The Coffee Clutch Conundrum

Richard Ferrum had everything you could ask for, by the time he was the tender age of sixteen, at the same time his school chums were fretting over which gal they were going to take to the Martinwood High School formal, or how they will explain all those C's in Geometry and Earth Science, young Richard was by now acquiring major shares of his family's nationwide Iron Works business. Richard would not have to don any such cap or gown to be in like Flynn and to sit pretty on luxury's lap;  one of the plethora of perks of being born into money, old money, blue-collar money but it was $$ alright. At the time of his seventeenth birthday, Richard was about to inherit this veritable family empire. And although Richard would never have to get his hands or any part of his person dirty and the fact that you would never find a solitary bead of perspiration atop his brow, he did have the arduous responsibility of dropping off his company's takings at the local bank. The parking was just terrible. How much can a mere mortal endure? Richard owned both underpants and  cars that represented each day of the week - Tuesdays were  faithfully assigned to taupe colored y-fronts and a 1934 Ford Window 3 Coupe. How he just j'adored that Ford - which was practically a jalopy in comparison to his other more extravagant vehicles that he would sport Mondays. Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.

In the autumn of 1940, a great influenza epidemic was spreading furious and fast, a local plague infecting all of the employees at the local Ferrum and Sons branch who in turn would take sick leave en masse and now young Richard who was in his latter Twenties now, unmarried but in contention with a couple of gals he had on the go. A murder investigation commenced the summer before when Richard's father Alfredo was found dead of a questionable overdose. Alfredo was discovered by his faithful maid of thirty years, Beatrice Johnson, slumped over his morning coffee on June 3, 1939. There was nobody at the office to brew a pot at the time of the great flu epidemic. Richard at last realized the value of a good cup of coffee. 

In Theatres Now...

Soap Oppers

Always Keep A Song In Your Heart

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Benjamin Bogeys

Poor Benjamin. Benjamin was the most revered caddy at Quickwind Harbor Golf Course, he knew every square inch, every bird and every insect that landed on the greens at the 18-hole beaut that was situated at the outskirts of Tallahassee. Benny set his alarm for 4:15 in the A.M every morning ever since he could remember, in weather inclement or suns that shone, Benny would always be the first to arrive at the  grounds. He was by far the most sought after caddy at the club. Benjamin had an uncanny knack for predicting the wind days before the radio forecasters gave their weather itineraries, he knew just when you needed a 7 iron or a 6 and Benjamin was the eyes and ears of all the members. He had to be. Only the deaf and blind were what you'd call card-carrying members at the Quickwind Harbor Golf Course and thanks to caddies like Benjamin, who was sighted and certainly had no problems with the 'ol lugholes, could be relied upon for helping anyone achieve their finest rounds, and there was never anyone at the Quickwind that carded anything under 130.

On Monday mornings it was normally downtime at Quickwind, Benjamin would bring out his cleeks. mid-mashies, mashie-irons and pitching niblicks and try his hand at the course that was more familiar to him than his one room apartment. But fate's finger could certainly not be any more fickler than it was when it came to Benjamin and his game. He exhausted the whole kit and kaboodle lexicon of golf techniques, followed the footsteps of all the contemporaneous greats and knew every move outside and in, alas  Benjamin was always short on his long game and long on his short game. No one could have given more college tries than Benjamin. Consequently, the only birdies he would come to know were the rambunctious little fellows in the two-grandfather clocks he had in his one room bedsit. Benjamin loved clocks.

Benjamin still attempted to each  Monday  better his golf game to no avail.

Then one Monday an extraordinary event took place.

36-22-34, no those weren't her statistics posted on the front nine, but they were damned well near, for this dame was a dynamo, and no one on the course had the slightest inkling as to how this formidable creature actually did end up at Quickwind, the elusive blonde bore a striking resemblance to Jean Harlow in Dinner at Eight  and she had the kind of swing, Bobby Jones wouldn't have minded borrowing. Benjamin and the groundskeepers were the only ones at Quickwind Harbor that could physically see her. By hook, or by crook Benjamin was going to impress her , maybe she would also take a shine and he could take her out on the town, ( hot dawg)! - what he wouldn't have given to have sported this lovely on his arm.

A cadre of caddies that were never seen before stationed themselves like a taxi line awaiting the next fare - they all disbursed the field and made their way to the Quickwind clubhouse, strategically timed after the bombshell finished her round that came replete with an albatross, and a two-hundred hand clap salute. She posted her score. In the book it went. Officially official now.  The name she signed was Millie Taylor, Benjamin thought it but didn't exclaim it, that the name Millie just wasn't a right fit for such a va-va-voom vixen like her. 

And all it took was one coquettish smile from Millie who was too vivacious a dame for that name  and to that one wee wink and back to the ol' driving board went Benjamin, his first tee-off was an 180 foot power shot, he would make one most colorful eagle followed by a series of pars and a hole in one on 17 and so Benjamin Bogeys bogeyed no more.

Steve The Horse

Ounces of Prevention...