For a few months during my golf career, I was assigned to work at Dumas Golf Course in Baker, Louisiana. On busy weekends, or if a tournament was in play, I would assume the duties of Course Marshall. One afternoon I was riding the course, helping the cart boy pick up flags. I drove up to the water hazard near the green of hole number 2 and stepped out to grab the flag. A great bubbling began in the middle of the water, and my first thought was that a big alligator was coming after me.
Our of the water jumped a tall black man, with bushy hair. His eyes were large and round as he stared at me while taking a deep breath. I ran back to the cart and slammed my foot on the gas petal, causing the brake to pop from its locked position. I headed to the club house (at all of 10 mph in that super-fast cart) to alert the Pro.
Me: “There’s a gangster monster in the water hazard on hole number 2!”
The Pro: “A what?”
Me: “A gangster monster. He jumped out of the pond. He looks like a starving Neptune.”
The Pro: “Show me.”
He grabbed a sand wedge for a weapon, and we set out to observe this gangster monster from a safe distance. He was walking around in the water, with his Triton, which I later found out was a homemade golf ball grabber.
The Pro: “That’s just Wolf. He’s the ABC Man.”
Me: “The What?”
The Pro: “The ABC Man. He hustles a$$, balls, and cans.”
The rest of that summer I tried to work on my golf game but kept hitting my pink golf balls into the ditches and ponds until I was depleted of my stock. Desperate times call for desperate measure, so I went in search of Wolf to negotiate a sale., I found Wolf’s living quarters in the wooded area behind the tee box of hole number 5. It looked like something out of a storybook, with the overgrown woods as his walls. He even had laundry hanging out to dry.
He sold me a dozen golf balls for a quarter each. They were all pink.