Ted At Hole Three

Ted at Hole Three

by Damian Gomez

Feb 14, 2017

Characters have been combined and events have been condensed. These are my memories; I am the teller of my own story. Certain episodes are imaginative recreation. To protect the privacy of others, names have been changed and characters conflated. Etc.

     Tucked away in Bonita Valley, just south of the city of San Diego, lies a golf course that I've been frequenting for the last seven years. I don't play golf but I do utilize the three mile long jogging trail that wraps around the golf course. Managed and maintained by the local golf club, the course is lush with eucalyptus trees, well kept greens and beautiful ponds that are teaming with various forms of wildlife. The wildlife isn't restricted to the greens and ponds, it can also be found along the jogging trail. I've seen great egrets, wild coyotes and along the outskirts of the golf course, on the southwest side, is where a group of homeless men congregate. They're typically a small group of about two or three men who greet runners with a friendly wave and smile while inconspicuously consuming liquor wrapped in brown paper bags. Some of the men stand while others prefer to sit on a small set of stairs that connects the jogging trail to a neighboring parking lot. At the center of this group is an older gentleman named Ted who heads a small guerrilla style operation in which he retrieves lost golf balls from the course and then sells them at a competitive price to interested golfers. After becoming acquainted with Ted, I arranged to spend a day (my 41^st birthday to be exact) on the course with him to hang out and shoot photos.

     I arrived at the golf course around 3:30pm on what started as a wet and cold Saturday but by the time I met up with Ted, the clouds were beginning to disperse. I parked my vehicle in the parking lot of a nearby library and after traversing about a quarter mile along a muddy jogging trail, I found Ted sipping on a small bottle of tequila that he had purchased earlier from the local liquor store. He had two large egg crates that were nearly full of golf balls and explained to me that despite the weather, it had been a busy morning for him. Moving effortlessly down the steps without the use of a cane or handrail, Ted made his way onto the green and looked off into the distance, “There was some type of tournament earlier this morning, I think they were Korean”. After taking another quick and discreet sip from his tequila, he said “Hole three, par four”. Being that I've never played a round of golf in my life, I was a bit confused. Ted broke from his distant stare and turned to me, “This is hole three and it's a par four”, he went on to further explain the meaning of par to me. At eighty-one years of age, Ted has managed to retain his vitality and sense of humor. “I don't go into the water to retrieve lost golf balls, there's people that do that though” he explains while pulling a golf ball from one of the egg crates. “This here is a Bridgestone ball”, he rotates the ball to show me the brand name, “it's one of my best sellers, they really like this one”. Ted proceeded to school me on the different types of golf balls and their varying degrees of hardness which golfers take into account before deciding which ball to purchase. Our conversation was briefly interrupted by some golfers who caught Ted's attention. He wasted no time and excused himself from the conversation so that he could tend to his curious customers. Grabbing up one of the golf balls from his egg crate, he presented it to one of the golfers who had taken a particular interest. I took advantage of the moment to snap a few photos of Ted's golf balls and the bottle of tequila that he placed beside the lamp post. The entire area was urine stained and reeked of stray cat as if this was a place where alley cats fucked and dined after hours. Ted made his way back after failing to make the sale and returned the golf ball back to its place in the egg crate. He took another swig from his tequila and wiped his well groomed mustache and beard with his free hand. Oddly, he reminded me of a character from the Earnest Hemingway novel “Old Man and the Sea”, I guess he just struck me as the type of guy who probably knew how to sail a boat. “Why do I do this?” Ted said unexpectedly, “I do this because it's an excuse for me to be here drinking beer. If I were standing here everyday and just drinking beer, what are these people [golfers, joggers, walkers] gonna think? They would think that I'm some old fool but I'm workin', I'm sellin' golf balls and I just happen to be having a beer in the mean time”.

      During the duration of my visit with Ted, several transients stopped by to see him. Ted would introduce each one of them to me as they passed through. I was met with peculiar looks and questions as to what I was doing there. One of the guys asked Ted to loan him a couple of dollars and without any reluctance, Ted reached into his pocket and handed over the money. There was one transient in particular who rode up on a bicycle. He was a big dude and looked kind of menacing as if he was recently released from jail. Ted became really nervous and I immediately took notice to the change in his body language. He [Ted] was now clutching his tequila and nervously looking over my shoulder at the transient who had parked his bicycle and now had taken up a position leaning against a nearby car. For whatever reason, this guy kept his distance and refused to interact with Ted while I was there. He eventually grew tired of waiting and rode off on his bike. It was a slightly tense moment but I didn't feel as if I was in any real danger. “Do you guys ever get hassled out here?” I asked while changing the lens to my camera. Ted pointed further down the golf course and replied, “I was out there earlier this morning drinking a beer and cleaning a handful of golf balls. Some club members approached me and told me that I wasn't allowed on the course...I didn't argue with them. The cops have been here multiple times for different reasons but they don't seem to mind us drinking back here [along the jogging track] as long as we have our beer covered up in paper bags...they've been cool with us.” Ted again became distracted by a passing golfer, “Hey Rod, how ya' doin'?!” he yells. Ted turned back to me and continued “Yea, ..no more than 10% of the people who jog or walk by here, you know, ..you can see it in their face, it's a judgmental thing. The other 90% are nice people who don't mind us being here”.

     As time passed Ted became more intoxicated and his eyes were beginning to go in and out of focus. He struck a few (what could only be described as) fighting poses for the camera while clasping his bottle of tequila in one hand. He slowly began to open up and tell me more about himself as the alcohol circulated throughout his body. I was surprised to learn that Ted used to drive a cab in San Francisco before moving to San Diego. He feels that the time spent behind the steering wheel of a cab sharpened his awareness and his ability to perceive possibly dangerous situations and/or individuals. I inquired into how he ended up in San Diego and listened as he explained that he had moved here to San Diego to live with his brother who was suffering from a medical condition, but after a series of unfortunate events (including the loss of his brother) he ended up on the streets. Unlike many of the other transients that reside in that area though, Ted owns a car which doubles as his home. “Hey you wanna take a drive down to the freeway and go pick up Brent?”, Brent is Ted's buddy who was “signing” down at the freeway exit a few blocks away from where we were. “Signing” is another name for panhandling or begging and is a common sight in San Diego. Ted gathered up his golf balls and tossed his now empty bottle of tequila in the garbage. Going against my better judgment, I hopped in the car with Ted and we were off to go look for Brent. For a guy who just drank a bottle of tequila, Ted demonstrated superb driving skills. The experience reminded me of when I was a young boy and my father would sometimes take me for a drunk drive on the weekends. The interior of Ted's car was rather clean with aged white leather seats. There were books, clothes and boxes of old photos stacked in the back seat. As we passed Sweetwater Summit Regional Park, Ted pointed out the window and told me that he had lots of friends that live off in the “bush” as he called it. “I don't like staying in the bush, it's easy to get infections out there”, he explained while doing his best to navigate the road. “Damian, you'd be surprised to learn how content most of those people are though. They're not going anywhere...nobody will hire them so yea.” We pulled into a Burger King parking lot that was situated near the freeway exit and Ted went out to look for Brent as I waited in the car. I began think to myself just how vulnerable we all are and that it's possible for anyone of us to end up just like Ted under the right circumstances. There was a slight sense of empathy that was developing underneath my emotionless poker face and I tried to imagine myself sleeping in a car every night at the age of eighty-one. It may appear to those who live elsewhere that southern California is always warm but the truth is that it can get really cold at night, especially during the winter. Ted returned to the car by himself, “I couldn't find Brent” he said with a concerned look on his face, “He must have went back to his campsite”. Ted closed the car door and we made our way to the golf course.

     Once back at the golf course, I made good use of the remaining time that I had left with Ted and inquired further into his past. I learned that Ted had served in the Army for a short period and was stationed in France during the Cold War. He had fond memories of his time spent abroad, I could see it in his eyes as he talked about his experiences while living in France. Ted offered to share some photos of himself with me and I was treated to some really vintage looking photos of him in Germany and another photo of him sailing a boat with his mother in the San Francisco Bay. One photo in particular caught my eye, it was a photo of a younger version of him donning a full beard and unique straw hat. I snapped a photo of him holding the photo and listened as he revealed to me that his true passion is skiing. “If I won the lottery, I would move to a ski area. The only reason that I don't do it now is because it's too expensive”, Ted said looking to change the subject. I listened as he reminisced about his days spent on the snowy slopes at various resorts throughout the country. As it turns out, Ted has received advanced medical training and was once involved with the ski patrol. Ted credits his late older brother for getting him out of trouble and into skiing at a very young age. “My older brother was pretty good at skiing and he got me into it because I was starting to kick up a little hell...not much though. He invited me to go skiing with him and his fiancé”, Ted said with a certain excitement in his voice, “it's pretty heavy if you think about it because he's an older guy, a World War Two veteran, who's with a lady that he might marry and they're taking me along?!” Ted feels that skiing served as a positive outlet for him and after completing his service in the Army, he acquired a job working at a ski resort in Vermont. It was after working at the ski resort that he became involved with the ski patrol. We continued to discuss an array of other subjects ranging from history to religion. The sun slowly began to set while the sight of passing golfers and joggers became few and far between. It was getting cold, the stench of stray cat was beginning to stick to my clothes and we were slowly running out of things to talk about so we both decided that it was time for us to part ways.

     Ted and his posse have intrigued me for years and it took some time (and an episode of near heat exhaustion) for me to build rapport with them. I'm thankful for the time that Ted spent talking to me and for allowing me into his life for that brief period of time. I wish nothing but the best for Ted and I'll continue to look forward to seeing him (and his buddy's) every time that I round that southwest corner of the jogging trail.