The Annual convention for members of the Arkansas Press Association concluded this past Saturday in Eureka Springs, one of my favorite Arkansas towns. Some of us more athletic press guys always kick the four-day event off with a golf tournament, which had as its venue this year, Holiday Isle. It was my first time on the course and it showed, as evidenced by the loss of three new Titleist Pro VI golf balls, which the lovely ladies at AT&T had donated to our cause.
I also found a ball during the round, which turned out to be magic. It was pink ball, appropriately named “Pink Lady,” so I gave it to Byron Tate, the publisher at the Pine Bluff Commercial, because I knew he’d laugh, which he did. We were just off the green when I handed it to him, facing a putt of at least 50 feet for birdie. Byron and his Pink Lady went last. We all watched silently as the feminine orb rolled ever closer before at last disappearing into the cup. Even the Drive Time Mahatma had a spring to his step on the way to the next tee box.
Then, for some odd reason, the magic ball did not reappear for many holes. Perhaps its new owner forgot its supernatural powers; or maybe it was giving him such a good feeling from his front pocket that he couldn’t part with it.
Finally, after a string of pars, one of us asked Byron to “putt with Pinky,” which he did. We were even further away this time, probably 60 feet. After the rest of us had missed, Byron delicately placed the ball on the green and gave it a firm strike. And once again it rolled and rolled and rolled, perfectly along a straight line, guided by an unseen force, before finally dropping right into the center of the hole. We were amazed!
We came to 18 green and were faced with another long birdie putt, which would have vaulted us into third place (in a five-team field). The Mahatma stepped up to putt third, after Bill Lynch and I had both missed. We were saving Byron and his magic ball for last. But it was never needed as the Mahatma rolled his traditional white ball into the cup for our eighth and final birdie of the day. As for Pinky? Well if you’re in Pine Bluff and you spot a smiling publisher strolling around the town, ask him what he has in his pocket.
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I arose on Saturday, the last day of the convention, to fall-like temperatures, which after triple-digit heat indexes from the days before, felt like a little bit of heaven. Our motel, the Inn of the Ozarks (and Myrtie Mae’s Restaurant) sits very near where the backside of the Historic Loop comes out. Not far in the opposite direction you’ll find some of Bubba’s great Barbeque.
I began a morning walk that took me by Victorian homes with their owners enjoying the beginning of the day with coffee on the front porch. I passed some farmers setting up their market, then the Crescent Hotel and Blue Moon spa, and down the hill past the Writer’s Colony and a home with a “Moving to Hawaii” yard sale.
When I reached the Palace Hotel and Bathhouse, where Kathy and I had arrived so often on late October afternoons for a weekend getaway, I headed up, back towards the Inn, glad to be there and with no longing to move to an island in the Pacific.