-hour run, come back, and take a quick shower before getting dressed to go meet her.

After the run and the shower, I debated what to wear. She said not to dress up, so I put on a clean pair of black jeans and one of my nicer golf shirts, then set out for her office.

The lights were on, and the office door was unlocked, so I just went right in. She was waiting for me in the front office. She was also wearing jeans that fit snugly, and she had on a semi-low-cut blouse. Her hair, which had been in a ponytail at work earlier today, was loose now and hung just below her shoulders. She had on a little light makeup and some dangly earrings. She was gorgeous.

“Hello, Allie,” I said as I put out my hand to shake hers.

“Hi, Kevin. Thanks for coming,” she said as she shook my hand.

We didn’t release our hands right away and just stood there looking at each other for a few seconds until we both realized we were still holding hands and released them.

“Why don’t we go into my office where we can sit down and talk?”

“Lead the way.”

We headed down a hall on the left and entered the second door on the right, which had her name on it. She had a spacious office with a large desk, a small conference table, a comfortable-looking couch, and a few club chairs. On the wall were several modernistic pictures, plus a framed photo of her breaking the ribbon marking the finish line in a running race she had apparently won. I could also see a diploma and some sort of framed certificate. It was a feminine office, tastefully decorated. She offered me a seat on the couch and asked if she could get me something to drink. I declined, and she sat down with me on the couch.

“I imagine you’re wondering why I wanted to see you tonight.”

“I must admit I am. Have you had a chance to read our business plan?”

“I have, yes, but that’s incidental to the reason. You see, I met a friend of yours this afternoon, Art Calvin, who you said the ‘AC’ stands for.”

She laughed when she saw the look of astonishment that came over my face. “I can imagine what you must be thinking right now. I probably looked the same way as you when I Googled him.”

“Um, did you happen to go anywhere or meet anyone else this afternoon?”

She just looked at me for a few seconds before she said, “I did, yes… both. Three times, in fact. The last person I met was Abby Payne, whom you mentioned at the meeting and in your business plan.”

“Is she here in Santa Barbara?”

“No. I met her in Altoona, Pennsylvania, and something tells me you’re going to believe that.”

“This is so weird, Allie. I do believe you, but you’d better start at the beginning. And please don’t leave anything out.”

“We may be here a while.”

“That’s okay. I want to hear it.”

She took about half a minute to compose her thoughts before she started. “Alright. I go to work early in the morning, so I can get off early and go for a run most days. Today was no exception. As I was running along a trail after work this afternoon, I happened to notice an old man sitting on a bench alongside the trail. He was dressed rather strangely, wearing knickers, I think they call them, and a plaid cap. He looked like one of those ancient golfers. He appeared to be out of breath. As I got about even with him, he said, ‘Excuse me, young lady. Could I ask you a favor?’

“I stopped then and said, ‘Sure.’

“Then he said, ‘My dog pulled the leash out of my hand and took off running. I was running after him and calling to him, but I quickly tired and had to sit down. If you happen to see him on your run and can somehow grab the leash, do you think you could maybe bring him back to me? He’s just a small dog and very friendly, so you needn’t fear him.’

“Sure, I’d be happy to. What’s his name?’ I asked him.

“He said, ‘It’s Kirby.’

“So, I resumed running, and after a bit I heard a ‘woof.’ I left the path, went through some trees, and came out into the open to see a boy running by, being chased by two other boys. I was 13 years old, and my name was Arie Papin. Does any of this make any sense to you, Kevin?”

I sat there, amazed, and couldn’t speak for a while. Finally, I said, “The year was 1247, and you were in Holland, near Amsterdam.”

“Yes! You were Kilian, weren’t you?”

“This is incredible. Yes, I was. How long were you there?”

“I was there for nine years and left when we were showing our three children where we had met for the first time. I walked into the trees to show all of you the exact place I had come out of when I noticed Kilian being chased, and all of a sudden, I was back here as myself again next to the running path. I jogged back down the path and found the man still sitting on the park bench. I was so dumbfounded by what had happened that I started blithering about it to him. He told me to slow down, sit down, and start from the beginning. So, I did, and I told him the whole tale. He believed every word of it. Then he introduced himself and told me his name—Art Calvin. Right then, I remembered the AC in AC Golf and the fact that you said it stood for ‘Art Calvin.’ What’s going on here, Kilian? Excuse me, I mean Kevin?”

“Let me ask you one more thing before I try to explain it to you. Did you take another trip to 1458 Scotland, and were you an innkeeper named Aggie Lang who married Kirk Pate in a town called Foon?”

“Oh my god, Kevin. You were also Kirk, and your friend, Paul Putnam, was Putney Pell. This is so weird! And I bet your friend, Ernie Dombrowski, was E.J. Budrowski in Altoona. Please tell me what this is all about.”

Then I related my entire experience of how Paul, Ernie, and I met Mr. Calvin while playing golf, about my three episodes of time travel, and our discussion in the bar after playing. She nodded at much of what I said and asked a few questions, but mostly just let me talk. When I was done, she then related her entire story of her travels, in which she had been in the minds of Arie Papin, Aggie Lang, and Abby Payne during the same time that I was in the minds of Kilian Prost, Kirk Pate, and Kenny Payne. In all three cases, we either got married or were already married, and we had children together in two of the three.

“Okay,” Allie said, “so, now that we know about each other’s travels, why do you suppose this happened? It’s almost like we were sent on a mission.”

“That’s exactly what I thought. You said you Googled Art Calvin, right? And you discovered that he was a golf course architect who designed Malimar Park, where we were playing golf that day. And I’m sure you realized that he died four years ago, right?”

“Yes. So, we were sent on a mission by a ghost? What exactly was the mission?”

“I think it was to resurrect the game of golf, which seems to be dying a slow death. I think Art Calvin is golf, or the spirit of the game, anyway. I’ve always been a big golf fan, but as I explained to him before we started playing that day, I’ve been losing my enthusiasm for it because the courses are so horrible to play anymore, and I fear that will be the trend across the country soon. During that first trip to Holland, where I jumped into the mind of Kilian, who invented the game, I gained a new appreciation for its beauty and simple pleasures. I met Arie, who loved the game instantly, and I will always associate my pleasure in the game of golf with her because I loved playing it with her. I mean, we literally invented it together.”

Allie’s eyes were gleaming as I said this, and somehow, I found we were holding both of our hands in each other’s. She noticed it then too, but we didn’t let go. “So, it was a mission of learning, for which we were sent by Art Calvin,” she said. “Huh. And what did we learn in Scotland 200 years later, and then again in Altoona 500 years after that?”

“In the latter two travels, we learned about the inherent weaknesses in the game that turn a lot of people off to it. If the game is to be preserved, those need to be addressed and possibly corrected. In Scotland, we learned about the detriment of slow play and how irritating it is for other people to watch. Even the length of time to play it turns many folks off to the game. Then in Altoona, we learned how difficult the game is to learn for people who aren’t visual learners and how often what you feel isn’t real. Our daughter, Claire—I mean Kenny and Abby’s daughter—improved markedly when she learned the proper swing by using the suit.”

“Alright. I think I buy that this was a learning mission. I can see why Mr. Calvin picked you to go on it. You were already a golfer. But why do you suppose he picked me? I don’t even play the game.”

“I guess he figured it didn’t really matter whether or not you played. Somehow, he knew that you were the key to making this happen. What better way to get me really interested in preserving the game than to associate it with such amazing partners as Arie, Aggie, and Abby? I have to confess to you that your marked resemblance to those three, not only in looks but in how I perceive you so far, has made me feel extremely attracted to you, Allie. I feel like I know you so well, even though we just met today. Do you see yourself as like those three women?”

“Exactly like them. How about you with Kilian, Kirk, and Kenny?”

“The same. So, what does this mean for us?”

“It means you’re getting the financing for the prototype, and if it works, the financing for the full-scale production as well. I had my doubts after our meeting this morning, but after what happened this afternoon, and seeing how much golf meant to all the people I encountered, I definitely want in on this with you.”

We sat looking into each other’s eyes while still holding hands. I then released my hands from hers, put them around her face, and gently kissed her. We held the kiss for a long time. When we broke apart, we just looked at each other and stood up. We grabbed each other in a tight embrace and kissed again, much more passionately this time. My heart was beating like a jackhammer, and when the kiss was finally over, we kept the embrace and stood there hugging for I don’t know how long. I felt like I was at home in her arms, and it was wonderful.

 

 

(Two more chapters to go.)

 

 

Author Notes

This is a long one today (2,200 words), so I've promoted it a little higher. CHARACTERS Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. Kenny Payne: Abby's husband. He's the co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He helped fabricate the swing suit with his partner, Eddie Phillips. He is now 67 years old. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's friend, a retired computer science professor who helped in the programming of the swing suit. He is now 84 years old. Abby Payne: She is an expert mathematician and engineer and inventor of the swing suit. She is now 66 years old. Allie Payton: She is a venture capitalist and vice president of the investment company her father owns.

Chapter 58
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 50

By Jim Wile

See Author Notes for the list of characters and unfamiliar terms.

Recap of the past few chapters:  Kevin sets up a meeting with Payton Capital, a venture capitalist firm right in Santa Barbara. There he meets the Vice President of the firm, Allie Payton, a beautiful, young redheaded woman who bears a striking resemblance to Kevin’s three wives from his time travels as they would look in their late 20s. Though not a golfer, she claims she is interested in their simulator, which Kevin describes to her in detail. Kevin tells her they will need to have a $500,000 investment with which to build the prototype and, if it is successful, they will need more to finance construction. Mr. Payton says they will have an answer in a week after they’ve had a chance to review the business plan.

Allie calls Kevin that same night and asks to see him again. Kevin is surprised and wonders about the nature of the meeting. Allie reveals that she met Art Calvin that afternoon when she went for a run after work. He was sitting on a bench along the trail and claimed that his dog escaped him and asked Allie if she would look for him on her run. She agrees and hears a bark. When she leaves the trail and steps through some trees to find the dog, she becomes 13-year-old Arie Papin witnessing a boy being chased by two other boys in 13th century Holland.

Kevin is astounded by this and finds out that she had been there during the same nine years that he had been there in Kilian’s mind. She also reveals that she had similarly been in the minds of Aggie Lang and Abby Payne at the same times Kevin had been in Kirk Pate and Kenny Payne’s minds during their eras. Kevin explains to Allie what this is all about—that they had all been sent on a mission by the ghost of golf, Art Calvin, to resurrect the game of golf. Allie agrees to fund the prototype because her experience convinces her she wants to be a part of this. The two end up kissing passionately.

 

 

Chapter 50

 

 

The first thing I did the next morning was to call Paul and Ernie and invite them to breakfast at Farmer Boy. I didn’t let on about my meeting with Allie last night. While we sat there drinking coffee after we had ordered, I said, “Oh, by the way, we got the money for the prototype.”

“What! When?” said Paul.

“Last night, Allie called. She wanted to meet with me. She said she had read our business plan and had a few questions. So, I went to her office and answered her questions, and then we kissed a lot, and we got the money.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” said Ernie. “You kissed her, and then she gave us the money? What are you, some kind of gigolo?”

“I guess I’d better explain that.”

“Yes, please do!”

“Alright, guys. Sorry about that. I’m just having a little fun with this. I’m sure glad each of you went on a time travel with me; otherwise, you’d probably have trouble believing this, but here goes: Allie was in the minds of Arie, Aggie, and Abby on my three time travels.” I let that sit for a minute while they thought about it.

“Better tell us more,” said Paul.

“Okay. I got there last night, and she looked fantastic. She’d let her hair down, and I swear she looked just like my three A’s. Then she told me she met Art Calvin yesterday afternoon when she was out for a run. Apparently, Art chose her to be part of this mission too, because he sent her through a different portal to the exact times and places we had been, but in the minds of Arie, Aggie, and Abby. Allie told me the whole story of her travels, and it was the same as my story except from Arie, Aggie, and Abby’s points of view. Paul, she realized that you were Putt, and Ernie, that you were E.J., before I told her my whole story.”

“So where did the kissing come in?” asked Ernie.

“That was after I asked her what she thought this all meant, and her answer was, ‘It means you’re getting the financing.’ How could I not kiss her after that?”

“Is she a good kisser?”

“As good as my three A’s, which was great!”

“Are you going to marry her too like the others?” asked Paul.

“Hey, I wouldn’t rule it out. There was an instant attraction there—for both of us, I think. She also said that if the prototype worked, she would fund the production too. It sounds like this was meant to be, guys. That Art Calvin is a pretty crafty fellow.”

“A man with a plan,” said Paul.

“A ghost with the most,” said Ernie. “Alright, so what’s next?”

“I guess we’d better make an appointment to go back there and sign the papers. I’ll call her this morning and set up a time. After that, I’ll call Abby and tell her the good news and see how things are going on her end. I’m really excited about all this guys, not the least of which is that I’ve got a dynamite girlfriend now.”

“Do you know if she has a friend named something like Catriona?” asked Paul, “or one named something like Susan?” asked Ernie.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she does. I’ll ask her.”

 

 

With Allie’s investment, which funded the development of the prototype, we were able to rent an office where we set up shop to fabricate the simulator. Ernie began purchasing all the computer hardware, firmware, and operating system needed to set up the network that would run the simulator while he wrote the software. Paul and I started building all the electromechanical systems that make up the components of the simulator that would be controlled by Ernie’s software. Allie came around often to watch the development taking place, and we explained everything to her thoroughly. She was extremely intelligent and easily grasped what we were doing. She even had a few suggestions about features to add to the realism of the simulation and made herself an integral part of the team.

 

 

Over the next two years, while we built the simulator, we all became very close, especially she and I. We had begun dating soon after signing the papers to get started on the project, and after a year, I asked her to marry me. Five months later, Allie Payton became Allie Parsons, and a few months after that, the AC Golf Simulator prototype was complete.

 

Paul, Kevin, and I had tried it out a number of times, but now it was time to let Allie try it. We drove to the office together this morning to play the course. We were going to play Malimar Park, one of several golf courses Ernie had programmed into it. We’d been having a little trouble on two of the front 9 holes, so we decided to play the back 9. We would also be taking a cart. I had recently bought Allie a starter set of clubs, and I loaded my bag and hers onto the back of the cart. Although she has previously hit some balls on the practice tee, this will be her first round of golf.

We started out by warming up on the practice tee hitting a few shots to get loose. Then we headed to the 10th hole. I stopped the cart at the blue tees, got out, and selected my driver. As I headed over to the tee box, I said to Allie, “Breakfast ball on the first tee?”

“What’s that mean?”

“Same as a mulligan.”

“Are you going to keep hitting me with this jargon all day?”

“You said you wanted to learn the game. A mulligan is a do-over, usually just on the first tee shot. They call it a breakfast ball when it’s in the morning.”

“Sure, why not? I might need more than one when it’s my turn, though.”

“You can have as many as you want, sweetie. This is your first round of golf; I’ll be lenient.”

I gazed down the beautifully manicured, green fairway. The hole was a slight dogleg left. With my natural draw, I set up on the left side of the tee box. I took one practice swing, stepped up to my ball, and hit a long draw down the left side of the fairway—a good first drive. “I won’t need a breakfast ball.”

“Wow! That was amazing,” said Allie. “I followed it the whole way. Did you mean to curve it like that?”

“That’s just my natural shot shape. It’s called a draw when it curves a little right to left for a right-handed golfer. If it curves a lot, it’s called a hook. And a real lot is a duck-hook.”

“What about the other way?”

“A slight curve left to right is called a fade. A big curve is a slice.”

I got back in the cart, and we headed up to the red tees. Allie got out, selected her driver, and headed over to the tee box. I accompanied her. “I’ll help you get aligned properly for a while until you get the hang of it yourself.”

“Thanks.”

She took a couple of practice swings before setting up to her ball. She had been consistently slicing it on the range before we teed off, so I made sure she was aiming to the left to help counteract it. She made good contact, but with an open clubface, it sliced quite a bit right and into the right rough. “I think I duck-sliced it.”

“I think you just made up a new golf term,” I said, laughing along with her. “You want your breakfast ball?”

“Nah. I can see it up there. It’s not too bad.”

We got back in the cart and headed up the cart path, which wound its way into the woods on the right. As we continued up the hill, Allie said to me, “Aren’t you going to exit? The sign said the cart path was closed ahead.”

“I didn’t see any sign.”

“Yeah, I think you better stop and go back and look if you don’t believe me.”

I turned to her again and said, “Nonsense. I know every inch of this place. It’s my course, you know.”

Right before entering the trees, Allie said, “Kevin! You’d better exit left! Didn’t you see the second sign?”

“You’re imagining things.” We entered the trees, crested the hill, and started down the other side at a good clip, but there was a huge boulder on the path at the bottom of the hill. There was no room now to exit left, as it was a solid bank of trees on that side. We were going too fast to brake in time, so the only option was to swerve right, off the cart path, and hope the cart wouldn’t flip. The right side of the cart lifted into the air as Allie clutched my arm and screamed. We made it through a gap in the trees on the right, but all of a sudden there was no ground beneath us. We had driven off what appeared to be a cliff and were descending rapidly to a pile of rocks about 200 yards down. We both screamed as the cart began to tilt downward. We held each other tightly and continued our inexorable plunge to certain death on the rocks below.

We closed the gap to the bottom in about three seconds, and right before striking the rocks, the cart suddenly leveled off, and we coasted to a gradual stop. As we were slowing down, we passed a sign that said, “You should have exited when you could.” A little farther on, another sign said, “Next time, you might not be so lucky!” When we finally came to a stop, another sign said, “Push the reset button to return to the cart path.”

Allie punched me in the arm and cracked up. “That was great! I love it! Whose idea was that, Ernie’s? Yeah, that had to be his doing.”

“You’re right. He surprised us one day with it. I think we’ll leave it in.”

“Oh, definitely. That was a riot. It felt like the drop on a rollercoaster. How did he get the cart to behave like that?”

“He had asked Paul and me to design the cart so that it could raise and lower the front and rear ends to about a 70-degree angle. We weren’t sure exactly why, but we figured he had something planned. We couldn’t imagine this, though.”

“Well, I think it will be a big hit. By the way, what will happen if you don’t veer to the right off the cart path but instead go straight into the boulder?”

“Let’s find out.”

I pushed the reset button on the cart, and we returned to the path at the bottom of the hill. We went up the hill again, and passed the sign that said, “Cart path closed ahead. Please exit left and proceed in the rough.” I ignored it like before, and soon we saw the second sign that said, “Danger! Leave the cart path now!”

Ignoring that too and grinning at each other, we crested the hill and started down the other side. Instead of veering right, I kept the steering wheel straight. At what looked to be about 60 mph, we plowed into the boulder. All kinds of sparks and flames surrounded us, as well as the noise of an immense crash, but suddenly, we passed through it all, and everything turned black inside the simulator except for tiny points of light we began passing by. We were in outer space, traveling at warp speed past stars and comets and other space stuff.

“Oh, I love this one too!” Allie said. “Are there any others?”

“That’s it so far. I think he’s working on some more, though. If you have any great ideas for it, tell him.”

“I will. This is so cool!”

“Alright, shall we resume our round of golf?” I asked her.

“I’d rather do this about 10 more times.”

“Ah, c’mon. You’re supposed to be trying out the golf course, not playing around at an amusement park.”

She stuck her tongue out at me, much like Arie would have done. “Okaaay. Let’s go.”

I reset us back to just before going up the cart path, but this time I paid attention to the sign and exited left, and we resumed our round.”

 

 

(The final chapter coming on Wednesday)

 

 

Author Notes

Okay, so you've realized this was the Prologue, which we finally got back to. No harm, no foul; everyone is safe. CHARACTERS Kevin Parsons: The narrator of the story. He is a 28-year-old mechanical engineer living in Santa Barbara, CA. Paul Putnam: A good friend of Kevin who is an electrical engineer. Ernie Dombrowski: Another good friend of Kevin who is a computer genius. Art Calvin: An old, retired golf course architect whom the boys meet one day while golfing. Kenny Payne: Abby's husband. He's the co-owner of a golf equipment company and former mechanical engineer. He helped fabricate the swing suit with his partner, Eddie Phillips. He is now 67 years old. E.J. Budrowski: Abby and Kenny's friend, a retired computer science professor who helped in the programming of the swing suit. He is now 84 years old. Abby Payne: She is an expert mathematician and engineer and inventor of the swing suit. She is now 66 years old. Allie Payton: She is a venture capitalist and vice president of the investment company her father owns.

Chapter 59
Saving Mr. Calvin - Chapter 51

By Jim Wile

Recap of the past few chapters:  Allie calls Kevin the same night as their initial meeting where Kevin made his pitch for financing the simulator. She asks to see him again later that night. Kevin is surprised, and wonders about the nature of the meeting. Allie reveals that she met Art Calvin that afternoon when she went for a run after work. He was sitting on a bench along the trail and claimed that his dog escaped him and asked Allie if she would look for him on her run. She agrees and hears a bark. When she leaves the trail and steps through some trees to find the dog, she becomes 13-year-old Arie Papin witnessing a boy being chased by two other boys in 13th century Holland.

Kevin is astounded by this and finds out that she had been there during the same nine years that he had been there in Kilian’s mind. She also reveals that she had similarly been in the minds of Aggie Lang and Abby Payne at the same times Kevin had been in Kirk Pate and Kenny Payne’s minds during their eras. Kevin explains to Allie what this is all about—that they had all been sent on a mission by the ghost of golf, Art Calvin, to resurrect the game of golf. Allie agrees to fund the prototype because her experience convinces her she wants to be a part of this. The two end up kissing passionately.

The next day over breakfast, Kevin tells Paul and Ernie about the meeting with Allie the previous night and how they’ve been approved to get the financing to build the prototype simulator. Kevin also reveals how Allie had been on the same time travels they had been on during the same periods but in the minds of Arie, Aggie, and Abby.

They rent an office and begin work on building the simulator. During the next two years, Kevin marries Allie, and they build the prototype simulator. To demonstrate how it works, Kevin plays 9 holes with Allie in the same scene that comprised the Prologue. Allie particularly loves the surprise Ernie programmed into it with the wild trips in the golf cart.

 

 

Chapter 51

 

 

“So, what did you think?” I asked Allie when we finished the back 9.

“I thought it was fantastic! That was so much fun, and everything looked so damn real except maybe for the bunker shots. I think those could still use some tweaking. I tell you what, though, I can’t wait to try Abby’s swing suit. I hit a few good ones today, but a lot of stinkers too. Hopefully, it can fix my slice. I’m going to call her later and see how things are going.”

“You and she have become really good friends, haven’t you?”

“God, I love her. I feel like I know her so well. How could I not when I was in her brain for a couple of years? You get to know somebody pretty darn well that way. You know, she didn’t become a true believer in time travel until I called her and talked to her a couple years ago and convinced her that I had been in her mind for two years when she invented the suit. She could no longer deny the reality of it after that. I think it was a relief to Kenny and the rest when she finally acknowledged it. I think she may still have gone along with everything anyway, but it’s nice not having her think we’re all nuts.”

“Well, I agree. I’m very fond of Kenny too. He’s been extremely helpful to me in developing some of the mechanical systems. The two of them are quite a pair. I know Ernie has also been consulting with E.J. on a bunch of stuff. We’ve got to invite them all out here soon to try out the simulator. You want to maybe mention that to Abby when you call her later? I sure hope their suits are going to be ready soon for production, because we’re getting pretty close now.”

“Yes, I’ll update them on where we are and ask her how close they are too. And I’ll invite them to come. We’ll compare calendars and see what we can plan.”

“Thanks, sweetie. I’m glad you had fun today. So, Miss Venture Capitalist, are you willing to invest in the production phase now, based on your thorough scrutiny of your investment so far?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m going to have to sleep with the client before I consider investing more money with him.”

“He doesn’t get the money unless he sleeps with you? What kind of outfit do you run anyway? Do all of your clients have to sleep with you before you give them any money?”

“Only the good-looking ones.”

“I think this could be arranged. Shall we go back to our condo?”

“What are we waiting for?”

 

 

I invited Paul and Ernie over to a meeting later that night at Allie’s and my condo. As we sat down together in the living room, Paul asked me, “So how did it go today with our venture capitalist?”

“Well, guys, I gotta tell ya: It was hard, and I wasn’t sure she’d be able to take it all in, but she managed to, and she said she loved it.”

Paul said, “Wait, are we talking about her round of golf today?”

“Of course. What else?” I said with a grin.

Allie cracked up and gave me a punch in the arm. “Let me speak for myself here, stud. Yes, I was very impressed with the total experience of the golf, and I did indeed love it. The realism was incredible except for maybe bunker shots. But I think my favorite part was when we ignored the signs going up the hill on the 10th hole. Ernie, you’re amazing. People are going to love that. It might be best if we just let that feature spread by word-of-mouth. It will add just that ‘cool’ factor to the whole experience. If we don’t advertise it, people in the know will be able to trick their friends who don’t know about it the way Kevin tricked me today, which is always fun. How did you happen to think that up?”

“I wanted to promote more cart usage for the extra revenue it will earn us. I wanted to give folks a real good reason for taking a cart.”

“Well, that was brilliant,” continued Allie. “You know, the thing I also like about this simulator is the fact that it's so flexible in how it can be used. It can be used by serious golfers who want an authentic golfing experience or those who don’t have much time and want to play fast by using the ‘instant next shot’ feature. It can be used by the kind of folks who like to play at Topgolf now in a party-like atmosphere by using the practice range, then maybe playing a few holes. Let’s make a note to add music play list options to the setup options. And, once we get the swing suits, they can be used by those wanting to really improve their skills. I think it’s a pretty universal trait that the better you are at a game, the more fun it is to play, and that will translate into many trips back. I think this has the potential to become very popular, and I, for one, am pleased to be a part of it. I say this as your financier and business advisor, but as a customer, I’ll just say, damn, it was fun!”

“So, that means we get the financing to move into the production stage?” I asked, mainly for the benefit of Paul and Ernie to hear it.

“Nah, forget it. It sucked.”

We all laughed.

“Yes, you get the money. We can begin planning how to ramp up and create these things en masse. The good thing is that, because each simulator is a separate, sound-proof module, an AC Golf franchise can have as many or as few modules as market research deems feasible for the location and population, or the franchisee has the money to buy or lease. Paul and I have been talking about his proposed reservation system and app, and I think he’s definitely on the right track with that—that all the AC Golf franchises nearby can coordinate and be available for reservations. I’ll put a lot more thought into it. For now, though, I think we should start out with a single location, and I’ll think about how many modules to have there. We’ll see how popular it is and go from there. Any more thoughts about anything?”

Ernie said, “Yeah, you guys got any snacks? I’m hungry.”

 

 

 

Later that night, as we lay in bed before sleep, I said to Allie, “I used to wonder why I kept meeting and eventually marrying virtually the same girl in each of my time travels. I know why now. I think Art Calvin planned things very well that way. Each time I met you, I gained a greater appreciation for the game because you were so much a part of my experience with it. How did he know we would have such an attraction for each other? Did Kilian, Kirk, Kenny, and I all look the same to you, but at different ages, the way you resemble your counterparts to such a high degree to me? Because, to my eyes, we didn’t necessarily look the same.”

“Yes, you all did. But like you, I didn’t see that much of a resemblance to myself when I looked in a mirror as Arie, Aggie, and Abby.”

“Maybe that was just part of the magic of it. I once entertained the thought that this was reincarnation at work—that Kilian, Kirk, and Kenny were actually former lives of me—but when I thought about Kenny some more and the fact that he is still alive and that he has become a friend, reincarnation doesn’t work anymore as an explanation. I don’t really understand how it all worked. Do you?”

She thought for a moment. “No more than you. Perhaps some things are just inexplicable. Maybe Art Calvin isn’t just the ghost of a golf course architect. Maybe he’s something more than that. I don’t know if we’ll ever know.”

“Well, I know this: I loved Arie, Aggie, and Abby passionately in each of my encounters, just as I love you now, my dearest Allie. None of this would have been possible without all of you.”

“And I love you too, my dearest Kevin. I’m glad we found each other through the ages.”

We kissed goodnight then and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

 

 

 

Epilogue

Santa Barbara, California
2038

 

 

The first AC Golf opened two years later in Santa Barbara. It was an instant success. It began with 10 simulators, with plans to continue adding additional ones. The capacity of the building Allie had chosen for the location could house about 30 of them.

 
Abby’s swing suits were a big hit and an important feature of the simulation experience. Kenny’s manufacturing facility in Altoona, Pennsylvania, had ramped up again and was cranking them out regularly now. We were their first and biggest single customer as we continued to add more modules to our first establishment and later when we began to sell AC Golf franchises.

Time will tell if Paul, Ernie, Allie, and I have saved the game of golf from extinction, but I feel like we’ve done what we could to see that people will forever be able to enjoy the game that has become such an integral part of my life now and which brought me together with my beloved wife.

I think Mr. Calvin would be pleased.

 

 

The End

 

 

Author Notes

Faithful readers, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing this journey with me and providing me with your reviews. They were immensely helpful in keeping it real (as real as a time-travel fantasy story can be) and on track. Being a pantser, it ended up being a fair amount different from my initial concept of it when I began writing. Often, these turns in the story came about from reading your reviews, which gave me good ideas on how to continue it. For that, I am forever grateful. I'm not sure yet when I will begin another novel, but in the meantime, I will be posting some more poetry, essays, and stories, one or two of which may be based on some of the characters in this novel. I've already got one in mind about why Arie's family had to move from their farm in the north to their present location in Holland. I have an idea for the next novel, which won't be a golf novel, but it needs a lot more thought and research before I begin writing it. So, dear friends, this has been an amazingly rewarding experience for me to share this novel with you. If I never get it professionally published, which I'm attempting to do now, the experience of presenting it to you, as well as a few friends and family, has been rewarding enough. - Jim

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