My late grandfather called golf “cow pasture pool.” He made fun of city fellers who spend their weekends whacking a little white ball around a well-mowed pasture.
My grandfather grew up in Deanburg, Tennessee, where they had several cow pastures but not one golf course.
When I was a little boy, my family and I never missed the annual broadcast of the Miss America Pageant. On a Saturday night in September, we would gather on our living room couch in front of our Sylvania small screen TV that looked like a washing machine with rabbit ears antenna on the top. We would even attach aluminum foil to the tips of the rabbit ears so that we could get better reception.
And then Bert Parks would appear on our TV screen in glorious black and white live from the Atlantic City Convention Hall.