The "Non-Don"

The “Non-Don” Gangster Golf Chapter 1: The Set Up The whole thing started out as a childish prank on the golf course; but ended in a series of sensational headlines that captured the nation’s reality-show attention span. I had met Richard Loren (shortened from Loreno), at the golf club that I played in Dallas, Texas in the mid-1980’s. My first impression, was that he was a distinguished, elderly gentleman of amiable manner; appearing to be perhaps twice my ageeighty years. He was looking for a game, and I was more than happy to have some fellowship during my round. While we played, Richard informed me that he had owned a language school in Dallas and that he was fluent in six different languages. I had struggled to learn Spanish as a second language and appreciated the skill necessary to achieve such an accomplishment. Richard’s Italian ethnicity, stout stature, and straw fedora, conjured up memories of the Mafia-like characters I had seen growing up in Chicago. This seeming passing observation would prove to be my undoing. Our regular foursome consisted of: an ex-Dallas cop, a retired carpenter, and a wealthy semi-retired entrepreneur. Grady Kay, the former police officer was an avid golfer. Before his accident, in which he was T-boned while chasing a perp, Grady would play thirty-six holes on his days off. The collision had left him with a compressed vertebrae and put an end to his law enforcement days, but also opened the door for disability payments and unlimited free time. Although Grady could no longer play thirty-six holes a day, he managed to play twice a week with a new hunched-over golf stance, while watching with eagle eyes for the disability insurance detectives. Grady’s neighbor, Dave Nails, was a relative novice of the game, and during our rounds, Grady would give Dave, what he thought, were the mechanics of a golf swing. On the tee box, Grady would continuously remind Dave to slow down his golf swing. After Dave would nod in the affirmative, he would take a nice easy practice swing, and then proceed to swing so hard, that he would knock the wind out of himself. I often thought that the mighty carpenter would break a rib during one of these tremendous hacks. More often than not, the ball would fly three fairways over from the hole we were playing and Grady would drive the cart on a ball exploration hunt. “Why can’t you slow down your golf swing?” Grady would ask. I did,” Dave would reply, in oblivious self-denial. It all made for good comic relief, and considering Dave’s American-Indian wife had once unloaded a thirty-eight clip into his backside during a drunken brawl, we felt Dave was safer on the course anyway Jim Gerald was a wealthy entrepreneur from Maine that had moved to Texas years ago to avoid state income tax. Although Jim had enough money to buy the course, he felt using range balls was a frugal way to approach the game. “This here is a good range ball,” Jim would say, as he proudly placed a faded yellow ball on the first tee. I had moved to Dallas in 1983 to take a sales position as a regional manager and had enjoyed the job for the first seventeen years, but the travel wore me down. After 9-11, I began to hate my travels and my boss’ constant nagging for more and more sales. When I became bored with my work, I would devise elaborate pranks to pull on my colleagues. This practice is what eventually put me into hot water. Our golf group stayed in tack for years, and the same year Tiger Woods achieved the “Tiger Slam” (2001), I held a Christmas party at my house and invited all my friends from the club. During the party I introduced Richard Loren (who at the time was not part of our golf gang), to Grady, Dave, and Jim. The five of us made small talk as we became lost in a haze of Christmas spirits. The following Monday, Grady approached me on the first tee and asked me, “Who was that Mafia-lookin’ fella you introduced us to the other night?” “Are you referring to Richard Loren?” I asked. The question stoked my prank furnace. “Yep, he looks like one of those gangster characters on the Sopranos.” “I wouldn’t say that too loud. That guy is the chief crime lord of the southwest, and if you ever repeat that, I’ll have to kill you.” “I knew that guy was in the mob,” Grady said to Dave. “How is that?” “Dave and I seen two big goons in front of your house when we left the partythey must have been his bodyguards.” I realized we all had a lot to drink the night of the party, but Grady and Dave apparently had enough to hallucinate. “Those two guys were Luigi and Vitoin mob terms, muscle, and more muscle,” I said. “Golly,” Dave said with a pallor look on his face. “You guys can never repeat what I just said,” I told them, “Richard might look like a nice old man, but if you cross him, he’ll have your heart ripped out.” The game is afoot! * * *