by Stephen Alexander

Created on: June 11, 2008

The Pond

On the western edge of the neighborhood I grew up in, there was a small pond known variously as Chandler's or Shanley's Pond. Whether this is a trick of memory or the latter is a mere bastardization of the former, I do not know. This pond figures prominently in the tales I will regale the reader with here. As kids, we skated here in winter and fished in summer. There was no swimming as the pond was hopelessly polluted by the time I was introduced to it.

The pond was at the foot of a slope that led down from a country club and terminated in a small wood this was later replaced by a housing development. As a boy, I spent a lot of time as a caddy at this golf course. One incident, in particular, stands out. On Mondays, caddies were allowed to use the course at no charge. As we were young and foolish with our money, this constituted a real advantage. A day of free golf was just the ticket for boys of thirteen young and fancy-free.

The ninth hole was a par three short enough to be reached on a tee shot by even young golfers. As such, foursomes would gather on the tee awaiting the call from the foursome putting to tee off. On this particular day a group of two or three foursomes was gathered, standing in a circle. When the call came from the putting green, only one boy in all the groups noticed.

This lad addressed his ball without any comment to those assembled. He drew a mighty backswing directly into the circle and, as luck would have it, drove his iron smack into my face. This knocked me cold and when I awakened the club pro was ministering to me. He assured me I was okay and my father was on his way to take me to the hospital. When my dad arrived, he picked up a tooth that had been knocked out and thrust it up into my jaw.

Later on, the doctor proclaimed this action to be fortuitous, as it probably saved the tooth. After nearly forty years of being told that this tooth was dead and should be extracted a dentist did just that relieving me of my tooth but not my memory of my dad's quick thinking. On the way to the hospital I caught a glimpse of my smashed countenance in the chrome molding around the window frame. I could see clear through the wound and into my mouth all blood-red and green.

This sight unnerved me as I considered myself relatively good looking and thought that my face was going to be forever disfigured. Something of in my expression must have communicated this to the doctor attending me as he reassured me the wound was drawn in a line that followed

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