Like the time former Governor and 10- time State Am champ M. Tubby LaMoore shot 32 putting with his ball retriever.  You see there was little choice after tomahawking his 8802  into the swamp behind two green.

His victim in that 9 -hole match was club president M.F. Ferris, who later said of the exhibition “Tubby hit it in there tight as Dick’s hatband on every hole and rolled it in with that damned ball retriever…man that was a show!”

Gushed LaMoore after the victory, “ever since I took a lesson from that one-armed blind fella I’ve been hittin’ it purer than a Mama’s love.  Just can’t wait to get up to Pineville and defend the Carolina Four-Ball Dixie Seniors…man the Guv’s gonna bee-devil and bee-guile those choppers.  God Bless America!”

The Rebellion was about to start, the most anticipated event on the club calandar.  All were in high spirits on the eve of the competition, all but new member Porter James that is.

To be continued y’all.

The year in the club archives is a matter of some dispute but most old timers agree it was somewhere around 1924 or 1925.  Bobby Jones was the reigning US Open champion, Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs fueled on hot dogs and lager…and Angel Oak was planning  a party…a big one.

Proibition, although in full swing,  was only a slight annoyance at A.O.C.C.  You see  the reigning club champion, Andrews B. Pine III, known to his friends as “Big Pine”, was an excellent engineer by day, but his skills as an amateur bootlegger were legendary in the Lowcountry.

It’s said that a still in the back of  Big Pine’s law office produced the see-through liquid.  But, when mixed with Miss Cheryl Pine’s fresh lemonade, created a concoction which all remembered…at least  the first one but rarely the second.  Many an Angel Oak celebration was fueled by Miss Cheryl’s lemonade, and more than one ended in song.

Big Pine, so named for the sheer size of the man, in addition to an unfortunate incident out on Old Route 17 involving his brand new Nash Rambler and a 60-foot Loblolly, was a natural at golf.  It was reported that after bogeying the first nine holes of the final  match against highly skilled and short game master Tad L. Pole, one gulp of Miss Cheryl’s  lemonade at the turn and Big Pine finished off his victim with nine straight threes and a 10th club championship.

Tad complained briefly to the tournament committee but pretty soon all were sipping the pink mixture, and singing a song of appreciation to the champion.

Fast forward to the current day and not a lot has changed.  Head Pro Spike Lemon is busy finishing up the preperations for the ultimate event at the club…the The Blue and The Grey.

…To be continued

Now all he wanted was to settle down in his lawn chair and assign a few loopers to a few hackers.

“What seems to be the problem Miss Lagare?  Hey have you lost some weight?”

“Well maybe just a little”, she blushed, “but I’m here on a matter of the utmost importance.  You see the umbrella the late Governor willed me has gone missing, and I just know it was in my bag the last time I played.  I simply must get it back.”

Crum thought to himself  ”That damn thing’s had more birthdays than the Old Pro’s FootJoy lizard skins”,  and furthermore I hope that rat of a dog of yours ate it and died.”

“Well ma’am if it’s not in your bag now I can’t imagine what could have happened to it”  Crum offered with as much pitiful sorrow and as little sarcasm as he could muster, “and besides Spike here he just got a whole box of new umbrellas in yesterday, ain’t that so Spike?”

“That’s true” Spike acknowledged, and they are on sale today only as a matter of fact.  Let’s go have a gander shall we?”

“I don’t have any intention of  purchasing a new one when the one I have is perfectly fine”  Ms. Lagare declared, wagging her bony finger between the two. 

“And I’m just positively sure that y’all have lost it!”

The truth is The Golf Pro never wins these battles in the end and Spike didn’t have his 25-year anniversary at Angel Oak Golf Club in his sights for nothing.

“Well I’m just sure you are absolutey right on this one Mrs. L ” The Old Pro admitted, “and I take full and complete responsibility for the loss, theft, or God forbid suicide, or any other possible act of violence that has befallen your old friend.”  

“Now please do come in the golf shop and take a new one  on me and as a matter of fact take two ‘cus we’ll probably lose that one too by next ladies day”  he said with a smile, “you know how clumsy we are that way.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go tend to Doc Leggett…poor old boy’s got a wicked case of the shanks…might be terminal!”

As Spike Lemon walked to the driving range, all Crum Gregory could do was smile, shake his head slightly, saying only to himself , “there ladies and gentleman goes the master.”

As Director of Golf Spike Lemon stood on the front porch of the golf shop a storm cloud was brewing in the form of third generation member Ms. Sue Ellen Lagare, a formidable woman in any arena.

The golf shop, a long and narrow brick structure painted white with dark green shutters betraying it’s past as the club’s horse stables, sat just across the path from the long ago rebuilt clubhouse, a victim of the great fire of ’32.

 She was walking very fast, even for a person of her considerable size.

“Mis-ter Lemon!” she sneered.

“Yes Ms. Lagare, how are you this fine morning and may I be so forward as to say you appear to have lost some weight?” 

The truth was closer to the opposite of this remark, but after all this was Spike’s 23rd year at Angel Oak…flattering the membership was more than slightly responsible for the last ten.

“Do you know that my Grandfather, Governor M. Tubby LaMoore, was a founder of this club?” 

The way she said “founder” made Spike’s skin tingle slightly, immediately engaging  his  golf pro radar.  This was by no means Spike’s rookie season after all…no he was ready to take some heat and kiss some ass. 

“Yes Ma’am!!!” was Spikes cheerful response, “and what a short game the Governor posessed” , he lied,  “best in the state I always said” 

“Well then, don’t you think it horrible my umbrella is missing from my golf bag?”  she questioned.

“Atrocious and worthy of a full inquiry…yes indeed Ms. Lagare!”  was Spike’s sincere response,  index finger fully extended, straight as a Wilson Staff 1-iron.

“Crum???”  bellowed Spike. 

Around the corner hobbled Crum Gregory, the oldest and by far most respected caddiemaster this side of Cypress Point.  Crum  was a pro of the highest order, not to mention one of the finest little ballstrikers to ever come out of north central eastern Pennsylvania.  A man of character, at least as much as  a Yankee could be.

“Yes SL?”

“Oh and hello Ms. Lagare”

Director of Golf is a new term.  Spike’s Daddy and Grandaddy were just plain Golf Professionals…or their passed down nickname of endearment, “Proey”

It’s said that on New Year’s Eve 1932, and as a result of a spirited limbo competition complete with flaming tequila cocktails, a great fire threatened to destroy the clubhouse and the oak. 

When the fire battalion arrived their hoses were immediately and accurately trained on the three story columned edifice that had faithfully served as the life center of the great club since before  the turn of the century.

The fire chief was surprised to say the least when instructed to divert the stream of water to the Angel Oak itself, thus sealing the fate of the grand old structure. 

After all, even in a great depression, man can easily replace a building in a year or two…whereas God had taken his time with the magnificent old tree…It seemed to Dr.  M.F.M. Ferris, president and only practicing Catholic at the club ,  a natural choice.

These are the tales of Spike Lemon and The Angel Oak GC.