By Don
I enjoyed working at the golf car store. Much of the time I was the only one there, working, selling, delivering and answering the phone. One day I was under a golf car, wiring it for lights, and did not initially realize that a couple was in the shop until I heard the woman's remark disparaging the color of a car on display. So, from under the car came a voice with a German accent that said, “Ve also have one der color of a french vine, but I vould suggest a a Chablis.” I rolled out from under the golf car and made a sale.
Another time I got a call from an angry customer complaining that it was an emergency, his golf car would not run, and it was my fault because when he called on Sunday, no one was working and because of that, he missed his sacrosanct %&% Tee Time. I drove over to his house. I found corrosion on his battery cables, a result of his ignorance relative to keeping them clean, and read him the riot act. At the time, the Iraq war was in full "shock and awe.” I told him that if my wife was in a car accident, that was an emergency, if my son who was a Navy pilot in Antarctica was missing, that was an emergency, and I did not like his attitude. To some golfers, usually retired, sometimes wealthy, nothing in life was more important than a favorable tee time, his golf handicap, and the quality of his golf car.
Another time I was in the middle of talking to a couple, was interrupted by a phone call, and excused myself. The customers heard some of the incoming call. It was a man selling workmen's insurance and he asked about “our” health plan. I told him we had one and it was hanging on the wall next to the phone. I explained that it was a first aid kit and if I hurt myself at work I would be taken home to drip on my garage floor to prove that it was not work related. He hung up, the couple laughed, and I made another sale. I even sold a car to the former second highest army general, now retired. He told me he wanted a windshield on the back of the car. I told him I would put one on. He repeatedly told me about the windshield, giving me the impression his army experience was that not everyone listened to him. The next time he commented about the windshield I told him…”It’s okay General, I used to be an Admirals’ pilot, when delivered it will have a rear windshield.” He smiled and we got along fine.
Another time I was making a delivery with a golf car on the truck’s trailer when a Moma Quail led about ten babies across the road. I braked and swerved but ran over tail end Charlie who did not make it. I felt bad for the rest of the day, consoling myself with the rationalization, “That was why they had so many babies, what’s one death.” I made deliveries to women whose husbands passed away and left them with a big car. In one case, a widow did not know how to drive. So I sold a golf car as her daughter’s solution, delivered it and showed her how to charge and drive it.
Doris and I had a Cushman golf car. Cushman was known for making motor scooters but made a few golf cars. I rehabbed one from 1968 and it became ours. It was a classic and ran well but was slower than most. Two men going to play golf usually alternated taking one or the others golf car. Speed was usually a requirement but not for our classic oldie. I told a WWII vet from across the street that he drove his golf car as if he was over Chittagong, in his B-24 making a bomb run. It was better going fast in the heat because we took our hats off going downhill for the chill. There were rattlesnakes among the cacti along the gold course. Sometimes one left his ball to the snake rather than reach to pick it up. I played 18 holes about twice a week and loved the game, but found its major characteristic to be it made for too much humility. That can be tough on the ego. Fortunately, you only remember the good shots.
I usually made one solo hike each week up a nearby mountain or on another trail. Another neighbor chastised me for going on a four hour hike alone. I explained that I went alone for the...wait for it...solitude. It was peaceful, being up a thousand feet and looking down at where we lived. Other times Doris and I hiked the many trails in the Tucson area, across streams and through areas of trees and shrubbery not usually associated with the so-called desert.
Every few years, just the right amount of rare spring rain came along and parts of the desert went wild with blooming flowers. Most cactus plants also bloomed and there were many animals and birds when one just stopped making noise, sat down, and took it all in. Of course one had to account for the summer heat. We bought the Honda in Colorado which did not require any A/C. I told Doris I would put a little rotating rubber fan in front of the steering wheel. Doris, doubtful, me certain, said let us go shopping. About three stops later the steering wheel was too hot to touch. It lasted about a week and we got the car air conditioned. Speaking of A/C, the Saddlebrooke night temperatures were about 8-9 degrees less than PHX which made for a much lower electric bill which was from a local co-op. We still get small annual checks from them.
Besides many flowering plants, each with their own drip system, we started a garden. We had tomatoes, some early lettuce, and green peppers. This too was watered automatically. We had a bobcat visit our yard at night, swatting a cactus that had a birds nest. It also plopped down outside our lanai one morning. We had a Moma Javalina and three little ones cavort in our yard one night and I shooed them away and down the street in my slippers and boxer shorts at 2 AM. Sadly, no photos were made of this event.
I think we could have stayed in Saddlebrooke much longer than we did but circumstances have a habit of being overtaken by events. So it is on to...I cannot remember. I am getting to the short term memory...Could it be Florida?