Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
It was hard to believe that Tom could have got himself a degree in Electrical Engineering at a prestigious Eastern Canadian university (leading him to a job with an Edmonton construction firm) and still learned to play golf as well as he did. He was not particularly long off the tee but he was always on the fairway. His iron shots were slow and deliberate but if the green was reachable in two he was usually there. Even if he had left himself a long putt he would put his first attempt within 'gimme' distance. As a result his round of golf tended to appear boring, Bobby Locke style, but his final score was anything but boring--par or a few strokes above par usually! The rest of us had much more exciting rounds; by the time we reached the green we had been in the sand traps, in the water, in the woods--you name it, we'd been there!
The road from Edmonton to Jasper was still under construction in the late forties but a group of us tried to make the trip at least once a year in spite of the obstacles. There was one stretch not far from Edson where D-8 tractors were kept on standby to haul automobiles through the heavy mud.
Gunner and I were regulars and on this occasion we took Craig along with us for the sake of fraternal and social reasons and Tommy's sake to demonstrate for our mutual benefit the proper way to play the game. Craig, a star NHL hockey player, had a certain reputation around Edmonton for his unusual appetite for the suds. His thirst overcame him at a liitle town called Gainford where he spotted a hotel which had 'off limit' beer sales. We had just enough room for two dozen cool ones which were adequate to appease Craig--and the rest of us.
By pleasant coincidence an old skiiing buddy of mine was in summer residence at the time in her splendid lakeside cottage in the area. I don't remember how we communicated but our golfing group ended up turning her chalet into the 19th hole. She was an excellent cook and a first-rate hostess and insisted that we all stay and help her consume the delicious stew she was cooking. It was not long before we consumed all of our beer, all of her beer, all of her neighbor's beer and got down to drinking hard liquor. I recall the green peas in the marvellous stew she made and the red and green label on the liqueur (presumably creme de menthe!) we drank after dinner; everything else was starting to get fuzzy!
By the time we got around to a serious discussion of the swimming possibilities offered by the adjacent lake my friend had long since bundled her children off to bed. The lady in the next chalet was married to a successful bone doctor who was absent at the time and also absent most of the rest of the time. Her children had also been sent to bed. The result of the ladies' free time and boredom during their week was the creation of a 'teeny weeny tiny polka dot bikini' which they graciously offered to me as a swim suit.
There was a rowboat tied up at the dock and my fellow golfers had wasted no time getting aboard with the next door neighbor lady and setting out for a tiny island in the middle of the lake. By the time I had donned the miniscule bikini and entered the lukewarm lake water I could hear the near-distant sounds of revelry drifting across the water from the island.
I was swimming in a leisurely fashion toward the island when I intercepted a partial boatload returning to the chalet. The ensuing conversation was less than redemptive and I don't remember whether I was trying to climb aboard or just playing 'silly buggers' but the passengers were eventually tipped into the water. The neighbor lady began swimming to shore in a practiced way so I ignored her and directed my attention to Craig who was floundering about in the water in an ominous way.
'I can't swim,' he gurgled. I was amazed; I took it for granted that any professional athlete would be a seasoned swimmer. I pondered for a moment whether he meant that he couldn't swim at all, or that he was too drunk to swim effectively. After he'd taken another mouthful of lake water I decided that it was academic and manoeuvred myself around behind him. I knew that if he wasn't joking and managed ever to get me in a bear hug we'd both be written off.
'I'll hold your head out of the water,' I said. 'Just relax and kick your feet and everything'll be just fine,' I said soothingly. 'Just don't try to turn around and grab me, okay?
'Okay!' Craig seemed to be reasonably relaxed and we made it to shallow water in about ten minutes. I helped him ashore and pointed him in the direction of the cottage lights then returned to the lake. The boat was floating semi-submerged about where I expected it to be so I dragged it back to the island where the only ones still marooned were Tommy and my lady hostess. Tommy's drunken attempt at a seductive 'towel dance' was in no way as effective as his golf game; it was disgusting actually, especially when he attempted a 'flash' from time to time. I considered having him swim back to the cabin as a form of punishment but decided I didn't want a drunken 'drownee' on my conscience too. Mind you, he was an Easterner and might never be missed! Just joking!
Arriving back at the chalet I felt modestly heroic; I'd saved a man from drowning, retrieved a foundered boat, disciplined a horny drunk and modeled a new bathing suit! But what did I encounter? A room full of silent, sullen people being lectured about inebriate behaviour by a short, balding, bespectacled man in a three-piece suit. It was the 'bone doctor'.
'You!' he cried. ''you're responsible for all of this!'
'Piffle!' I said. By this time I had moved over to stand in front of the fireplace which had a roaring fire thanks to the foresight of the early arrivals. I presume that I was less than a daunting spectacle standing there with my arms folded and dressed in my itsy bitsy bikini.
'You nearly drowned my wife,' he cried. I recalled his wife swimming expertly toward shore. He was indulging in hysterical hyperbole. Hey! I'm supposed to be the drunk around here!
'Chicken dribble!' I said, waving my hand as though shooing flies. This apparently served only to enrage the unhappy husband to a further degree. His wife had previously left the premises, presumably to avoid further embarrassment resulting from his choleric behaviour. He continued to rant in spite of the obvious disgruntlement of his sullen audience.
'Heifer dust!' I said in response to his latest tirade. I was running out of suitable gentlemanly responses to his ongoing harangue. I was about to use the term 'Horse hockey' when he finally appeared to become aware that he was being mocked and turned on his heel and departed. I had warmed up by this time and went in to a side room and changed back into some sensible clothing. It was obvious that the party had passed its peak, however, and the lads had begun to look at their watches with concern. Tommy had to be at work the next day and Gunner was still interning at the hospital. Craig decided to go back to Edmonton with them and they took off shortly before midnight. I accepted the offer of a bed for the night and stayed over.
The next day I went out on the boat to the scene of the previous night's action. The sun was shining, the water was calm and crystal clear and we were able to spot the missing items that lay on the mud-free bottom only ten or fifteen feet below. I dove for about three quarters of an hour and we returned to the lodge with a white horsehide rug some drunk had carried to the boat, an expensive camera, a pair of slip-on shoes and assorted other unusual items.
I returned to Edmonton by train that afternoon and when I returned to Calgary I had no difficulty acting dumb when curious persons asked questions regarding the events in Jasper. During the ensuing years Gunner would keep me posted on the mood of the 'bone doctor'. We eventually arrived at a form of truce which comprised a non-confrontational exchange of polite greetings on occasion. I was present at a dinner hosted by one of his daughters many years after the events at the lake when he approached me. I guess we'd both had a couple of belts of the old juice and he was obviously overcome by its avuncular effect.
'You know, Ron,' he said confidentially, 'I've always been very fond of your wife!'
'That's okay, Doc,' I replied, 'I've always been very fond of your wives!' I seemed to have said the wrong thing. I saw him berating his daughter in the dining room moments later and he departed shortly thereafter, red faced and angry.
'I guess I should have known better than to have you two at the same time,' his daughter said ruefully as my wife and I were leaving sometime later. I think she summed it up correctly.
— The End —