Lagniappe: The Piddling Oaks Gang ... and other tales from the microwave

By James Dawson

These are short stories based on musings of a seasoned citizen. Some are preposterous and others just posterous, according to the author. They are sprinkled with oddly named fictional characters, some based on real people. You could call the author a Cracker Barrel philosopher, but that might be an insult to the restaurant chain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Nov 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781662906268

Book preview

heart.

LAGNIAPPE

Lanyap is the phonetic spelling of lagniappe, a Creole word that means something given as an extra gift, bonus, or a small gift given with a purchase.

It is tossed around with impunity in New Orleans, south Louisiana and parts of southwest Mississippi and southeast Texas and is said to come French and Spanish.

I like the word a lot, and wish I had invented it — but some merchant in the 1850s beat me to it.

I didn’t invent O.F. either, but I live in an active adult community full of Old Farts and at age 85 I am qualified to use it.

Some O.F. in Springfield at Whitney Oaks are also FIPs -- doctors, rocket scientists, engineers, military brass, judges, psychologists, captains (or lieutenants) of industry, professors, musicians and such.

A FIP is a Formerly Important Person, a rank that is attained one day after retirement. You may have been high tone in your day, but no more — and there is much to like about the anonymity of FIPhood. Part of mine is having time to ruminate on things of little import and pour them into short stories — microwaved fiction.

One of the cool things about FIPhood is that when someone you know passes away, his or her obituary lets you in on undiscovered secrets. Often the person has achieved something noble, and is a veritable saint. And you say to yourself, Gee, I didn’t know . . . or I would have treated him (or her) with more respect.

There are more sumbitches around today than ever -- politics and cable TV are loaded with ‘em -- but most O.F. are mellow and satisfied with their bodies of work.

This book of lagniappe is for all of the Old Farts out there, some of the FIPs and a few whippersnappers.

THE PIDDLING OAKS GANG

The Ford dealer’s putt was headed for the cup when a white blur swept up the ball and raced off the 18th green.

Sumbitch, screamed Bubba Beecham. That was for three skins.

Bubba flung his Odyssey putter at the rat terrier dog. It dropped the ball and skipped away from harm. The $100 golf club somersaulted twice and landed in a pond behind the green.

Pissant! Get outta here, yelled Mike Lowe, proprietor of Piddling Oaks Golf Club. He and the little dog were spectators at the weekly game played by five prominent citizens of Hogeye.

Beecham grew red-faced as his playing partners doubled over in laughter.

Well, I guess we go to a playoff, said the Reverend Cotton Flock, who had become the fivesome’s rules maker because of his reputation for honesty.

‘Bull . . . sheet, screamed Beecham. That ball was still moving. It was going in! I win!"

No, Bubba. There’s a rule for what happened. Let me look it up.

The Reverend Flock always carried a USGA rules book, but seldom used it. His word was gospel with the group.

Let’s see here — I believe that could be covered by Rule 9.3 Ball Moved By Natural Forces . . . hmm . . . wait, I believe it is Rule 9.6 Ball Moved by Outside Influence.

A heated discussion followed. Was Pissant a Natural Force or Outside Influence? Either way there was no penalty, and the ball had to be played from its original spot.

Its original spot was one inch from the cup, according to a vote of the participants. Bubba Beecham claimed the ball was still moving and would have trickled into the cup.

That is horse puckey, you guys! shouted Bubba. It ain’t the money, it’s the principle of the thing.

The skins were worth $30.

We’ll have to play Number 18 again, said Reverend Flock.

OK with me, said Goober Gerber.

Me too, said Gomer Gerber, his twin brother.

I’ll make it unanimous, said Wade Fuggins, editor of the Hogeye Herald and the other member of the fivesome.

The group had decided early on that politics was not to be discussed on the golf course, but would be confined to the 19th hole. Beecham couldn’t resist.

Bunch of friggin’ Democrats, he said.

Reluctantly, Beecham agreed to replay the 18th hole. But I want that little sumbitch off the course, he said, looking in vain for the terrier.

Lowe had coaxed Pissant with a Cheeto into the pro shop, where the dog’s owner, Wanda Webb, had been watching the excitement from behind the cash register.

Wanda, a buxom blonde known by club members as the Velcro Vixen, laughed as Lowe shooed Pissant toward her. The tri-colored terrier tilted his head to the side, anticipating a lecture — or another cheese snack.

Dammit Wanda, you got to keep that dog in the building when there’s someone playing the 18th. I don’t give a crap if he catches every rat in the county, he don’t belong on the golf course.

OK, said Wanda, suppressing a smile.

Lowe walked out of the pro shop. Pissant stared after him, raised his left hind leg and urinated on a $399 Callaway Hawkeye driver.

Justice was served on the replay of the 410-yard Number 18.

Beecham drained a toddy from his thermos, then struck his best drive of the day. He drilled a 7-wood onto the front edge of the green and rolled in a 15-foot putt for a birdie.

Had to be my day, he said, pocketing the $30 payoff. Now I gotta get out of here. I’ve got an Explorer and two pickup trucks coming in this afternoon.

Many golf courses do not allow fivesomes and Piddling Oaks enforced the foursome limit until business fell off. Mike Lowe urged a four-hour tour of his 18 holes, but that was seldom accomplished.

Since you are such good customers and have a Reverend in your group, I’ll allow your fivesome, Lowe said. And you can have a few minutes extra.

The Piddling Oaks gang played as a fivesome each Thursday morning at 8, and Lowe knew they would need almost five hours for their competition. Their handicaps ranged from 16 to 22. They sometimes played scratch, which encouraged creative scorekeeping and improved lies. The foot wedge became an essential weapon.

Sometimes they played Screw Your Buddy, a game dreamed up one rainy day at the Burger Barn in the town of Hogeye.

The rules for Screw Your Buddy were few. Each member of the fivesome got to hit a tee shot for one buddy. The victim buddy then removed two clubs from the bag of the gentleman who had driven for him.

Putters and wedges vanished quickly. And 3-woods became scarce.

In addition, each member was allowed one hand wedge and one foot wedge shot.

The arithmetic became disputed at times, but Reverend Flock was regarded as omnipotent with the rules.

Screw Your Buddy became the fivesome’s most spirited game, because it more or less negated the cheating instincts of the quick-footed Gerber twins. Gomer and Goober were especially talented at nudging the ball into a good lie with their white FootJoys.

At least once a round, one of the twins would pick up a ball to identify it. It’s mine, he would yell. Then he would set it on a tuft of grass where it offered an easy shot.

The Ford dealer, a whiz at numbers in his office, often forgot his score, requesting an accurate count from the Reverend.

I believe you had an eight, the Rev would say after Bubba had struggled home with an OB and three-putt.

No, it was a seven, said Bubba.

I’m pretty sure it was an eight, one of the twins would say.

How the hell do you know? You were kicking your ball.

Fuggins usually stayed out of the argument, preferring to let the twins and Bubba get upset. The Rev became so distracted that he sometimes forgot his own score.

Screw Your Buddy made its debut on Labor Day, 2005. Reverend Flock tossed a tee and it pointed at Gomer. Gomer had the honors, followed by Fuggins, Bubba, Goober and Reverend Flock.

The game was on.

The first hole at Piddling Oaks is a straight par 4, 361 yards from the middle tees with a wide open fairway. There are traps on the left side at 155 and 205 yards and a short rough on the right. It is rated the second easiest hole on the course.

I will hit my tee shot first, announced Gomer, and then hit one for my buddy.

He hit a 3-wood off the tee, a slight fade that landed about 220 yards away. Now I’m going to take my Screw Your Buddy shot for my old pal — Goober.

Goober pitched him an ancient TopFlite and watched his brother tee up the well-traveled ball.

You boys ready for this? said Gomer. Watch closely.

The elder Gerber twin took out his driver and made three whiplash practice swings.

Whoosh…whoosh….whoosh, sang the driver.

Now this is for real, he said.

He addressed the ball carefully, took a mighty swing.

The ball did not move.

What the hell was that? said Goober.

That was your drive. You are lying one, said his brother.

Dang, Gomer. You can’t even take advantage of the rules. You could have slugged it out of bounds, muttered Bubba. Then he’d be hitting three.

We’re new at this, said the Reverend. He’ll get the hang of it.

I get to take two clubs from Gomer, right? said Goober.

That is correct under the rules, said Wade.

OK podner, you can do without these for the next 18 holes, said Goober. He removed Gomer’s putter and sand wedge, placing them in his own bag. The advantage he had given the twin by whiffing the drive was negated by removing those most useful clubs.

Brotherly love was not always observed at Piddling Oaks.

*. *. *

Some real strategy would surface as the five gained experience at Screw Your Buddy, but on that first day all buddy shots were gone after five holes.

Tee shots into the high rough and ponds were in fashion. No putters remained, so 3-irons and 4-irons became useful implements on the greens.

The hand wedge shots were used strategically, near the greens. The Reverend took a fried egg lie from a bunker beside the third green and tossed the ball underhand toward the pin. The ball rolled into the cup for a birdie. It was a hand wedge shot that would be a Piddling Oaks legend.

Sheee-it, said Bubba. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

No one else came close to holing a hand wedge. The best foot wedge shot of the day came from Wade. He kicked a ball out of the high rough on the 16th hole