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Born and raised in Wilmington, Delaware, Randy Bruce is a retired dermatologist with a passion for health and fitness. 

For three and a half summers I worked on the Nemours course at the DuPont Country Club in Wilmington, Delaware to earn money to help pay for college expenses. In many ways it was a good job. There were two or three of us summer workers. About five others were full time employees.

On some days, I was the guy who mowed the greens, eighteen of course, plus a putting green and a nursery. I was proud that I could cut them all in about four and a half hours, almost before the golfers started playing the course. The greens didn't need cutting every day though so I had other jobs to do.

Today one of my jobs was to change the cups on the greens that the pins were placed in. We did this every few days depending on the foot traffic. If this weren't done, the grass would get worn out in the area surrounding the pin. So I would cut a new hole in an area of the green that had been able to rest awhile.

I drove a little Cadet riding lawn mower with the blade underneath raised. We didn't cut grass with it much. Mainly it was used for transportation. I could run it at normal lawn mowing speed but I usually flipped a switch so it would cruise. It was always a good feeling to put it in cruise mode as I felt like I was flying around the course— especially at the end of the day and it was time to go home. It pulled a small flatbed wooden trailer so we could load mowers and other equipment on it and haul things around as needed.

So I pulled up to the side of number fourteen. I could see two golfers heading towards the green so I decided to turn off the Cadet and let them play the hole. We were expected to be quiet and courteous whenever possible and I thought that was a reasonable policy. It rarely interfered with the work we had to do. But I expected the club members to be courteous to me as well. I had work to do to keep their course in the best condition possible.




As I sat there watching, feeling the cool air on my skin, I saw the first golfer swing. I tried to follow the ball but I lost it. I stared at the green wondering where the ball would land.

Waap!! The ball landed about six feet from me. I jumped. My heart jumped. And suddenly I got mad because he never shouted "Fore!" as the expected warning.

I decided right then that I would teach that son of a gun a lesson. I waited until his buddy made his shot and his ball rolled to the back left corner of the green. He had correctly yelled "Fore!" The first player's ball was just off the apron at the edge of the green about eight feet from the pin. His friend was currently thirty-five feet from the pin. I hurriedly grabbed my hole cutting equipment and went to work.

I pulled the pin and the plastic cup and marched to the left rear area of the green and quickly cut a new hole for the pin about three feet from player two's ball. I placed the cup and pin in the new hole and moved back to the original hole to place the grass plug I had just dug, pressed it with my foot and gathered my equipment, placed everything into the trailer and sat back down on the mower.

They were just striding up to the green. Player one walked over to his ball, looked at me and said, "You can't do that!" I looked him in the eye and said, "I just did."

Then I added, "You should have yelled 'Fore!'" He appeared apoplectic and any more words he may have had seemed stuck in his throat. His buddy didn't say a word. He was too busy laughing.

~ Randy Bruce




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