Judge — April 1938 — page 30: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CRAZY GOLF N English country squire, sitting recently as local magistrate, was embarrassed when a friend was brought before him charged with violating an ancient local ordinance prohibiting “gentlemen from cursing in a public place.” It appeared that the magistrate’s friend had done a particularly handy job on a nearby ninth hole, had been overheard by an elderly lady with whom he had a lifetime feud, and had been summoned on her complaint. The magistrate, himself a golfer, heard testimony and took the case un- der uneasy advisement. The following week he rendered his decision: “Whereas the defendant undoubtedly cursed, which he admits, it is held that the defendant, by cursing, ceased tem- porarily to be a gentleman. The law as written, therefore, cannot be evoked in this instance. Case dismissed.” Here are the letters that earn their writers a dozen balls apiece this month: FLAMING MATCH I had driven straight down the nar- row fairway, to avoid driving over the triangular out-of-bounds, which is marked off with a wire fence and steel posts. Since my tee shot was short, I found the corner fence post between me and the green, but decided to ap- proach over it. I was carrying in the side pocket of my knickers a handful of “parlor matches"’—young logs with a dab of sulphur that will strike anywhere. In the same pocket were some coins and a key-ring. I took my stance and shot. The ball hit the fence post, bounced By Alec Duncan back at me, and—you guessed it—hit that side pocket. The matches ignited and I gave a first class imitation of a July 4th pinwheel. Net result: One pair of ruined knickers, one scorched leg, and one wrecked disposition. E. F. Bassingwaite, Oakes, N.D. FLOATING DIVOTS At the Hinsdale Golf Club in Illinois there is a water hole not much over 100 yards. I was driving with the wind at my back. With my iron I lifted a divot about the size of a dinner plate, which landed flat on the water; the tee remained in the divot, with the ball still on the tee. The wind blew the divot across the pond to the opposite bank. I chipped the ball onto the green from its original position on the tee, which was still stuck in the divot. I then holed out in one, and my opponents conceded me a par on the hole. R. H. A. Green, Chicago, IIL. TARZAN OF THE LINKS Pat O'Brien, of the Harlingen, Texas, course, drove a beauty on the fourth, but the tail end hook sent his ball into a group of mesquite trees. It bounced into a tree about ten feet off the ground and lodged in a fork. Pat, undaunted, mounted the tree. The only way he could play the ball was by hanging precariously by one arm, feet balancing on a large limb. Using the heel of his putter, he swung a mighty one-hand blow. As he hit the ball, he lost his balance and came tumbling out of the tree. Although we laughed up- roariously at his plight, we kept one eye on the ball. It bounded down the hard-baked fairway, scampered around the edge of a small trap, and dropped in the cup to score an eagle.. R. C. Lattimore, San Antonio, Texas. CIVILIZATION CALLS A Mr. Donohue sliced his drive on the sixth into a thick wood, which |) usually means a lost ball. He glared | malevolently at the spot where it had disappeared, and was just warming up to his opinion of the matter, when out of the wood appeared the ball, appar. ently dissatisfied with life in the wilds. Quietly it crawled into the cup for a hole-in-one. Nobody will ever know what it hit. Howard R. Cheney, Jr., Worcester, Mass. BACKSLIDING BALL Dr. J. A. Rule, Jr., holed out on the sixth green ahead of us. As he walked off, I played a number seven iron; it became immediately obvious that the ball was going to hit him. I yelled “fore” and he doubled up in a crouch. The ball hit him squarely between the shoulder blades, rested a moment, rolled down his back, and went into the cup. for an eagle two. Wilbur S. Parks, Hampton, Iowa. Every month Alec Duncan will award « dozen Tommy Armour Championship golf balls each to the writers whose descriptions of crazy golf shots appear on this page. OF course, all letters become the property of THE JUDGE. At the end of the year they will all be considered; the best one will get a set of handsome matched woods. The Judge comicbooks.com