old telegraph key he had given me. I could stumble through the code and get enough letters when somebody transmitted to have an idea of what they were saying.
We “worked” the man in New York that night and he told us about a new car he had just bought—a Cadillac—and how he loves to ride in it. I leaned back, thinking of what it would be like to have enough money to own something like that, not just a car but a big, new luxury car. Harold signed off with the man and turned to me and must have been thinking the same thing because he smiled and said, “Let’s get a car.”
As with so many things Harold suggested, this thought was so far beyond the scope of possibility that it bordered on the absurd. I shook my head. “We’re fourteen and can’t legally drive for another year. And then only with a licensed driver after we get our permit. Cars cost money, which we don’t have. And who in his right mind would sell a car to two fourteen-year-old kids?”
Harold shrugged. “Technicalities. This is a problem like any other problem. There is
always
a solution.” He went to a blackboard he hadon his wall near the ham table and wrote a formula.
C=T X E X M
“Where
C
is car and
T
is time and
E
is energy and
M
is money—it’s a fairly simple equation, really.”
“And where do we get the money?”
He nodded and wrote another formula.
M=T X E
“Where
M
is money and
T
is time and
E
is energy. We simply work for it.”
As this happened to be the summer and every able-bodied boy and girl in town was looking for part-time work I could have pointed out that finding work would be next to impossible. But I was afraid he’d just do another formula. Besides, it wouldn’t have stopped him. Nothing stopped Harold.
He stood in front of the blackboard, frowning, thinking. He reached forward to write with the chalk, stopped, started and then smiled and turned.
“We’ll caddy.”
“Caddy?”
“You know, carry golf clubs for players.”
“I know what caddying is—I used to do it and—”
“There’s a tournament this weekend. My uncle is playing and he told my father he could never get a good caddy. That’s it. We’ll caddy, they’ll pay us, we’ll get a car. It’s simple.”
The thing is, I had tried caddying and they paid only fifty cents for nine holes. Of course you were supposed to get a tip as well, but not everybody tipped. You could do only about eighteen holes a day so you might end up with a dollar for the whole day. I wasn’t sure what cars cost but I was pretty sure at a dollar a day it would take us a long time to buy one.
But Harold had a way of saying things so that even when you knew they were impossible it seemed like they could happen. And that’s why the next day, Saturday, at six-thirty in the morning I followed Harold as we pedaled the three miles out of town to the golf course for the tournament. And if you had told me it would be the first step in becoming rich I would have laughed in your face.
At first it looked bad. There were dozens of boys there already, waiting to caddy. I bought a bottle of Pepsi for a nickel and a bag of peanuts for another nickel. Then I poured the peanuts inthe Pepsi and ate-drank it for breakfast while we waited. Or I should say while I waited.
Harold moved away from the rest of us standing around under the trees by the first tee and went over to the driving range, where some early birds were buying little mesh buckets of balls and hitting them out into a meadow to practice. I saw him watch for a time and then he went back to the pro shack and talked to the golf pro for a minute or so before coming back to me.
“The money is in the balls,” he said in a whisper, standing close to me.
“What?”
“Balls. The practice balls. He charges a quarter a bucket and he says he’s always short of balls. That’s where we’ll make our money.”
He stopped and I waited and when he didn’t continue I prompted him. “I don’t understand a thing
We “worked” the man in New York that night and he told us about a new car he had just bought—a Cadillac—and how he loves to ride in it. I leaned back, thinking of what it would be like to have enough money to own something like that, not just a car but a big, new luxury car. Harold signed off with the man and turned to me and must have been thinking the same thing because he smiled and said, “Let’s get a car.”
As with so many things Harold suggested, this thought was so far beyond the scope of possibility that it bordered on the absurd. I shook my head. “We’re fourteen and can’t legally drive for another year. And then only with a licensed driver after we get our permit. Cars cost money, which we don’t have. And who in his right mind would sell a car to two fourteen-year-old kids?”
Harold shrugged. “Technicalities. This is a problem like any other problem. There is
always
a solution.” He went to a blackboard he hadon his wall near the ham table and wrote a formula.
C=T X E X M
“Where
C
is car and
T
is time and
E
is energy and
M
is money—it’s a fairly simple equation, really.”
“And where do we get the money?”
He nodded and wrote another formula.
M=T X E
“Where
M
is money and
T
is time and
E
is energy. We simply work for it.”
As this happened to be the summer and every able-bodied boy and girl in town was looking for part-time work I could have pointed out that finding work would be next to impossible. But I was afraid he’d just do another formula. Besides, it wouldn’t have stopped him. Nothing stopped Harold.
He stood in front of the blackboard, frowning, thinking. He reached forward to write with the chalk, stopped, started and then smiled and turned.
“We’ll caddy.”
“Caddy?”
“You know, carry golf clubs for players.”
“I know what caddying is—I used to do it and—”
“There’s a tournament this weekend. My uncle is playing and he told my father he could never get a good caddy. That’s it. We’ll caddy, they’ll pay us, we’ll get a car. It’s simple.”
The thing is, I had tried caddying and they paid only fifty cents for nine holes. Of course you were supposed to get a tip as well, but not everybody tipped. You could do only about eighteen holes a day so you might end up with a dollar for the whole day. I wasn’t sure what cars cost but I was pretty sure at a dollar a day it would take us a long time to buy one.
But Harold had a way of saying things so that even when you knew they were impossible it seemed like they could happen. And that’s why the next day, Saturday, at six-thirty in the morning I followed Harold as we pedaled the three miles out of town to the golf course for the tournament. And if you had told me it would be the first step in becoming rich I would have laughed in your face.
At first it looked bad. There were dozens of boys there already, waiting to caddy. I bought a bottle of Pepsi for a nickel and a bag of peanuts for another nickel. Then I poured the peanuts inthe Pepsi and ate-drank it for breakfast while we waited. Or I should say while I waited.
Harold moved away from the rest of us standing around under the trees by the first tee and went over to the driving range, where some early birds were buying little mesh buckets of balls and hitting them out into a meadow to practice. I saw him watch for a time and then he went back to the pro shack and talked to the golf pro for a minute or so before coming back to me.
“The money is in the balls,” he said in a whisper, standing close to me.
“What?”
“Balls. The practice balls. He charges a quarter a bucket and he says he’s always short of balls. That’s where we’ll make our money.”
He stopped and I waited and when he didn’t continue I prompted him. “I don’t understand a thing
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