The Hollow Men - Episode 31
Sam and Drew's journey along the Texas Gulf Coast continues, Drew plays golf with a couple of salesman, and Stan the Skeleton Man returns with some messages for Drew.
Last week in Episode 30 Drew and Sam, in a homage to John Steinbeck's Travels with Charley, begin their own journey along the gulf coast of Texas.
The Hollow Men is the second collection of not quite true tales of Texas. If you have recently subscribed and like to read things from the very beginning feel free to start with The Cold Days of Summer, the first collection of not quite true tales of Texas. Each episode of The Cold Days of Summer and The Hollow Men contains a link to the previous and next episode so you can easily move through the story line.
Everyone's selling something
As we headed south on Texas Highway 35, I remembered what the Columbia Historical Museum volunteer had told me about the trees that had broken and the trees that bent when I noticed something. The closer we got to the coast the fewer trees we saw. First we drove through Bay City, where we saw large trees similar to what we saw in West Columbia, then we drove through Markham, Blessing and Palacios and the closer we got to the coast the fewer big trees we saw. I'm guessing the storms come through often enough that trees get blown away before they get too big, that or the trees adapt to the weather, lean with the prevailing coastal winds, and stay closer to the ground.
We drove on to Port Lavaca and Lavaca Bay. In Port Lavaca we found a good clean motel, dropped our stuff and drove around the area to gain our footing. We drove past Chocolate Bay, Magnolia Beach and reached the ghost town of Indianola. There were several historical markers to read. While Sam sniffed the grounds I learned that Indianola had been a booming Gulf Coast town until the late 1870s and served as an important port where many immigrants first came to Texas. Two hurricanes, one in 1875 and another eleven years later, in 1886, brought an end to Indianola. The small town never recovered from the first hurricane and had only been partially rebuilt when the 1886 hurricane hit. The remaining survivors left Indianola, never to return.
I was developing a healthy, respectful fear of the power of hurricanes. First there were the children of the orphanage in Galveston, lost in the 1900 storm, along with 6000 others. Then there were the giant oak trees in West Columbia, miles away from the coast, but bent and twisted by the winds of Hurricane Carla. Next was how the land had been transformed by hurricanes over the years, the twisted trees inland and as one gets closer to the coast the bare plains dotted with trees that have grown since the last hurricane. Finally, the ghost town of Indianola, a vibrant port town that after two devastating hurricanes was abandoned.
In West Texas we watched hurricanes with interest and anticipation, particularly those that hit the southern Texas coast or around the Texas/Mexico border. Such storms were tempting promises of rain in the days to come for West Texas, which always seemed to be in a drought or on the verge of one. To West Texas, hurricanes brought the potential of rain, not death and destruction. I knew better now.
Back at the hotel, Sam and I reviewed our travel plans. Once we reached Corpus Christi we were going to stay at Robert Anders' house and spend some time with Robert and Barry Rains. Robert was now managing a restaurant and had Monday and Tuesday off, while Barry had Tuesday and Wednesday off (traditionally slow sports days - Barry was still relatively low on the pecking order at the CBS affiliate he worked at and as a result had to work every weekend). Since it was Saturday we had a couple of days to kill before we drove into Corpus Monday morning. We were staying the night in Port Lavaca and possibly Sunday night as well, then would drive down to Rockport and on into Corpus Monday morning. We just needed to fill the hours between Port Lavaca, Rockport and Corpus. Rockport was a little over an hour's drive from Port Lavaca and from Rockport to Corpus should only take just over a half hour.
Saturday evening Sam and I drove around town looking for a good place to get a burger, fries and a malt. We wound up at a local drive-in about 7:00 pm. I ordered a double cheeseburger, a large order of fries and a vanilla malt. After pulling one hamburger patty out for Sam, we had a good dinner. The real test of malt making is the vanilla malt. You can mask mistakes with enough chocolate or strawberry in a malt but with a vanilla malt there is no place to hide faults in the recipe or mistakes in the execution. In this case, this drive-in had nothing to hide, the vanilla malt was damn good and was a perfect compliment to the burger and fries. Sam and I were both very satisfied. Back at the hotel we settled in for the evening.
There are some days when you wake up you know things will go your way. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but I know when I feel it. I felt it that Sunday morning. I felt good, loose, and yet at the same time, tight, like all of the pieces were fitting just right. After a brief run Sam and I headed to Hatch Bend Country Club, a small semi-private nine hole course a little out side of Port Lavaca on highway 35. It was a lovely Sunday morning, the temperature was moving towards a high in the 80's with a refreshing breeze blowing in from the coast. The clubhouse was small and looking out over the course I could see a few groups playing but it wasn't at all crowded. The pro told me I would have to be paired up with a twosome or threesome and that I could wait on the practice green until he could get me on the course. Sam gnawed on her golf ball while I putted and loosened up with a few practice swings. We hadn't waited long, not more than 20 minutes before the pro walked out to us.
“Got a couple of guys on the first tee that said you can come along with them. They're good guys, a couple of salesman for one of the local oil companies in the area.”
Sam and I walked over to the first tee where the twosome were waiting for us. Bill and Andy were in the mid-thirties at best guess and were friendly as most salesman are. They seemed okay with me but weren't so sure about Sam until I asked her to smile for them. Her smile settled things.
Looking over the score card I didn't see much of a reason to use woods off the tee and decided to mostly use my 2 iron off the tee. Andy hit a sliding fade into the right fairway while Bill hit a bump and run shot down the fairway. I hit a solid two iron down the fairway and the game began.
Like I said earlier, I felt good, loose and tight, loose so I could make a big swing, but tight so everything was working together.
On the 16th hole (on a nine hole course to get a full round in you play the nine holes twice but the second time around from a different set of tees) I had the honor and was at 2 under par for the day. The 16th played as a short par 3, a little over 110 yards long, a nearly full wedge for me. One practice swing and I watched the ball fly towards the hole. As soon as I hit I knew it would be on the green, but not close to the pin. I rolled my hands a little too quick through the shot and the ball drifted to the left as it flew. The ball hit once and came to a quick stop, about 30 feet from the pin. It seems like putting has always been a hit or miss thing for me and my first putt missed, running past the hole about 40 inches. I missed the second putt coming back and tapped in for a bogey. I was pissed as I walked off the hole, Sam realized it and walked quietly beside me.
Bill and Andy just kept talking, they had been talking all day long, about what they did, asking what I did, surprised to hear I was a graduate student, talking about their families, their work, asking what it was like in West Texas and in Austin. They talked, a lot. They weren't good golfers, mostly bogeys with a par every once in awhile and on this hole Andy had made a par and had the honors. He hit another sliding fade, this time just into the right rough.
Number seventeen was a par four, about 330 yards long, with the fairway dropping off into a gully about 270 yards out. I was up second and hesitated on what to do. I was still pissed and was tempted to pull out a driver and try to force the ball onto the green. I imagined a shot like the one Arnold Palmer hit on the first tee of Cherry Hills Country Club in the final round of the 1960 U. S. Open. I could see it clearly in my mind, but then I remembered he had tried that shot in each of the first three rounds and it was only in the fourth round did he pull it off.
I decided to play conservatively, very conservatively. I was angry from the three putt on 16 and could feel the adrenalin surging. I decided to hit a four iron off the tee. I pured it, hit it as dead perfect, and watched the ball fly down the fairway, coming to a stop about thirty yards short of the gully. I was in perfect position about 90 yards from the pin, a full sand wedge for me. Sam and I walked down the fairway while Bill and Andy rode in their cart. Bill and Andy hit their second shots and Bill was up on the green about fifteen feet away after hitting a career shot for him. Andy was on the right fringe of the green. I looked over my shot, thought about it for a minute, took a practice swing and then hit my shot. It was a very good swing and I watched the ball fly straight at the hole, hit the green a few feet short of the pin and come to a stop less than a foot away. Bill and Andy hooted and hollered as Sam and I walked up to the green. Andy hit a nice chip shot to two feet. Bill missed his birdie putt, but made his par putt as did Andy. I tapped in my birdie putt and was back again at two under for the day as we walked to the 18th tee.
I parred the 18th to finish two under for the day. After the round the three of sat around to have a few beers before heading our separate ways. Sam was satisfied with some water and a flip chip I had hidden in my golf bag.
“I don't know about this Literature thing, Drew. Seems like a waste of your talents. You should be a salesman with that golf game.”
“Don't think so, Andy. I like to play golf, but never liked mixing business with pleasure. Besides the fact I don't like sales all of that much. I've done it before.” I was thinking back on my years at VP Tanks as I talked. “You see, I like the making of things better than the selling of things. Add to the fact I can't count on my golf game from day to day. Today I felt good, and the club fit my hands. Tomorrow, who knows? I might not be able to hit the fairway at all. I play by feel, when I feel good I play good, but when the feel is gone I can't hit the broad side of a barn.”
“Still, you're going to be a salesman again some day. I guarantee it.”
Maybe so, I didn't know what the future would bring but this day brought a nice round of golf and the chance to drink a few beers with a couple of good old boys. I had nothing to complain about.
Sam and I drove back to our hotel where I showered the golf course dirt off me while Sam took a nap on the bed.
That night I dreamed, but I did not dream of the field. I was on a beach and the waves were crashing against the sand. Over head was clear sky, surrounded by a wall of clouds. The beach and everything on it was battered by the waves and the wind, but for now the wind was not blowing as best as I could tell.
Stan the Skeleton Man was on the beach walking towards me. I waited until he was near before I spoke.
“Hello, Stan. Where am I? I don't think I've been here before.”
“You haven't. You're in the literal middle of a storm, a hurricane. You're in the eye of the storm.”
As he spoke he looked up at the clear blue sky.
“What's all this mean?”
“That things were shitty before, but for a little bit, everything is fine, then its going to get shitty again.”
“Oh, great, a hurricane as a metaphor for life. That's comforting.”
“Think back to what you know about hurricanes and the land and the people that have to deal with them.”
I did. There was still a lot I didn't know about hurricanes but I had learned a few things on Sam's and my trip to the coast. I thought things over before I said anything.
“You got a choice with a storm. You can either stand up against it or try to bend with it. Standing up against a storm can be a brave, but foolhardy thing. Some storms are too strong to stand up against. All you will get by standing up to a strong storm is broken, maybe lose your entire foundation. On the other hand, if you bend with the storm, you might get beaten up, might even be a little scarred or twisted, but you got a better chance for survival. Like those bent trees in West Columbia. Of course, if you're too close to a monster storm, it really doesn't matter. Sometimes you have to know when to evacuate or pick up stakes and relocate. The people of Indianola realized that after two devastating hurricanes in eleven years. How's that?”
“Not bad, not bad at all. Like you say you've choices with storms. First choice: stay or go. If you stay you got a second choice to make: stand tall against the storm or bend with the winds.”
The wall of the storm was closing in on us and we had to yell in order to hear ourselves above the roar of the wind.
“There's something else you need to know. Everybody's selling something.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Think about it, at some point in time we all are salesman. Think of me. I'm trying to get you to live your life differently. I'm trying to sell you a different kind of life. You're a hard nut to crack, not sure when or if I will close the deal, but one thing I am is persistent. I'm not giving up on this sale.”
I nodded my head as I really didn't have anything to say.
“Now think about yourself, think about all of the ways you act as a salesman. Sure, there's the obvious examples, what you and Rick did, but think about the everyday things. Everyday in class part of what you do is convince the teacher and the other students about your perspective. That's a form of selling. When you applied to graduate school you had to convince them to let you in. When you make a new friend, you act as a salesman, working to convince the other person on the value of the relationship. Sometimes the act of selling is obvious, sometimes it is subtle, but everybody is selling something.”
By now the wind was roaring around us, the rain was lashing at my skin like a thousand little knives, the waves were dancing in the air and the wall of the hurricane was closing in on us.
“Time to go, Drew. I'll see you again soon.”
With that the storm picked up Stan and he was blown away. I started awake and found myself on the bed. Sam was asleep on the foot of the bed. I was drenched in sweat. Once I was sure I was safe in the motel room I closed my eyes and fell quickly back asleep.
Author’s note: In the spring of 1981, right after I graduated from the University of Texas of the Permian Basin and right before I moved to Houston I had a similar experience with two oil field salesman at Golden Acres Country Club. It was a good day tee to green on the course. I shot an even par 70 with two 3 putts. The longest putt I made that day was a three footer. The two salesmen kept telling me I was going to be a salesman one day and I kept saying no, that I had no interest in selling things, that I preferred making things and letting someone else sell them. Years later I realized they were right: everyone is selling something.
Next week, in Episode 32 of The Hollow Men, Drew and Sam spend a few days with Robert and Barry in Corpus Christi and return home to Austin.
such good reading with a cup of coffee