A golfer’s saga – Chapter 5

“Welcome aboard.”

Don, groggy, barely awake, “Where … where am I?”

“You’re aboard a Canada Steamship Line freighter.”

“Not the Edmund Fitzgerald?”¹ Sank in Lake Superior in 1975.

“You’re delirious, that sank a while back …”

“I can play it in A.”² The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” is a song written, composed, and performed by Canadian singer-songwriter Gordon Lightfoot to commemorate the sinking of the bulk carrier.

“No, no ….”

“C# minor then …. If not the Edmund Fitzgerald …”

“The St. Laurent.”

“That’s Québec, right? French Québec?”

“Right.”

“Would you know a Ronald Dallé?” queried Don hopefully.

“No …don’t think so.”

“How’d you find me?”

“The bosun was up on the bow spriting, it was calm, a clear night, sound carried well and he thought he heard a cry …”

“A cry?”

“More like an off-key wail …something like …  it’s a pity …”

“Kansas City! I can play it in A.”

“No …”

“C# minor then … where are we heading?”

“Right now we’ve just passed through the Welland³Links lake Erie with lake Ontario to get around Niagara Falls. canal. We’re on our way to Chicago.”

“Chicago? I can’t get into the States, I don’t have any ID.”

“I’m captain Omen. What’s your name?”

“Don Dally or daring Don or Don of the Valley or, if you’re dyslexic, Valley of the Don, but you can call be Don.”

“OK Don. We went through your things, there’s a ‘Get out of jail free’ card, that could come in handy. Nice nail kit, too. And what’s with the golf balls?”

“How many were there?”

“A dozen.”

“I’m missing 8, we’ve got to go back.”

“I’d like to hear your story, first.”

“You’ll be the only one.” (sound of studio applause)

And with that, our daring Don, dishevelled but none the worse for wear, sat down with captain Omen in the galley and, warming to a mug of requested Ovaltine, told his tale to date with minor deviations (“I’m a scratch golfer that likes to play quickly …so, with the courses not yet open, I went down to the Humber to practice …”)

Captain Omen, checking his watch, decided it was noon somewhere and opened a bottle of Shiver Me Timbers offering a generous dram to our daring Don.

“This should pick it up; you do drink, don’t you?”

“Normally only estate wine but I’ll be glad to join you.”

“That’s quite the saga. So, what are we going to do with you? You’re right, we can’t put you off in Chicago and that’s our only port this trip.”

“Well, I can play the blues, Chicago style blues, you know blues for the Cubs and Sox⁴Chicago professional baseball teams. maybe I could get a day pass, a temporary musician’s union card and play, ‘take me out to the ballgame,’ earn some money and hitch a ride to the Canadian border. I’m a CAA⁵Canadian Automobile Association member.”

“I didn’t see an instrument among your things.”

“There’s a comb in the nail kit.”

“Maybe we can get you on another freighter heading back. How good are you at jumping?”

“You’re sure you don’t know Ronald Dallé?”

And with that, Captain Omen got on the ship’s phone and arranged to have our daring Don transfer to the Baie-Comeau, heading for Montréal, which they’d be passing soon.

“The Baie-Comeau,” interrupted Don. ‘Isn’t that Brian Mulroney’s⁶Canadian prime minister 1984 – 1993 birthplace?”

“I think you’re right,” recalled captain Omen, “but I don’t think that’s why they named it.”

“Is there another ship? I politically lean more to port (staying in context),” lamented Don. Pleading his case, Don continued. “And I can’t play ‘When Irish eyes are smiling’⁷Famous duet sung by Brian Mulroney and visiting US president Ronald Reagan in 1985 in A. Maybe C# minor.”

Now, for the landlubbers out there, transferring between ships is a risky business at the best of times. But lake Erie was choppy that afternoon, my friends, it was near nightfall, hard to see the gunwales (aka gunnels) so everything had to be timed perfectly.

The Baie-Comeau launched a small dinghy with a ship’s hand, Pierre, rowing towards the St. Laurent. When the dinghy came alongside the St. Laurent, Don was to jump on board.

Well, that’s what Don was supposed to do. Maybe Don was tired; maybe Don’s luck ran out; maybe Don’s golf shoes needed polishing. Whatever, when Don jumped so did the dinghy and Don missed it completely.

“Tabernac⁸French colloquialism when things aren’t going well.”

Pierre’s only option was to dive in after Don. Fortunately Don was an excellent dog paddler so was able to quickly grab Pierre in a choke hold and the pair of them splashed and kicked their way to the dinghy.

Pierre, wondering what he’d done to deserve this pain in the neck, wrestled Don out of the choke hold and into the dinghy. By now, both freighters had moved on, each thinking that everything was OK. Pierre was not a visible member of the crew, working the engine room on the night shift so nobody would give him the gears.

Here’s the scene: a Quebécois who speaks no english sitting opposite an anglais from white Ontario whose French-for-any-occasion is, and he proudly used it now, ‘La plume de ma tante est sur la table.”

“Quoi?” questioned Pierre shaking the water out of his ear, or was he trying to decipher Don’s accent? Don, ever vigilant, took in his surroundings, ‘What’s that roar?”

“Les chutes de Niagara,” moaned Pierre.

“The shoots of what?” questioned Don.

(Stay tuned; and crank up those strings)