Montauk Train # 19

Amagansett
Empty golf course
FourteenPile Of Stones minutes
From Montauk___
I have never played golf
Pitch and Putt
Once in Queen's Park
London
Back in the last century
With friends
Nina, Ingi and others
The Persian, Maid Marion, Frank, maybe Fingers
Maybe others___
A beautiful September afternoon
Queen's Park
Who won
No one cared
No one counted the score___

Kids licking ice cream
Softies
Exit the Park
Passing George Orwell's house
Thirteen Years past 1984
Remember it like thirteen years ago
Especially the ice cream
Dripping on the Kids hands___
Now
The Montauk train pulling into the station
Five minutes late___

YIM YET MUNG by Peter Nolan Smith

Over twenty golf courses are located within an hour drive from Pattaya, Thailand's infamous beach resort.

Whacking a little ball around the world-class fairways gave many long-distance travelers something to do during the day, while waiting for the night to fall on the Last Babylon. Jamie Parker preferred sleep, however his girlfriend Ort had been poking his stomach for the last week, saying, "Uan."

"Fat?" Jamie looked in the mirror. His traditionally flat stomach was thickened by beer flab, but uan was an overstatement. "I've never been fat in my life."

"Now not never. Now you uan." Ort was wearing an imitation Gucci shirt and fake Levis. She weighed less than when they had met at the Paris a Go-Go. She wasn't the prettiest girl in town, but she was sexier than most of the girls on the circuit and Jamie was happy with her about 50% of the time.

"Really?" The New Yorker's nickname on the Lower East Side was 'el Flacco Blanco'.

"No problem you fat. No girl look at you."

"I thought Thai girls liked fat men."

"And you think they love you long time too?" Ort brushed her long black hair, so the strands fell down her back like the mane of a mare.

"I'll show you 'love you long time'." Jamie threw her on the bed, but halfway through their love-making his lungs were depleted of oxygen.

Ort was right.

The 51 year-old ex-con was fat and out of shape. As a retired criminal both could be a death sentence and he fell asleep vowing to change his life of indolence.

The next afternoon he rode his bike to the Asia Hotel Driving Range. Ort sat on the back of the scooter. She didn't trust him out of her sight.

At the range he picked out a driver and ordered two buckets of balls.

Neither of the pros commented on his wearing flip-flops.

"You play golf before?" Ort ate fiery sum tam salad in the shade.

"Only mini-golf." Jamie had played several games on summer holiday. He had lost each time to his younger brother. Nothing in the intervening years had diminished his ignorance and he observed a 70 year-old man swing at a ball. It traveled 200 meters in a straight line.

"Chok dii." Ort devoted her attention to the spicy mango salad.

"I've always had beginner's luck."

Jamie balanced a ball on the tee and grasped the driver like a Louisville Slugger. The heft of the shaft was too small for his hands, but he instinctively understood that his thumbs were in the way. Jamie clutched the club like he was hitchhiking with two hands and spread his legs like the old man, who had whacked his next ball to the 250 meter mark.

Head down Jamie swung at the ball and missed by two inches.

"What mean beginner?" Ort's face displayed her displeasure at his effort. Thais hate losing face.

"Someone who is learning to do something." Jamie adjusted his grip and stance.

"Meuu-ma." Ort rollercoasted her inflection through the word.

"Yes, Meuu-ma."

Jamie grasped the golf driver like he was hacking a watermelon with a samurai sword.

Jamie had played baseball for Xaverian Brothers in Brooklyn. Nothing felt better than the ball meeting the sweet part of the bat and the euphoria of smacking the next golf ball 270 meters was an unexpected epiphany. The old man turned around to smile with appreciation of his tee-shot and Ort lifted her head from the plate.

"Sometimes beginner's luck takes more than one try."

That week Jamie's morning began with a visit to the Asia Hotel Driving Range.

Ort liked one of the golf pros. He was Thai. Jamie didn't care, since he got free lessons out of her flirtation.

He switched the flip-flops for Nike Air Max golf shoes and bought a used Ping driver from the pro shop.

A few lessons from Ort's admirer advanced his drives into the 300 range.

Several golfers asked him to join them for foursomes at the various golf courses around Pattaya. Jamie thanked them for offers, but refused to venture further than Sukhumvit.

"Something about that road makes me think I might die on it." He had seen numerous collisions at the intersection of Sukhumvit and Pattaya Tai. Cars and trucks had a serious weight advantage over flesh and blood on bikes.

Ort was proud of his prowess at the driving range and home.

"You are now a handsome man again," she whispered with a hint of naughtiness.

"I was always handsome." He had also cut down on his beer consumption.

"You not fat now. You man #1." Her tongue slipped into his ear like a sea snake seeking his skull.

They went home and didn't see daylight for three days.

Life was good. The weather was temperate. Jamie was treated by the staff at the Asia Driving Range with deference. He was a good tipper. The Thais called him 'Jame'. None of them could say 'Jamie'.

One day he stroked the balls almost 325. He thought nothing else in the world could be more perfect, until he saw Ort's face.

She was scared to the marrow.

"Bpen Arai?" He turned to see a group of stiff-faced Thais standing in front of a top-end Benz.

Their eyes glared at him.

"Are those people the problem?" None of the paunchy men appeared ready to fight, but they had money and money bought trouble cheap in Thailand.

"They want use tee." Her cautious nod was a timid wai to five Thai middle-aged men before the Mercedes.

They glowered at Jamie, as if no farangs should live in Thailand.

The headman wore a diamond-encrusted Rolex. His hair resembled a toupee, but he wasn't bald and he might have been good-looking 20 years ago. At 50 too much bad karma had passed his eyes.

"I'll go when I finish this bucket." He had 15 balls to go.

"No, we go now." She signaled the waitress for the chek-bin.

"No, we don't." He put all his muscle into the next drive. The ball sailed out of sight into the distant protective net. 350 plus.

"Okay, go now." Ort grabbed his hand.

"Why?" Jamie had a good idea why.

"This men khon yai," she whispered the words like she was an innocent slave caught in rebellion.

"Khon Yai." 95% of the Thai population had been chattel until 1905. The King had freed the masses with a signature, yet the khon yai or big people continued to regarded the people as animals.

Their greasy smiles threatened Ort with the long tradition of domination.

"I know who they are." People whose families overcharged the price of gas, sold cars for twice the cost in the USA, and stole land from the poor.

Same as the rich in America.

Al Gore one year.

GW Bush the next.

"You not know these people."

"I also know they're not the king or anyone in the royal family."

Jamie respected the king with the reverence of a god.

He was the one true Thai and his family was deserving of the same respect.

Putting another golf ball on the tee was not a crime against lese-majeste.

"The only khon yai in your life is me. Now sit down." Jamie had been to prison. He was well-versed in talking tough and even more skilled at the art of staring down tough Thais. The boss looked over his shoulder to the drivers. The pros and staff of the driving range were visibly shaken by this silent confrontation. Ort looked ready to cry. Jamie gauged the distance to the fat man as less than 3 meters, but with a gold club in his hand the man was less than 6 feet away.

"Jamie. I love you."

She had been with a lot of men before him.

The word 'love' came out of her mouth too easily at the wrong time, but her eyes revealed she didn't want to see him dead and he picked up the bucket of balls. The Thai men snickered with the glory of their triumph.

Jamie said nothing on his way to the cashier.

Neither did he flinch hearing the word 'farang'.

Most Thais called all westerners 'farang'.

This was their country and he told Ort to get on the motorbike, while he paid the bill.

The golf pro wai-ed him.

"Thank you."

His smile said sorry.

"Mai-bphen-rai." Jamie tipped him a 500 baht. "I know when to have 'jai yen'."

He wai-ed the golf pro and the five men laughed at his use of the Thai gesture.

Jamie had been in Thailand long enough to know how to smile in Thai.

Each smile had its own meaning.

His smile clearly said 'yet mung'.

The Khon Yai gritted their teeth and narrowed their eyes.

He sat his bike and Ort wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Thank you." She was happy that no one had died at the driving range.

Jamie was happy too, because it's one thing to have bad manners, it's another to know when to not use them.

The answer is never.

Especially in a foreign land.

We Are So Fucked

In the first days of March 2020 I stood on Kilimanjaro with the Kili Iniitative Climb group. Once again I did not summit. At dawn I descended from the 16000 feet camp across the Saddle to the Horombo camp, where I met my friend Pendaeli.

The Tanzanian park ranger said, "You can get the Internet here with your phone. You should hear what is happening in the world."

All the guides and porter were gathered by a hut, speaking to wives and lovers.

I tried to call my family in Thailand. The signal wasn't strong enough to speak, but I texted that I was okay and then search for The Guardian online. The news wasn't good. Italy was ravaged by Covid-19. Iran too and the virus was creeping across the planet. Pendaeli knew I had the sight sometimes and asked, "What do you think will happen?"

"I don't know." I hadn't a clue. My sight saw nothing, but I said, "All I can say is this will not be good."

For ten months the world has shut down human contact. There is no real work for millions. The leader of the USA has denied lethalness of the Covid-19 pandemic.

In November FDTrump lost the election to Joe Biden and he abandoned the White House after a few photo-ops before a Christmas tree with a few wrapped packages under the boughs.

There was no one in the White House.

Down in Palm Beach he gave a speech rejecting the Congressional Relief Bill. Now everyone was sure that nothing of value under that Christmas tree. Trump tweetered through the night.

On Christmas he did not attend church or wish the nation a Merry Christmas.

Trump went golfing at his golf course, charging everything to the American taxpayer.

Tens of millions sick across the country, as he shouts, "Fore." in Florida.

We are so fucked, but things will either go back to the way the were or collapse completely.

We are so fucked, but we always were.

Good luck everyone.

Par 4 at the Killing Fields Country Club

Eleven years ago in a move destined to have the late Cambodian despot Pol Pot spinning in his grave _ if he had one _ the former Khmer Rouge cadres in their stronghold of Pailin embraced a plan to cash in on the country's tourism boom and build a golf course. Not that they know much about the game. If football is the beautiful game, to the ultra-Maoist former guerrillas, golf is the mysterious one.

The golf fanatic Prime Minister Hun Sen visited the remote area, traveling more than 100km of rugged dirt road from the nearest city of Battambang, and proposed a golf course for the municipality.

Pailin is perched on the nation's north-western border with Thailand just four hours by road from Bangkok, but up to 10 hours from the Cambodian capital.

Hun Sen was possibly the only country leader in the world to list his golf scores on his website.

Cambodia was so serious about developing golf as an industry that it has appointed a special representative to the Council of Ministers. The former Khmer Rouge are ecstatic.

Once rich in gems and timber, these resources were all but stripped bare by the Khmer Rouge as they tried to finance the remnants of the rebel movement by selling off the country's resouces before the rebels finally conceded to join Hun Sen's government in 1996.

Even journalists don't bother to go Paillin any more since four of its most infamous residents _ former Khmer Rouge leaders Ieng Sary, his wife Ieng Thirith, Khieu Samphan and Nuon Chea _ were arrested on orders from the court set up to try them.

Pailin's biggest draw currently are its mainly Thai-owned casinos, which operators say draw up to 10,000 Thais per month. But thiese gaming houses lie within a quick sprint of the border and more than 12 rough kilometres from Pailin town, so most gamblers drop their money there and go no further. Nor does Pailin have the attractions of other former Khmer Rouge border strong-holds such as Anlong Veng, which at least boasts the makeshift cremation site of the movement's leader Pol Pot and Khmer Rouge military commander Ta Mok's home, complete with war room. So the former hardline communists, who drove the country to destruction in their 1975-79 failed bid to turn the nation into an agrarian utopia bereft of social classes, which left up to 2 million dead, have joyfully embraced a new ideology _ golf.

"We don't understand this game and at the moment it is just a speech by the prime minister, but it would be great for Pailin,'' says local Information Chief Kong Duong, once a Khmer Rouge propaganda chief.

He says he has never seen a golf ball, except on television. "We don't know where we will put [the course], or how big it should be, but the idea is good."

Pailin Tourism Chief So Korng is candid. He freely admits that to him, an iron is for pressing clothes, a wood is something you cut down to make furniture, and Tiger Woods is a place you never go alone or unarmed. But he agrees that the concept is attractive.

''People will have more jobs, and many people inside Cambodia and from overseas will come to visit Pailin and also see our natural attractions like our waterfall, gem shops, mountains and our agricultural programs," he said.

Revenue from the golf course may even pay for a road to the municipality's spectacular, but remote waterfall.

A former soldier who fought the Khmer Rouge in the early 1990s said the now-tamed rebels should also make good caddies.

"I've seen them climb mountains with two B-40 rockets strapped to their backs, so golf clubs should be no problem."

That would be a whole new revolution for a movement better known for its infamous black pajama uniform than plaid and plus fours. But not everyone is convinced. A spokesman for local non-government organization Buddhism for Development says golf was for the rich, and he doubted there will be much trickle-down for the impoverished former Khmer Rouge farmers in the area.

"The former Khmer Rouge are poor. They are too busy farming to have time to play golf," he said. And then there is the image problem. In a 2006 interview a senior Pailin tourism official laughingly admitted that the very concept of tourism remained somewhat alien. ''Before, our orders were to kill them, but now we invite them to visit and please spend money,"

It won't be on the killing fields

Golf Award Design

I don't this this photo is photoshopped, but it's doesn't represent a cock but a dildo.

This was for women's golf, right?

Remember that old interview of Johnny Carson with Jack Nicklaus' wife.

Johnny - You do anything for good luck before Jack plays.

Wife - I kiss his balls.

Johnny - That must straighten out his putting.

CUT TO Ed McMahon laughing.

Noblesse Ne'er-Do-Wells

Several years back the red shirts of Bangkok targeted the shopping malls of their political rivals, the yellow shirts. The drama between the two groups was a mystery to most foreigners, yet understood by the majority of Thais as a struggle between the ruling cliques of the Land of Smiles. I googled 'thailand five families rule' and the search engine offered thousands of five-star hotel rooms without a single url leading to information on the hi-so families of Thailand. A second attempt on Thai hierarchy revealed little of the ancient class structure other than saying that the King ruled over all Thais.

He was the one pure Thai and his family was deemed second followed by lesser nobility and then monks. Social status retreated from this monolith according to income, occupation, education, age, connections, and family, which is why Thais were inadvertently curious about farang life in the West.

"Are you hi-so ( high society) or lo-so (low society)?"

Twenty years go I was befriended by an aged female member of the royalty. Anana liked me because I knew New Paltz. She had attended the teaching college there in the 40s. The 70 year-old had a school in Yala. I was one of the few westerners in that town.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm a writer. It's quiet and out of the way." Yala back then was peaceful.

"Too quiet." Anana assumed most men were in Thailand for women.

"I like quiet."

"No feend?"

"Mai mii."

I didn't have a girlfriend in the provincial city.

Anana accepted my answer as a half-truth and asked if I wanted to drive her to Chiang Mai. Yala to Chiang Mai was a long way, but I was game for a road trip. We took off in her BMW and stopped at temples along the way. The monks greeted her with deference and greeted me as if I were part of her family. It wasn't until we visited Songkla for a seafood dinner that I noticed how high was her placement on the social ladder.

We entered the airy restaurant without any fanfare, but the owner immediately fell to his knees. The rest of his staff followed suit as did the diners. We walked through the dining area to a table vacated by the previous guests. We sat and Anana signaled everyone to rise.

"Now you see why I like you. You greet me like a normal person. I only wish that Thais could do the same."

We had a delightful meal during which she discussed THE KING AND I at length.

"No one in Thailand has seen this film. It's too much fun and the king is not fun. At least that's the way the Thai people think of their father."

And with good reason.

The King had presided over the rise of his country from a 3rd World pit stop to an economic miracle, however the riches reaped by the nouveau elite have challenged the old ways.

Several years ago I was at a golf range in Pattaya and the Thai pro asked if I could move to another slot. I could tell the request hadn't come from him and turned around to see several Mercedes parked behind us. Their occupants were dressed in the height of shopping mall splendor. I was wearing Celtic green.

"Tell them to wait a few minutes." I only had five balls left in my basket.

"They want you go now." The Thai pro didn't look in the direction of the parking lot.

"Really." I waved to them that I'd only be a few minutes.

Their eyes bulged in their sockets.

One of them came up to me and said in good English, "Do you know who we are?"

"I suspect you come from good families and as such will extend the good manners of your class to an older guest of your country. Thank you."

I teed my ball and duffed my drive.

They laughed at my shot and the next one went about 50 yards before burrowing into the grass. My third and fourth attempts flew left and right about 200 yards.

More laughter and I placed the final ball on the tee. I pointed at the distant 300 yard marker. I concentrated on the ball, the air, and my target and swung with all my might. The ball launched into the air about 200 yards and fell straight down 100 yards from the driving platform.

More laughter.

I shrugged to the Thai pro and tipped him 200 baht.

I waved to the Mercedes mob and got on my motorcycle to drive home.

Not a King, but a master of a bad swing.

Tiger Versus Stevie

Tiger Woods and Stevie Wonder are in a bar. Tiger turns to Stevie and says, "How's the singing career going?"

Stevie replies, "Not too bad. How's the golf?"

Woods replies, "Not bad, I've had problems with my swing, but I think it’s fixed, now."

Stevie: "I always find that when swing goes wrong, I need to stop playing for a while and not think about it. Then, the next time I play, it seems to be all right."

Incredulous, Tiger asks, "You play GOLF?"

Stevie: "Yes, I've been playing for years."

Tiger: "But -- you're blind! How can you play golf if you can't see?"

Stevie: "Well, I get my caddy to stand in the middle of the fairway and call to me. I listen for the sound of his voice and play the ball towards him. Then, when I get to where the ball lands, the caddy moves to the green or farther down the fairway and again I play the ball towards his voice."

"But, how do you putt?" asks Tiger.
"Well", says Stevie, "I get my caddy to lean down in front of the hole and call to me with his head on the ground and I just play the ball towards his voice."

Woods says to Stevie, "We've got to play a round sometime."

Stevie: "Well, people don't take me seriously, so I only play for
money, and never play for less than $10,000 a hole. Is that a problem?"

Woods thinks about it and says, "I can afford that; OK, I'm game. $10,000 a hole is fine with me. When would you like to play?"

Stevie: "Great-pick any night you’re free."

Tiger Versus Stevie

Tiger Woods & Stevie Wonder are in a bar... Tiger turns to Stevie and says, "How's the singing career going?" Sevie wonder, Stevie replies, "Not too bad. How's the golf?" Woods replies, "Not bad, I've had problems with my swing, but I think it’s fixed, now." Stevie: "I always find that when swing goes wrong, I need to stop playing for a while and not think about it. Then, the next time I play, it seems to be all right." Incredulous, Tiger says, "You play GOLF?" Stevie: "Yes, I've been playing for years." Tiger: "But -- you're blind! How can you play golf if you can't see?" Stevie: "Well, I get my caddy to stand in the middle of the fairway and call to me. I listen for the sound of his voice and play the ball towards him. Then, when I get to where the ball lands, the caddy moves to the green or farther down the fairway and again I play the ball towards his voice." "But, how do you putt?" asks Tiger. "Well", says Stevie, "I get my caddy to lean down in front of the hole and call to me with his head on the ground and I just play the ball towards his voice." Woods, incredulous, says to Stevie, "We've got to play a round sometime." Stevie: "Well, people don't take me seriously, so I only play for money, and never play for less than $10,000 a hole. Is that a problem?" Woods thinks about it and says, "I can afford that; OK, I'm game. $10,000 a hole is fine with me. When would you like to play?" Stevie: "Great-pick any night you’re free."