Richard Rotman

Curiously, Glencoe, Illinois, population less than 10,000, possesses three golf courses – the public Glencoe Golf Club, Skokie Country Club, and Lakeshore Country Club, the latter perhaps America’s only golf course adjacent to a synagogue, North Shore Congregation Israel. Growing up in the Sixties, I lived on Fairfield Rd., three houses from the public course.

At night, I’d walk my golden retriever, Sandy, on the course and let him off the leash, free to roam. One evening he crashed into the thicket by the heavily-wooded second hole and returned with something in his mouth, dropping an almost-new golf ball at my feet.

As a caddy, I knew that golfers often sliced balls there. Out came more balls on our nightly walk, where no human could ever find them, even in daylight. Eventually, as the summer wore on, we had 300 or more almost brand-new high quality balls.

When my father boasted about the dog to his golfing friends, they thought it was a tall tale and challenged him to prove it. He woke me up and we went to a place where I didn’t usually look for balls, at Orchard and Longmeadow Lanes. The fairway was close to the street. Sandy didn’t find anything, and the men congratulated my dad on his funny joke.

But my golden would not leave. He parked himself next to a tree and stood his ground. Finally, someone shined a light at the tree, where a golf ball was nestled between two branches, astonishing the disbelieving men.

Apparently, my dad won the bet.