“Yes, we took out insurance for him before we left Canada.” Max tried to remember what he’d done with the paperwork that Karen had given him. “I think I’ve got the policy somewhere in my luggage. Do you need it now?”
The nurse seemed relieved. “No, we’ll go ahead with the tests as long as you’re sure you’re covered. It’ll take several hours to run these tests and we’ll probably keep your father overnight. While you’re waiting, I’d suggest you find the policy and provide the details to our administrator, up on the second floor.” She reached out to touch Max’s arm. “We’ll take good care of your father.”
Max thanked her and then headed out to his car. He had left it parked in a drop-off zone outside of the emergency department. It was only then that he realized he hadn’t even locked the car.
“I was hoping you’d be back,” an elderly gentleman in a black security uniform said. “You’re not allowed to park there, but I’ve been keeping an eye on it for you while you were inside.”
“Thanks,” Max said. “I wasn’t thinking very clearly when I arrived.”
“I figured as much. There’s a parking lot just back up the laneway on your right. I’d suggest getting a day-pass if you think you’re going to be here for a while.”
Max drove to the parking lot and then searched through his luggage for the insurance policy. He couldn’t find it, so he decided to call his sister. He should probably call her and tell her the situation anyway.
“The policy is in the left outside pocket of Dad’s suitcase,” Karen told him.
Then she grilled Max with a barrage of questions, very few of which he could answer. At this point, Max didn’t have much information to give her, but he promised he’d call again as soon as he did.
He headed back inside the hospital looking for the administration department. When he got there, a young clerk just took down the name of the insurance company and the policy number. She didn’t even look at the actual policy.
It was just after midnight when the nurse came into the waiting room to find Max. She tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, as he had nodded off while waiting.
“We have the results of your father’s tests,” she said. “It turns out he’s got a chest infection, but he’s going to be fine. It appears that it was triggered by an allergic reaction to pollen. He said he first started having trouble breathing while you were in Georgia.”
“Yeah, my dad had some problems when we were at the Masters, but I thought that was because he’d just done too much walking.”
Max remembered the yellow and green pollen he’d seen falling from the trees whenever the wind blew in Augusta.
“We’ve got him on oxygen right now and he’s resting comfortably. I think he’ll be good to go first thing in the morning.”
* * *
The following morning, Max held his father’s arm as they walked from the emergency department out to the car. He seemed to be breathing quite comfortably now.
Max navigated out of the parking lot and began looking for signs telling him how to get back on the freeway.
“You’re in the wrong lane,” his father said.
Max smiled at him. “It’s good to have you back, Dad.”
Chapter 16: Tempo & Timing
In the spring, every golfer looks forward to the upcoming season, confident that this is going to be the year their game finally comes together. Josh was going to take advantage of the putting lesson his father got him for his birthday and pulled into the parking lot at the Riverview Golf Club. He noticed the license plate of the car he parked beside read “OnePutt”.
“I’m here for a putting lesson with Grant,” Josh said as he approached the counter inside the pro shop.
“I think G is still out on the range giving another lesson,” Scott said. “He should be back any sec.”
Sure enough, Grant came into the pro shop a few minutes later. He invited Josh to the small indoor putting green they had set up in the back of the pro shop. Grant had set up the monitors before he arrived, so all he had to do was attach a small device to the shaft of Josh’s putter. He told Josh to hit about six or seven putts toward the hole which was about ten feet away.
“Okay, that should be enough,” Grant said. “Let’s see what the monitor says.” Grant clicked a button on his computer and a bunch of charts and graphs appeared. “Your putting stroke is actually quite good. Your putter is pretty much in alignment to the target at address. Your swing path is slightly to the inside and the putter face is a bit closed at impact, but only by fractions. Your tempo seems good and your launch angle is about two degrees. Everything looks good. What made you think you need help with your putting?”
“I miss a ton of three and four-footers,” Josh said.
Grant clicked a button on his mouse and another chart appeared. “According to this, if you’re reading the putts correctly, you should be making between ninety-two and ninety-six percent of three foot putts.”
“I wish that was true,” Josh said. “I doubt I make half of them.”
Grant reached down and removed the device from the shaft of Josh’s putter. “Why don’t we head outside and see how you do on a real putting green?”
When they got outside, Grant made a small adjustment to Josh’s grip and then watched him hit several ten-foot putts. Everything looked good.
Then he placed several balls in a circle about four feet from the hole. Josh made the first two which were uphill putts, but lipped out on the next two and then missed the hole entirely on the last two attempts. It was like an entirely different person was now holding the putter.
“Why are you hitting your putts so hard?” Grant asked.
“I read an article in a golf magazine that said the pro’s on the tour hit their short putts firm and try to take the break out.”
Grant knew this was partly true, but it wasn’t good advice for a typical amateur. “I think you’d be better to hit the ball in at the proper pace, rather than trying to ram it into the back of the cup. It’s causing you to jab down on the ball which is causing the ball to bounce off the putter face. It’s also throwing off your tempo. Golf is all about tempo and timing.”
Josh remembered his father saying the same thing.
Grant placed the balls again in a four-foot circle around the hole. “This time, try to hit the putts so they only go about six to twelve inches past the hole if you miss.”
Josh tried again and this time made four out of six attempts. The ones he missed were the downhill putts, one which was straight downhill and the other had a left-to-right break.
“Okay, your speed was much better on those putts, but you decelerated on your downhill putts, which is causing you to leave the putter face open at impact. That’s why you missed both of those putts to the right.”
“I guess I was afraid of hitting the downhill putts too hard,” Josh said. “If I miss, I don’t want to have another three-footer coming back.”
“Downhill putts with a left-to-right break are the hardest, even for the pros, and they putt on really fast greens. On the tour, who do you think has the best tempo?”
Josh thought for a second. “Probably, Ernie Els.”
“Perfect,” Grant said. “In golf, your backswing should take about twice as long as your through stroke. So what I want you to do is say his name when you putt. Say Ern-ie when you take the putter back and Els on your forward stroke.”
Josh tried it again and this time made all six of the putts. “Geez, I wish I could putt like this when I’m out on the course.”
Grant smiled. “Most people putt like pros on the practice green. The problem is, there’s more pressure during the actual round. So, let’s create a drill to try to create some of that pressure while practicing.” Grant placed the balls in a circle around the hole again. “I want to see you make twelve in a row.”
Josh easily made the first six. He made the seventh and eighth putts as well, but they just curled in the side of the hole. His ninth putt lipped out.
&nbs
p; “Okay, start over,” Grant said.
Josh tried again. The next time he didn’t miss until the tenth putt.
“Start over,” Grant said.
This time Josh made eleven in a row. He took a deep breath before he attempted to make the last one. He left the last putt six inches short. “Shit, shit, shit!!! How can I leave a four foot putt six inches short?”
Grant laughed. “It’s because the pressure caused you to lose your tempo. Try it again and this time say Ern-ie Els out loud when you make the stroke.”
Josh did and the putt rolled into the centre of the cup.
“But I can’t say his name out loud every time I putt. People will think I’m crazy.”
“You’re probably right. So just say it inside your head. When you’re out on the course and you start missing short putts, start thinking about this little drill to get your tempo back. Or if you’re on the last hole and you need to sink a four-footer to win the club championship, you know the pressure is going to get to you. So just imagine yourself on the practice green, say Ern-ie Els to yourself when you make the stroke, and you’ll find the centre of the cup.”
After the lesson was over, Josh continued to practice his putting for another half an hour. He was sure he’d beat his father in their next match.
* * *
Cheech came into the small boardroom at NBT. Melanie’s auto group now consisted of four people, including Cheech and herself. They had already held several brainstorming sessions to come up with a new advertising strategy. Each person had tweaked their favourite idea, but today was the day they were hoping to make the final decision on which one to present to the client.
Cheech was at least twenty-five years older than anyone else in the group and he knew the two new hires wondered why an old fart like him was part of their team.
Brent pitched his idea of emphasizing the car’s sound system in their advertising. “Kids today like to listen to their favourite tunes when they’re in their car. We’ve got a great speaker system including two speakers in the back. In addition to the radio and CD player, the system allows them to plug in their iPod or MP3 player so they can listen to their whole collection while they’re driving.” He placed a series of four storyboard pictures on the table showing four young people driving out to the beach.
“Looks like they’re partying,” Cheech said.
“Exactly,” Brent said. “In order to attract the young driver to the car, I think we should show all of the fun they could have if they had a car like this.”
Melanie studied the pictures. “Looks good.”
Then she turned to Ashley. She was a brand new hire, fresh out of school. “What’s your idea?”
“I like Brent’s idea, but I also think we should heavily advertise the phone integration. Kids live on their phones today and they always want to be connected, so I think we should emphasize that in our advertising.” Her storyboard pictures showed the vehicle’s ability to connect to the internet.
“Remember, we’re trying to sell a car, not a new phone or computer,” Cheech said.
“You don’t like these ideas?” Melanie asked.
“No, they’re good ideas and those are important features to include in our advertising, but I think they have to be targeted at the ultimate decision maker.”
“They are,” Ashley protested. “The target market for this vehicle is the first-time buyer looking for something fun to drive.”
“Yeah, it’s not targeted at someone like you,” Brent added. “You wouldn’t be caught dead in a trendy car like this. No offence, but I think it’s targeted at someone much younger.”
Cheech smiled. “No offence taken. You’re right. I’m not the one going to be driving around in a car like this. It’s for people like yourselves.”
“Precisely,” Ashley said. “In fact, I’ve been thinking of buying one myself.”
Cheech turned to her. “Good, so let’s use your situation as a sample case study. What features attracted you to this vehicle?”
Ashley listed all of the features they’d already discussed, plus the fact that it came in a bright canary-yellow colour that she just adored.
“So why haven’t you bought it yet?”
Ashley looked away. “My dad wants me to buy a Corolla. He said his first vehicle was a Corolla.”
Cheech could not hide his grin. “Your dad? If it’s going to be your vehicle, why does it matter what your dad thinks?”
Ashley’s face flushed. “Because he said he’d help pay for it if I got a Corolla. I’m still paying off my student loans, so I can’t afford it on my own.”
It was almost as if Cheech knew what she was going to say. “So, we actually have two decision makers in this purchase, you and your father.”
“I guess,” Ashley admitted.
“I think I see your point,” Melanie said, “but I’m not sure how this affects our marketing strategy. We can’t target two completely different customers in our advertising.”
“Actually, I think we can,” Cheech said. “We still show how the vehicle can connect to the internet, but instead of showing how the kid can find the location of the pub they’re looking for, show how it can be used to find another route home when the main road is blocked off. Instead of showing how she can call all her friends on the phone while driving, show how she can call her father to come rescue her when she gets stuck in a snowbank.”
Ashley’s eyes lit up. “If I could convince my father that I’d actually be safer with all of these features, then I think he’d let me buy it instead of the Corolla.”
“When a kid buys his or her first car, they almost always ask their parents for advice,” Cheech said. “The kids want something cool. The parents want something safe. So any advertising has to be delivering messages to both at the same time.”
“It sounds like we have a plan,” Melanie said. “Let’s work out the details. The pitch to the client is only a few weeks away.”
* * *
It was a couple of weeks later when Melanie came over to Cheech’s cubicle at the office.
“Well, I think we’re ready for tomorrow’s meeting with the client. The partners are coming to do the corporate portion and I’ll be doing the presentation on our marketing strategy. I was wondering if you’d like to come and do it with me?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Cheech said.
“But a lot of these ideas are yours. We couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you saying that, but they’re looking for someone young with fresh, new ideas. I think the presence of an old guy like me would actually hurt your chances of winning the business.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so.” Cheech knew that most of these new ideas were actually the same ones that he wanted to pitch to his boss when he still worked there – the ones they never even bothered to listen to before showing him out the door.
Cheech looked at the confident young woman standing in front of him, almost like she was his daughter. “I think you’re exactly the type of person they’re looking for right now. The timing is perfect.”
Chapter 17: Money Games
Ray headed into the local branch of his bank and approached the young, twenty-something girl at the front desk.
“I’d like to talk to one of your advisors about my RRSP,” he said.
“Are you here to make a contribution?” she asked. “I can probably help you with that.”
“No, I’d actually like to take some money out.”
The girl looked at him as if he had suddenly pulled out a weapon. “Take money out? Are you sure?” She looked completely perplexed. “I’m not sure I know how to do that.”
One of the advisors happened to be coming out of his office at the time and she waved him over. “This man wants to take money out of his RRSP,” she whispered to the advisor. They both looked at Ray with puzzled looks on their faces. Finally, the advisor spoke.
“I’m Jim
Waters,” he said. “Why don’t you come into my office, Mister…?”
“Ferguson, Ray Ferguson.”
Ray followed him into his office and the advisor closed the door behind them.
“Are you unhappy with our service, sir?”
“No, the service has been fine. I’ve been banking here for almost fifteen years, regularly putting money into my RRSP. I’d now like to take some of it out.”
The advisor still didn’t seem to understand.
“We spent a little more than we expected in Florida this year,” Ray explained, “so I’m running a bit short on cash.”
“Would you like to take out a loan?”
Ray wondered why no one seemed to understand what he thought was a pretty simple request. He started talking slower.
“No. I don’t need a loan. I have the money in my RRSP savings. I just want to take some of it out.”
“But that’s for your retirement,” the advisor said.
“Precisely,” Ray said. “And I’m retired. I simply want to take out some of my money.”
The advisor searched through his desk for the correct form. “We’ll have to withhold twenty percent for income taxes,” he said.
Ray smiled. It looked like they were finally making some progress. “Yes, I know. The government always takes their cut.”
“And there will be an admin charge of fifty dollars,” Jim added.
“Excuse me?”
“There’s an administration charge of fifty dollars every time money is transferred or withdrawn.”
Ray’s smile disappeared. “I’m not transferring my money to a different bank, and I’m not taking all of the money out and closing the account. I simply want some of the money – my money – to pay some extra bills. You mean you’re going to charge me fifty bucks every time I want to take out some of my money?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s our policy. We have to fill in some forms, so they charge an admin fee.”
Ray could feel his anger rising. “You had to fill in forms when I put the money in too, but you didn’t charge me any admin fee then. But you’re telling me now you’re going to charge me fifty bucks every time I want to take out some of my own damn money?”
The Back Nine: A Novel About Life After Fifty Page 10
