| Humor Fiction posted November 22, 2022 |
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Flapdoodle: A noun meaning nonsense
Hobart Flapdoodle's Ace
by Jim Wile
Short(ish) Story Contest Contest Winner
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.
When Hobart Flapdoodle scored his hole-in-one, it was the third time that day he had split his pants. Not that splitting his pants was anything out of the ordinary for him. In fact, it was a rather frequent occurrence, but three times in one day was a new record.
The first time was rather mundane: He was squatting over to push his car out of a ditch. The second and third times were rather extraordinary, though, and it would be best not to give the circumstances away just yet.
Hobart, in kinder terms, could be described as a portly fellow. His true name was Hobart Flynn Dudley. He was 35 years old and, in many respects, resembled the fine comedian Oliver Hardy of the famed Laurel and Hardy duo. He had black hair, a short mustache, and a body that weighed in the vicinity of 350 pounds.
Hobart lived by himself in a small house in Cranston, Rhode Island. He had lived with his mother until her passing three years earlier in 1950 from complications with diabetes. Hobart's Mum had been a jolly soul who loved him dearly, and he missed her with all of his heart. Unfortunately for Hobart, she had never properly trained him in domestic duties such as cooking and laundering before her passing, which explains the pink underwear Hobart was forced to wear this morning and also helps partially explain an unfortunate event that was to occur later that morning at work.
Hobart worked at the Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence as a zookeeper. He was good with animals and enjoyed his care-taking duties immensely. He was a good-natured fellow whom everyone liked with the possible exception of his boss, Fred Pickens, a miserable man who took pleasure in berating Hobart for his size and inordinate cheerfulness. In fact, it was he who had given Hobart the epithet "Flapdoodle." This came about one morning when an ebullient Hobart had said to a hung-over Fred, "You look well this fine morning, Mr. Pickens."
Pickens, who did not feel at all well, looked at Hobart with disdain and said to him, "How can you sling such nonsense? Hobart Flynn Dudley, eh? From now on, I'm going to start calling you 'Hobart Flapdoodle.'"
And so it was that at roll call that morning and every morning since, it was always "Hobart Flapdoodle?"
"Present," answered Hobart, and eventually everyone started calling him that.
Hobart's alarm clock went off at 7:00 AM that Friday morning in early July, 1953. He awoke refreshed and looking forward to seeing Tillie, his love, who worked at the concession stand at the zoo. He and Tillie had met two years before, right after Tillie began working at the zoo, and they had begun dating soon after. It was Hobart's fervent hope that she would agree to marry him once he finally proposed to her. He was waiting to accumulate enough money to purchase an engagement ring.
Unfortunately, he had only managed to save about $200 and would need at least $800 more to buy a ring worthy of his sweetheart. At the pace he was able to save, this could take several more years.
Hobart got out of bed, performed his morning ablutions, put on his uniform--a navy blue jacket and pants as well as a cap resembling a police officer's cap--and headed out to his car. Hobart was very proud of his Studebaker convertible, which he was able to purchase with the money his mother had left to him on her death.
It was such a beautiful, warm summer morning that Hobart decided to put the top down. Once this was done, he drove into town and stopped at Archie's Diner, where he breakfasted most mornings during the week.
"Greetings, all!" he said as he removed his jacket, hung it on a hook, and waddled over to take his seat on a stool at the counter. He was one of the regulars there, and everyone knew him. He sat down next to Ernie McPhail, a fellow zookeeper who, like Hobart, often breakfasted at Archie's. Ernie, who was thin as a rail, reached over and pinched about three inches from Hobart's massive belly and said, "Hoo, Hobart. Looks like Tillie has been feeding you awfully well lately. So, when are you and she going to tie the knot?"
Hobart laughed and said, "I'm saving the money right now for an engagement ring, but it may be a while until I have quite enough."
"What'll it be, Hobart?" asked Archie from behind the counter. "The usual three fried eggs, six slices of bacon, hash browns, an order of pancakes with extra butter, coffee, and a large orange juice?"
"That would be splendid, Arch."
"See, there's how you could save money: if you didn't eat so dang much," said Ernie.
"You're right. Forget the orange juice, Arch."
They began discussing what an awful season the New York Giants were having and how well the Boston Red Sox seemed to be doing. Neither of them could stand the Yankees. After the baseball talk had petered out, Ernie said, "Hey, Hobart. Wanna hear a good joke I heard yesterday?"
"Sure."
"Okay. I had a happy childhood. My dad used to put me in tires and roll me down hills. Those were the Goodyears."
Hobart laughed out loud. "I've got one too: Why do cows wear bells?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because their horns don't work."
"You guys are about as funny as a screen door on a submarine," said Archie as he placed Hobart's plates of food in front of him. "More coffee, fellas?"
"Sure, Arch."
They finished their breakfasts and decided they'd better get going. Hobart left the parking lot first and headed out onto Pontiac Avenue. He was enjoying the beautiful morning and the warm summer breeze flowing over him in his convertible when all of a sudden, a gust of wind added to the airflow from riding with the top down and caught the brim of his cap, which flew off his head and out of the car to land on the street behind him. This caused Hobart to jerk his head around to the right to see what happened to his cap, but doing so also caused him to yank the steering wheel to the right, sending him off the road and into a small ditch, where he came to a jarring stop.
Fortunately, he was not hurt, but his car was stuck, as he was unable to back it back out of the ditch.
In a minute or so, his friend Ernie walked up to the side of the car. "I saw what happened to you there, Hobart, so I pulled over to give you a hand." He then handed Hobart his flattened cap, which he had retrieved from the road after a car had passed over it. "I'm afraid that cap's a goner. It's a good thing you didn't swerve the other way, though, into oncoming traffic."
"You can say that again," said a breathless Hobart as his heart took its time to slow down again. "It appears as if I'm stuck."
"Nonsense. You and I together can push it out of this ditch. Hop out, and I'll give you a hand."
"Thanks, Ern."
Hobart got out, and together they headed to the front of the car to begin pushing. They pushed for a while and succeeded only in rocking the car back and forth a few times.
Ernie, who was really straining with the effort, said, "You've got to get down lower and really put your back into it, big boy."
So, Hobart squatted down, and it was then that his pants split for the first time that day. Ernie's advice worked, though, and with the extra force Hobart was able to apply, they were slowly able to push the car out of the ditch and back onto the side of the road.
"Thanks a million, Ern. Don't know what I would have done without you. We'd better get going though, or we'll both be late for work."
"You're welcome, buddy. See ya there," said Ernie as he got back into his car.
After the early morning excitement, Hobart arrived at the zoo right at 8:30. He rushed from the parking lot into the locker room, where he hung up his jacket (the zookeepers were not required to wear them during the summer months) and changed his pants. His other uniform was in the laundry hamper at home, so he had to put on a pair of old gray pants he kept in his locker as a backup pair. His cap was indeed ruined--flattened and shapeless--so he placed it in his locker, then hurried into the bullpen and sat down next to Ernie. He was four minutes late.
"Well, Flapdoodle. Nice of you to join us today," said his boss, Pickens. "Where are your cap and your uniform pants?"
"I had a bit of a mishap on the way to work this morning and ended up in a ditch. Ernie here helped me to push it out, but I split my pants in the process."
"Not surprising. If you weren't such a tub of lard, you might be easier on your clothes. And the cap?"
"Squashed beyond recognition, sir, by a passing car."
Pickens frowned as the other zookeepers tried to stifle laughter. "Alright, Flapdoodle. For being late, you get to feed Louie today. Mr. Soames, would you please adjust the schedules accordingly?" he said to his assistant.
Hobart smiled to himself, as he did not see this as a punishment at all the way others might. Louie was a large, gray western lowlands gorilla who was bad-tempered with most of the keepers, but had a special fondness for Hobart, whose affable nature must have put Louie at his ease. He and Louie got along just fine.
"Alright fellas," said Pickens. "The zoo closes at noon today to give you a half-day holiday because tomorrow is the 4th of July. For those of you who work the weekend shift, I will see you tomorrow morning at the regular time. Dismissed."
"Good luck with Louie today," said Ernie as they began filing out. "I heard Becky is in heat, so he's likely to be in a particularly bad mood since she's been moved to a nearby cage and he can't get at her."
"Thanks for the tip, but I've never had a problem with Louie. I'm sure it will be just fine."
"Well, don't say I didn't warn ya."
Hobart picked up his schedule of animals to feed that day and headed to his small Cushman truckster. He started the motor, then drove to the supply house to fill it with the food he would need that morning for the different animals on his schedule.
Louie had been penciled in by Soames at the bottom of Hobart's list, so he would be the last one to feed that day before he left to enjoy his afternoon off.
Hobart was a proud member of the local chapter of the Lion's Club, which was hosting a golf outing that afternoon. Although not a very good golfer, Hobart loved the game and planned to play in the outing.
At about 10:30, with half of his charges provided for, he stopped for his mid-morning break at the concession stand as he always did when Tillie was working.
Tillie beamed when she saw Hobart approach. They say there is someone for everyone, and Tillie appeared to be the perfect match for Hobart. She had a pretty face with cupid's bow lips and wore her hair in a bun. She was a big girl with the same general shape as Hobart, whom she enjoyed cooking for, inviting him over for dinner often.
"Good morning, my sweet. How are you this lovely summer morning?" said Hobart.
"I'm just fine, my love. Are you having a good morning so far?"
"I am now that I'm seeing you, my pet. I'm also looking forward to a round of golf this afternoon with the Lions."
"Will the monkeys and elephants be joining you as well?"
Hobart smiled. "Your wit could brighten the darkest mood, my sweet."
"Will you be able to come over for dinner tonight, Hobart? I could make your favorite--pork chops with Duchess potatoes and buttered string beans."
"That's awfully tempting, but I'm afraid there is a banquet after the golf match that I must attend. Could I perhaps take a rain-check until tomorrow?"
"That would be wonderful, dear. I will even make your favorite dessert--peach cobbler a la mode."
"I'm tempted to skip the banquet and come over tonight; that meal sounds heavenly.
"No, you had best dine with your friends tonight. But bring your appetite tomorrow night."
"I certainly will. Speaking of all this food has made me very hungry. How about a large coke, a hotdog, and a couple of Milky Ways, my sweet?"
Tillie prepared his order, which Hobart then sat down at a table to eat, as she was busy with other customers. When break time was over, he blew her a kiss goodbye and walked back to his truckster.
The morning had gone very smoothly until he reached his final stop--Louie the gorilla. As Ernie had warned him, Louie seemed to be more agitated than usual since Becky had been moved out temporarily while she was in heat. When Hobart drove up and stopped by his cage, though, he quit pacing back and forth at the rear of the cage when he noticed that it was Hobart who'd come to feed him this morning and just sat down to watch Hobart.
"Hello, little girl," said Hobart to a young patron who stood outside the cage with her mother to watch Louie.
"Are you going to feed the big monkey?" asked the waif as she watched Hobart step out of his vehicle.
"Yes, I certainly am. I've got all of his favorites here--especially bananas. Lots of bananas for Louie. He's a gorilla, by the way."
Hobart reached into the back of the truckster and picked up the crate of food items for Louie. The bunch of bananas was at the very top, balanced precariously on the other vegetables below.
Holding the crate in one arm, he reached for his key ring with his free hand and unlocked the door at the rear of Louie's cage. He went in and set the crate on a high bench at the rear of the cage, but when he set the crate down, the bunch of bananas that had been perched on top fell down behind the bench.
Hobart reached over to retrieve them, but due to the height of the bench, his arm wasn't long enough and he was unable to reach them from behind, so he squatted down in front of the bench to reach them from below.
Unfortunately, in so doing, he split his pants for the second time that day. These gray "backup pants" had not been worn by Hobart in some time, and consequently were a bit snug as Hobart had shared many sizable meals at Tillie's house over the past months. Tillie was a wonderful cook and loved to prepare all of Hobart's favorite meals, which was not good for Hobart's waistline and backside.
With Hobart bent over in that attitude in his gray pants with the pink underwear visible beneath the split in the pants (remember Hobart's lack of laundering skill), this stirred something in Louie, who was watching Hobart closely. In fact, he became so aroused at the sight that the little girl outside, who was observing this with fascination, asked her mommy, "What's that big stick between the monkey's legs?"
Louie got up from the floor of his cage then, and with lust in his eyes, he hurried over to an oblivious Hobart, leaning down and reaching under the bench to fetch the bananas with his big gray bottom with the pink slit sticking up in the air.
Hobart shrieked as he was mounted from behind by an amorous Louie who grabbed him around his stomach and wouldn't let go until he'd finished his business.
Hobart heard the little girl cry out, "Mommy, what's the monkey doing to the man?" Her mommy, who was totally absorbed by this startling scene, suddenly came to her senses and covered the girl's eyes as they quickly rushed away. Hobart heard a great deal of laughing from other patrons who had also witnessed this remarkable feat of primate passion.
"Get off, ya big lunk," hollered Hobart as he attempted to extricate himself from under the bench. A satiated Louie then ambled over and resumed his seat on the floor of the cage, and if there is such a thing as a smile on a gorilla's face, he appeared to have one.
With as much dignity as he could muster, Hobart stood up and let himself out of the cage, avoiding the eyes of the hysterical onlookers. He put the crate in back, then sat down to a squishing sound on the seat of his truckster and speedily drove away.
Back in the employees' locker room, Hobart removed the gray pants, cleaned himself as best he could until he could get home and shower off, and put on the uniform pants that he had split while pushing the car out of the ditch earlier that morning.
By this time, word had gotten around to the other zookeepers who were also preparing to leave.
"I heard you was r-aped by Louie this morning, Hobart," laughed one wit.
"What will Tillie think when she finds out you've been stepping out on her, Flapdoodle?" asked another.
Hobart tried to laugh along with his friends, but he was groaning inside and couldn't wait to get out of there and get home where he could settle down and try to relax from this harrowing experience before leaving to play golf with the Lions.
After a good bit more joshing, he bade them farewell and left.
At home, Hobart stripped down and immediately stepped into the shower before doing anything else. As he stood there with the warm water cascading over him, he finally began to relax.
By this time, he was hungry again and padded to the kitchen in his bathrobe, where he made himself a few sandwiches and ate them. He also looked for and finally found the bottle of brandy his Mum used to keep and poured himself a small glass of it to further help him relax. He then retreated to the living room, sat down in his big easy chair, and poured himself another small glass of brandy.
He was finally relaxed and actually nodded off to sleep. He awoke a couple of hours later with a start. He had not meant to fall asleep and realized he had to now get a move on, or he would be late for the start of the 9-hole golf outing, which began at 3:30. It was 3:00 now.
He quickly changed into his golfing clothes. The only pants he had left that weren't in the laundry were the old, checkered plus-fours that his father had bequeathed him when he could no longer play. They hadn't been in style since the late 30s. It took some effort by Hobart to squeeze into them. He had not actually worn them before, and his father had never quite gained the heft that Hobart carried, but he now had no time to wash and dry another pair or stop at a store to purchase some new pants, so they would have to do.
He finished dressing, put on a bucket hat that he used for golfing, and retrieved his bag of clubs and golf shoes from the basement. He threw them in the back seat of his car and headed to the golf course. He made it with a few minutes to spare.
In the Pro Shop, he paid his greens fee and bought a half-dozen golf balls. At a table outside the Pro Shop, one of the Lions was selling raffle tickets for 50 cents apiece. Hobart bought three. Mulligan tickets were also being sold for 50 cents, and he purchased one of those as well. Plus, there was a hole-in-one contest. For the price of one dollar, anyone who scored a hole-in-one on either of the two par-3 holes would win $1,000. Hobart spent another dollar on one of those.
Soon the starter called out, "Vanderway, Nester, DeMeo, and Dudley to the tee, please!"
Hobart headed to the first tee where the starter explained the rules to his foursome: "Gentlemen, this is a captain's choice event in which each player in the group tees off, then the best drive is selected, and all four players hit their second shots from that location. The same procedure is followed with the best second shot, etc. until the ball is holed, thus producing a single team score for the hole. Also, you must use at least one drive from each player on the team somewhere on the nine. Good luck to you all and play well."
The group mutually decided to let Nester be the captain because he was the best player of the four by far. He would determine the order of hitting as well as the best shot to select for the next one when there was a close decision.
"You're looking very spiffy in those plus-fours, Hobart," said Nester. "Why don't you lead us off."
He had not had a chance to warm up beforehand due to being late to arrive at the course, so he was rather stiff. He teed up his ball and took an awkward swipe at it. He barely made contact with the top of the ball, which succeeded only in advancing it three feet to the left. As he had purchased a mulligan ticket, he decided to use it now. After re-teeing he took a practice swing or two before stepping up to his ball again. He took a mighty swing at it, but the result was much the same--three feet to the left. He looked at his playing partners with a smile on his face and said, "One of those days, boys--hook, hook, hook."
His companions laughed heartily at this. Nester said, "You might as well pick it up, Hobart. I think we'll be able to improve on that one!"
Hobart reached for his ball, pocketed it, and stepped to the side of the tee to watch the rest hit their drives. Nester, who went last, hit the best of the drives--a 230-yard shot down the middle--and they all hefted their bags and moved off down the fairway.
Through the 6th hole the team was 3-under par, thanks in large part to Nester's fine golf. Unfortunately, the team's efforts took a severe blow on the 7th hole when Hobart's drive struck a tree close to the right side of the tee, ricocheted back, and hit Nester squarely on the kneecap with such force that he fell to the ground in agony. After rolling around for a while in obvious pain, his playing companions were able to heft him up from the ground, but he was unable to put any weight on the leg, and would no longer be able to play.
Hobart was dreadfully sorry and apologized to Nester profusely. Nester, being the decent fellow that he was, forgave him and told him it was not his fault and that it was just a freak accident. This did little to assuage Hobart's sense of guilt. Not only was his friend injured, but he had just taken out the best player on the team. There was little chance of winning the event now, as their horse was suddenly lame.
Not only was Nester unable to play, he couldn't even walk, and the others would take turns propping him up as he hopped along on his good leg with his arms around two of their shoulders. This got to be tiring for all involved, reminiscent of the old golf joke about the man who came home exhausted from playing golf one day and collapsed on the sofa. His wife asked him why he was so exhausted, and the man said, "My pal, Charlie, had a heart attack and died on the 4th hole, and for the rest of the round it was hit the ball, drag Charlie, hit the ball, drag Charlie."
The team still managed to par the 7th hole with the aid of decent shots by both DeMeo and Vanderway. Through seven holes, Hobart had yet to contribute a single shot, and they still needed to use one of his drives before the end according to the rules.
The 8th hole was a 180-yard par-3 hole to a narrow green over a large pond with boulders sticking up out of it in the middle. It was a fearsome hole that had wrecked the score of many a round up to that point.
Not wishing to see a shot into the water that would put that mental image in the minds of the other two, Nester told Hobart to hit last this time. DeMeo, who was a powerful fellow, chose a 5-iron and stepped to the tee. He hit a good-looking shot that was heading straight for the flag, but he had caught the ball a tad thin and it plunked into the pond just a foot from the far edge.
Vanderway also hit a good 4-iron, but a gust of wind knocked the ball out of the sky, and it too suffered a watery fate. They all turned to Hobart then, and Nester said, "Hobart, if there was ever a time to shine, this would be it. Not meaning to put any pressure on you, old boy, but if you could somehow reach down deep and come up with a good shot, it would be much appreciated by all."
"I'll endeavor to do my best, boys," he said as he pulled out his driver and strode to the tee box. This was it--his chance to make amends for his poor play. He didn't want to let his friends down, so he took extra time setting up to the ball.
He pulled up some grass and tossed it up to gauge the direction and strength of the wind. He took two practice swings and some extra waggles while adjusting his feet. Then it was time to pull the trigger.
He was not a long hitter, and it would be all he could do to reach the green 180 yards away with his driver. He took a mammoth swipe at the ball, which took off like a shot, but it never rose more than a foot off the ground and was headed for a watery grave until it suddenly struck a rock sticking up from the pond and bounced high into the air. The shot was hit with such force as Hobart had never before been able to muster, that it flew over the green, but on its way to earth, it struck a ball washer on the 9th tee directly behind the green and again ricocheted into the air and back towards the green again. It finally came down softly on the rear of the green, which sloped down to the pond, and began rolling towards the hole. The group stood transfixed on the tee as they watched the ball take its circuitous path. It was rolling slowly down the slope, directly for the pin, and nearly stopped, but on its last roll, it gently dropped into the back of the cup.
Hobart let out a shriek, threw his driver into the air, and jumped straight up off the ground. Unfortunately, the grass was a bit moist on the tee, as it was in the shade, and when Hobart's feet came down, the left slid forward as the right slid back, and he ended up doing a perfect split. A ripping sound accompanied this as the seam of his rather tight plus-fours was simply not strong enough, and for the third time that day, Hobart split his pants.
Vanderway and DeMeo came running up to pat him on the back and congratulate him on his ace and to help him up from the ground, as he was unable to do this by himself from such a position. They were all ecstatic as Hobart's hole-in-one now put them 5-under par through 8 holes, and they had used one of his drives.
The 9th hole was anti-climactic, and they ended with a par. They made their way into the clubhouse and settled Nester at a table in the bar while Hobart and the others went out to post their 5-under score. They led by three at this point, but there were still five more teams out on the course.
They rejoined Nester in the bar then and ordered a few pitchers of beer. As the remaining teams made their way in, they asked each team how they had done, and their lead held up. When the final team came in with a score of 4-under par, they knew they had won the tournament. Hobart was in fine fettle as everyone congratulated him on his hole-in-one.
It wasn't until one of the players asked him if he'd bothered to buy a hole-in-one ticket that he remembered that he had and that he would be the recipient of $1,000. He suddenly realized that he would now have enough money to afford the engagement ring for his beloved Tillie! This made his day even more than scoring the ace and helping his team win the tournament.
It was a splendid banquet the Lions put on, and Hobart received many accolades for his feat as well as a $1,000 bill, not to mention a trophy for first place and a $20 credit toward the purchase of golf equipment or attire from the Pro Shop.
The next day was Saturday, the 4th of July, and Hobart would be having dinner with Tillie tonight. He was so excited about getting her the ring to present to her this evening and to ask for her hand in marriage that he forgot this was a national holiday. When he arrived at the jewelry store, it was closed, and Hobart was sorely disappointed.
Then he happened to notice a solitary employee, who appeared to be putting some additional items in one of the display cases, and he rapped on the window.
"We're closed," came the muffled reply from the employee who happened to be the owner.
Hobart then took the thousand-dollar bill from his wallet and held it up for the man to see. The man quickly came over to the door and let him in. $942 dollars later, Hobart left with the ring in a box and a smile on his face.
He spent the afternoon preparing for the momentous evening. After showering, shaving, and dressing in his finest suit, he put Brylcreem in his hair (a little dab'll do ya) and spent a few minutes styling it. When he was all finished preparing, he looked at himself in the mirror and was pleased with the result. He hoped Tillie would be as well.
He put the top back up on his convertible to help keep his hair in place and drove over to Tillie's house with the ring in his side pocket.
Tillie looked exquisite to Hobart in a long, flowery, sleeveless dress. Her hair was in a big bun on top of her head, and her cupid's-bow lips were cherry red with lipstick. She also smelled of lilies of the valley, a fragrance that Hobart particularly loved.
They sat down and talked for a few minutes while the food finished baking in the oven. Hobart told her how his team had won the golf outing yesterday and about his hole-in-one, but he did not mention the prize money he had won for it. Tillie was so proud of him for being the hero of the day.
After the wonderful meal he had been promised, he and Tillie gathered up a blanket, and headed out to the backyard to watch the fireworks. Tillie's house was on a sloping lot, the rear of which looked out over a valley. The fireworks would be shot off from the city park down below.
Together they spread the blanket on a flat spot at the top of the hill, just behind her house. From there, the ground sloped down rather abruptly in a short but steep slope that was seldom mowed. A neighbor of Tillie's had recently mowed it with a scything blade on his tractor, though, and Tillie had thanked him with a couple of pies she had baked.
As they settled comfortably on the blanket, it was then that Hobart brought out the ring from his pocket and handed the pretty package to Tillie. She could tell by the shape what it probably was, and her eyes began to tear up as she ripped off the wrappings and opened the box. Hobart reached in and pulled out the beautiful diamond ring. He got on one knee, held the ring out for Tillie, and said, "Matilda Peabody, my sweet, I have waited a long time for this moment. Will you marry me?"
Right then the sky lit up with the first of the fireworks as Tillie, with tears streaming down, said, "Yes, Hobart. I will marry you!"
He then slipped the ring on her ring finger. It didn't quite make it all the way down, but they would be able to get it sized properly on Monday. He then embraced her and reached for a kiss, as the next firework lit up the sky.
Unfortunately, when Hobart grabbed Tillie in an embrace from his position on one knee, he was off-balance and pulled her over on top of him as he collapsed and rolled over on his back. But being at the very top of the steep hill, down they went together, arms around each other, rolling over and over until they reached the bottom. Hobart's pants split open in the process, but aside from that, they were unscathed. They both burst out laughing and could hardly stop as they sat up and pulled strands of grass off each other.
Between fits of laughter, Tillie managed to say, "Hobart, I never thought our first roll in the hay would be exactly that!" And this started the laughter anew as the fireworks continued to light up the sky above.
When Hobart Flapdoodle scored his hole-in-one, it was the third time that day he had split his pants. Not that splitting his pants was anything out of the ordinary for him. In fact, it was a rather frequent occurrence, but three times in one day was a new record.
The first time was rather mundane: He was squatting over to push his car out of a ditch. The second and third times were rather extraordinary, though, and it would be best not to give the circumstances away just yet.
Hobart, in kinder terms, could be described as a portly fellow. His true name was Hobart Flynn Dudley. He was 35 years old and, in many respects, resembled the fine comedian Oliver Hardy of the famed Laurel and Hardy duo. He had black hair, a short mustache, and a body that weighed in the vicinity of 350 pounds.
Hobart lived by himself in a small house in Cranston, Rhode Island. He had lived with his mother until her passing three years earlier in 1950 from complications with diabetes. Hobart's Mum had been a jolly soul who loved him dearly, and he missed her with all of his heart. Unfortunately for Hobart, she had never properly trained him in domestic duties such as cooking and laundering before her passing, which explains the pink underwear Hobart was forced to wear this morning and also helps partially explain an unfortunate event that was to occur later that morning at work.
Hobart worked at the Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence as a zookeeper. He was good with animals and enjoyed his care-taking duties immensely. He was a good-natured fellow whom everyone liked with the possible exception of his boss, Fred Pickens, a miserable man who took pleasure in berating Hobart for his size and inordinate cheerfulness. In fact, it was he who had given Hobart the epithet "Flapdoodle." This came about one morning when an ebullient Hobart had said to a hung-over Fred, "You look well this fine morning, Mr. Pickens."
Pickens, who did not feel at all well, looked at Hobart with disdain and said to him, "How can you sling such nonsense? Hobart Flynn Dudley, eh? From now on, I'm going to start calling you 'Hobart Flapdoodle.'"
And so it was that at roll call that morning and every morning since, it was always "Hobart Flapdoodle?"
"Present," answered Hobart, and eventually everyone started calling him that.
Hobart's alarm clock went off at 7:00 AM that Friday morning in early July, 1953. He awoke refreshed and looking forward to seeing Tillie, his love, who worked at the concession stand at the zoo. He and Tillie had met two years before, right after Tillie began working at the zoo, and they had begun dating soon after. It was Hobart's fervent hope that she would agree to marry him once he finally proposed to her. He was waiting to accumulate enough money to purchase an engagement ring.
Unfortunately, he had only managed to save about $200 and would need at least $800 more to buy a ring worthy of his sweetheart. At the pace he was able to save, this could take several more years.
Hobart got out of bed, performed his morning ablutions, put on his uniform--a navy blue jacket and pants as well as a cap resembling a police officer's cap--and headed out to his car. Hobart was very proud of his Studebaker convertible, which he was able to purchase with the money his mother had left to him on her death.
It was such a beautiful, warm summer morning that Hobart decided to put the top down. Once this was done, he drove into town and stopped at Archie's Diner, where he breakfasted most mornings during the week.
"Greetings, all!" he said as he removed his jacket, hung it on a hook, and waddled over to take his seat on a stool at the counter. He was one of the regulars there, and everyone knew him. He sat down next to Ernie McPhail, a fellow zookeeper who, like Hobart, often breakfasted at Archie's. Ernie, who was thin as a rail, reached over and pinched about three inches from Hobart's massive belly and said, "Hoo, Hobart. Looks like Tillie has been feeding you awfully well lately. So, when are you and she going to tie the knot?"
Hobart laughed and said, "I'm saving the money right now for an engagement ring, but it may be a while until I have quite enough."
"What'll it be, Hobart?" asked Archie from behind the counter. "The usual three fried eggs, six slices of bacon, hash browns, an order of pancakes with extra butter, coffee, and a large orange juice?"
"That would be splendid, Arch."
"See, there's how you could save money: if you didn't eat so dang much," said Ernie.
"You're right. Forget the orange juice, Arch."
They began discussing what an awful season the New York Giants were having and how well the Boston Red Sox seemed to be doing. Neither of them could stand the Yankees. After the baseball talk had petered out, Ernie said, "Hey, Hobart. Wanna hear a good joke I heard yesterday?"
"Sure."
"Okay. I had a happy childhood. My dad used to put me in tires and roll me down hills. Those were the Goodyears."
Hobart laughed out loud. "I've got one too: Why do cows wear bells?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because their horns don't work."
"You guys are about as funny as a screen door on a submarine," said Archie as he placed Hobart's plates of food in front of him. "More coffee, fellas?"
"Sure, Arch."
They finished their breakfasts and decided they'd better get going. Hobart left the parking lot first and headed out onto Pontiac Avenue. He was enjoying the beautiful morning and the warm summer breeze flowing over him in his convertible when all of a sudden, a gust of wind added to the airflow from riding with the top down and caught the brim of his cap, which flew off his head and out of the car to land on the street behind him. This caused Hobart to jerk his head around to the right to see what happened to his cap, but doing so also caused him to yank the steering wheel to the right, sending him off the road and into a small ditch, where he came to a jarring stop.
Fortunately, he was not hurt, but his car was stuck, as he was unable to back it back out of the ditch.
In a minute or so, his friend Ernie walked up to the side of the car. "I saw what happened to you there, Hobart, so I pulled over to give you a hand." He then handed Hobart his flattened cap, which he had retrieved from the road after a car had passed over it. "I'm afraid that cap's a goner. It's a good thing you didn't swerve the other way, though, into oncoming traffic."
"You can say that again," said a breathless Hobart as his heart took its time to slow down again. "It appears as if I'm stuck."
"Nonsense. You and I together can push it out of this ditch. Hop out, and I'll give you a hand."
"Thanks, Ern."
Hobart got out, and together they headed to the front of the car to begin pushing. They pushed for a while and succeeded only in rocking the car back and forth a few times.
Ernie, who was really straining with the effort, said, "You've got to get down lower and really put your back into it, big boy."
So, Hobart squatted down, and it was then that his pants split for the first time that day. Ernie's advice worked, though, and with the extra force Hobart was able to apply, they were slowly able to push the car out of the ditch and back onto the side of the road.
"Thanks a million, Ern. Don't know what I would have done without you. We'd better get going though, or we'll both be late for work."
"You're welcome, buddy. See ya there," said Ernie as he got back into his car.
After the early morning excitement, Hobart arrived at the zoo right at 8:30. He rushed from the parking lot into the locker room, where he hung up his jacket (the zookeepers were not required to wear them during the summer months) and changed his pants. His other uniform was in the laundry hamper at home, so he had to put on a pair of old gray pants he kept in his locker as a backup pair. His cap was indeed ruined--flattened and shapeless--so he placed it in his locker, then hurried into the bullpen and sat down next to Ernie. He was four minutes late.
"Well, Flapdoodle. Nice of you to join us today," said his boss, Pickens. "Where are your cap and your uniform pants?"
"I had a bit of a mishap on the way to work this morning and ended up in a ditch. Ernie here helped me to push it out, but I split my pants in the process."
"Not surprising. If you weren't such a tub of lard, you might be easier on your clothes. And the cap?"
"Squashed beyond recognition, sir, by a passing car."
Pickens frowned as the other zookeepers tried to stifle laughter. "Alright, Flapdoodle. For being late, you get to feed Louie today. Mr. Soames, would you please adjust the schedules accordingly?" he said to his assistant.
Hobart smiled to himself, as he did not see this as a punishment at all the way others might. Louie was a large, gray western lowlands gorilla who was bad-tempered with most of the keepers, but had a special fondness for Hobart, whose affable nature must have put Louie at his ease. He and Louie got along just fine.
"Alright fellas," said Pickens. "The zoo closes at noon today to give you a half-day holiday because tomorrow is the 4th of July. For those of you who work the weekend shift, I will see you tomorrow morning at the regular time. Dismissed."
"Good luck with Louie today," said Ernie as they began filing out. "I heard Becky is in heat, so he's likely to be in a particularly bad mood since she's been moved to a nearby cage and he can't get at her."
"Thanks for the tip, but I've never had a problem with Louie. I'm sure it will be just fine."
"Well, don't say I didn't warn ya."
Hobart picked up his schedule of animals to feed that day and headed to his small Cushman truckster. He started the motor, then drove to the supply house to fill it with the food he would need that morning for the different animals on his schedule.
Louie had been penciled in by Soames at the bottom of Hobart's list, so he would be the last one to feed that day before he left to enjoy his afternoon off.
Hobart was a proud member of the local chapter of the Lion's Club, which was hosting a golf outing that afternoon. Although not a very good golfer, Hobart loved the game and planned to play in the outing.
At about 10:30, with half of his charges provided for, he stopped for his mid-morning break at the concession stand as he always did when Tillie was working.
Tillie beamed when she saw Hobart approach. They say there is someone for everyone, and Tillie appeared to be the perfect match for Hobart. She had a pretty face with cupid's bow lips and wore her hair in a bun. She was a big girl with the same general shape as Hobart, whom she enjoyed cooking for, inviting him over for dinner often.
"Good morning, my sweet. How are you this lovely summer morning?" said Hobart.
"I'm just fine, my love. Are you having a good morning so far?"
"I am now that I'm seeing you, my pet. I'm also looking forward to a round of golf this afternoon with the Lions."
"Will the monkeys and elephants be joining you as well?"
Hobart smiled. "Your wit could brighten the darkest mood, my sweet."
"Will you be able to come over for dinner tonight, Hobart? I could make your favorite--pork chops with Duchess potatoes and buttered string beans."
"That's awfully tempting, but I'm afraid there is a banquet after the golf match that I must attend. Could I perhaps take a rain-check until tomorrow?"
"That would be wonderful, dear. I will even make your favorite dessert--peach cobbler a la mode."
"I'm tempted to skip the banquet and come over tonight; that meal sounds heavenly.
"No, you had best dine with your friends tonight. But bring your appetite tomorrow night."
"I certainly will. Speaking of all this food has made me very hungry. How about a large coke, a hotdog, and a couple of Milky Ways, my sweet?"
Tillie prepared his order, which Hobart then sat down at a table to eat, as she was busy with other customers. When break time was over, he blew her a kiss goodbye and walked back to his truckster.
The morning had gone very smoothly until he reached his final stop--Louie the gorilla. As Ernie had warned him, Louie seemed to be more agitated than usual since Becky had been moved out temporarily while she was in heat. When Hobart drove up and stopped by his cage, though, he quit pacing back and forth at the rear of the cage when he noticed that it was Hobart who'd come to feed him this morning and just sat down to watch Hobart.
"Hello, little girl," said Hobart to a young patron who stood outside the cage with her mother to watch Louie.
"Are you going to feed the big monkey?" asked the waif as she watched Hobart step out of his vehicle.
"Yes, I certainly am. I've got all of his favorites here--especially bananas. Lots of bananas for Louie. He's a gorilla, by the way."
Hobart reached into the back of the truckster and picked up the crate of food items for Louie. The bunch of bananas was at the very top, balanced precariously on the other vegetables below.
Holding the crate in one arm, he reached for his key ring with his free hand and unlocked the door at the rear of Louie's cage. He went in and set the crate on a high bench at the rear of the cage, but when he set the crate down, the bunch of bananas that had been perched on top fell down behind the bench.
Hobart reached over to retrieve them, but due to the height of the bench, his arm wasn't long enough and he was unable to reach them from behind, so he squatted down in front of the bench to reach them from below.
Unfortunately, in so doing, he split his pants for the second time that day. These gray "backup pants" had not been worn by Hobart in some time, and consequently were a bit snug as Hobart had shared many sizable meals at Tillie's house over the past months. Tillie was a wonderful cook and loved to prepare all of Hobart's favorite meals, which was not good for Hobart's waistline and backside.
With Hobart bent over in that attitude in his gray pants with the pink underwear visible beneath the split in the pants (remember Hobart's lack of laundering skill), this stirred something in Louie, who was watching Hobart closely. In fact, he became so aroused at the sight that the little girl outside, who was observing this with fascination, asked her mommy, "What's that big stick between the monkey's legs?"
Louie got up from the floor of his cage then, and with lust in his eyes, he hurried over to an oblivious Hobart, leaning down and reaching under the bench to fetch the bananas with his big gray bottom with the pink slit sticking up in the air.
Hobart shrieked as he was mounted from behind by an amorous Louie who grabbed him around his stomach and wouldn't let go until he'd finished his business.
Hobart heard the little girl cry out, "Mommy, what's the monkey doing to the man?" Her mommy, who was totally absorbed by this startling scene, suddenly came to her senses and covered the girl's eyes as they quickly rushed away. Hobart heard a great deal of laughing from other patrons who had also witnessed this remarkable feat of primate passion.
"Get off, ya big lunk," hollered Hobart as he attempted to extricate himself from under the bench. A satiated Louie then ambled over and resumed his seat on the floor of the cage, and if there is such a thing as a smile on a gorilla's face, he appeared to have one.
With as much dignity as he could muster, Hobart stood up and let himself out of the cage, avoiding the eyes of the hysterical onlookers. He put the crate in back, then sat down to a squishing sound on the seat of his truckster and speedily drove away.
Back in the employees' locker room, Hobart removed the gray pants, cleaned himself as best he could until he could get home and shower off, and put on the uniform pants that he had split while pushing the car out of the ditch earlier that morning.
By this time, word had gotten around to the other zookeepers who were also preparing to leave.
"I heard you was r-aped by Louie this morning, Hobart," laughed one wit.
"What will Tillie think when she finds out you've been stepping out on her, Flapdoodle?" asked another.
Hobart tried to laugh along with his friends, but he was groaning inside and couldn't wait to get out of there and get home where he could settle down and try to relax from this harrowing experience before leaving to play golf with the Lions.
After a good bit more joshing, he bade them farewell and left.
At home, Hobart stripped down and immediately stepped into the shower before doing anything else. As he stood there with the warm water cascading over him, he finally began to relax.
By this time, he was hungry again and padded to the kitchen in his bathrobe, where he made himself a few sandwiches and ate them. He also looked for and finally found the bottle of brandy his Mum used to keep and poured himself a small glass of it to further help him relax. He then retreated to the living room, sat down in his big easy chair, and poured himself another small glass of brandy.
He was finally relaxed and actually nodded off to sleep. He awoke a couple of hours later with a start. He had not meant to fall asleep and realized he had to now get a move on, or he would be late for the start of the 9-hole golf outing, which began at 3:30. It was 3:00 now.
He quickly changed into his golfing clothes. The only pants he had left that weren't in the laundry were the old, checkered plus-fours that his father had bequeathed him when he could no longer play. They hadn't been in style since the late 30s. It took some effort by Hobart to squeeze into them. He had not actually worn them before, and his father had never quite gained the heft that Hobart carried, but he now had no time to wash and dry another pair or stop at a store to purchase some new pants, so they would have to do.
He finished dressing, put on a bucket hat that he used for golfing, and retrieved his bag of clubs and golf shoes from the basement. He threw them in the back seat of his car and headed to the golf course. He made it with a few minutes to spare.
In the Pro Shop, he paid his greens fee and bought a half-dozen golf balls. At a table outside the Pro Shop, one of the Lions was selling raffle tickets for 50 cents apiece. Hobart bought three. Mulligan tickets were also being sold for 50 cents, and he purchased one of those as well. Plus, there was a hole-in-one contest. For the price of one dollar, anyone who scored a hole-in-one on either of the two par-3 holes would win $1,000. Hobart spent another dollar on one of those.
Soon the starter called out, "Vanderway, Nester, DeMeo, and Dudley to the tee, please!"
Hobart headed to the first tee where the starter explained the rules to his foursome: "Gentlemen, this is a captain's choice event in which each player in the group tees off, then the best drive is selected, and all four players hit their second shots from that location. The same procedure is followed with the best second shot, etc. until the ball is holed, thus producing a single team score for the hole. Also, you must use at least one drive from each player on the team somewhere on the nine. Good luck to you all and play well."
The group mutually decided to let Nester be the captain because he was the best player of the four by far. He would determine the order of hitting as well as the best shot to select for the next one when there was a close decision.
"You're looking very spiffy in those plus-fours, Hobart," said Nester. "Why don't you lead us off."
The first time was rather mundane: He was squatting over to push his car out of a ditch. The second and third times were rather extraordinary, though, and it would be best not to give the circumstances away just yet.
Hobart, in kinder terms, could be described as a portly fellow. His true name was Hobart Flynn Dudley. He was 35 years old and, in many respects, resembled the fine comedian Oliver Hardy of the famed Laurel and Hardy duo. He had black hair, a short mustache, and a body that weighed in the vicinity of 350 pounds.
Hobart lived by himself in a small house in Cranston, Rhode Island. He had lived with his mother until her passing three years earlier in 1950 from complications with diabetes. Hobart's Mum had been a jolly soul who loved him dearly, and he missed her with all of his heart. Unfortunately for Hobart, she had never properly trained him in domestic duties such as cooking and laundering before her passing, which explains the pink underwear Hobart was forced to wear this morning and also helps partially explain an unfortunate event that was to occur later that morning at work.
Hobart worked at the Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence as a zookeeper. He was good with animals and enjoyed his care-taking duties immensely. He was a good-natured fellow whom everyone liked with the possible exception of his boss, Fred Pickens, a miserable man who took pleasure in berating Hobart for his size and inordinate cheerfulness. In fact, it was he who had given Hobart the epithet "Flapdoodle." This came about one morning when an ebullient Hobart had said to a hung-over Fred, "You look well this fine morning, Mr. Pickens."
Pickens, who did not feel at all well, looked at Hobart with disdain and said to him, "How can you sling such nonsense? Hobart Flynn Dudley, eh? From now on, I'm going to start calling you 'Hobart Flapdoodle.'"
And so it was that at roll call that morning and every morning since, it was always "Hobart Flapdoodle?"
"Present," answered Hobart, and eventually everyone started calling him that.
Hobart's alarm clock went off at 7:00 AM that Friday morning in early July, 1953. He awoke refreshed and looking forward to seeing Tillie, his love, who worked at the concession stand at the zoo. He and Tillie had met two years before, right after Tillie began working at the zoo, and they had begun dating soon after. It was Hobart's fervent hope that she would agree to marry him once he finally proposed to her. He was waiting to accumulate enough money to purchase an engagement ring.
Unfortunately, he had only managed to save about $200 and would need at least $800 more to buy a ring worthy of his sweetheart. At the pace he was able to save, this could take several more years.
Hobart got out of bed, performed his morning ablutions, put on his uniform--a navy blue jacket and pants as well as a cap resembling a police officer's cap--and headed out to his car. Hobart was very proud of his Studebaker convertible, which he was able to purchase with the money his mother had left to him on her death.
It was such a beautiful, warm summer morning that Hobart decided to put the top down. Once this was done, he drove into town and stopped at Archie's Diner, where he breakfasted most mornings during the week.
"Greetings, all!" he said as he removed his jacket, hung it on a hook, and waddled over to take his seat on a stool at the counter. He was one of the regulars there, and everyone knew him. He sat down next to Ernie McPhail, a fellow zookeeper who, like Hobart, often breakfasted at Archie's. Ernie, who was thin as a rail, reached over and pinched about three inches from Hobart's massive belly and said, "Hoo, Hobart. Looks like Tillie has been feeding you awfully well lately. So, when are you and she going to tie the knot?"
Hobart laughed and said, "I'm saving the money right now for an engagement ring, but it may be a while until I have quite enough."
"What'll it be, Hobart?" asked Archie from behind the counter. "The usual three fried eggs, six slices of bacon, hash browns, an order of pancakes with extra butter, coffee, and a large orange juice?"
"That would be splendid, Arch."
"See, there's how you could save money: if you didn't eat so dang much," said Ernie.
"You're right. Forget the orange juice, Arch."
They began discussing what an awful season the New York Giants were having and how well the Boston Red Sox seemed to be doing. Neither of them could stand the Yankees. After the baseball talk had petered out, Ernie said, "Hey, Hobart. Wanna hear a good joke I heard yesterday?"
"Sure."
"Okay. I had a happy childhood. My dad used to put me in tires and roll me down hills. Those were the Goodyears."
Hobart laughed out loud. "I've got one too: Why do cows wear bells?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because their horns don't work."
"You guys are about as funny as a screen door on a submarine," said Archie as he placed Hobart's plates of food in front of him. "More coffee, fellas?"
"Sure, Arch."
They finished their breakfasts and decided they'd better get going. Hobart left the parking lot first and headed out onto Pontiac Avenue. He was enjoying the beautiful morning and the warm summer breeze flowing over him in his convertible when all of a sudden, a gust of wind added to the airflow from riding with the top down and caught the brim of his cap, which flew off his head and out of the car to land on the street behind him. This caused Hobart to jerk his head around to the right to see what happened to his cap, but doing so also caused him to yank the steering wheel to the right, sending him off the road and into a small ditch, where he came to a jarring stop.
Fortunately, he was not hurt, but his car was stuck, as he was unable to back it back out of the ditch.
In a minute or so, his friend Ernie walked up to the side of the car. "I saw what happened to you there, Hobart, so I pulled over to give you a hand." He then handed Hobart his flattened cap, which he had retrieved from the road after a car had passed over it. "I'm afraid that cap's a goner. It's a good thing you didn't swerve the other way, though, into oncoming traffic."
"You can say that again," said a breathless Hobart as his heart took its time to slow down again. "It appears as if I'm stuck."
"Nonsense. You and I together can push it out of this ditch. Hop out, and I'll give you a hand."
"Thanks, Ern."
Hobart got out, and together they headed to the front of the car to begin pushing. They pushed for a while and succeeded only in rocking the car back and forth a few times.
Ernie, who was really straining with the effort, said, "You've got to get down lower and really put your back into it, big boy."
So, Hobart squatted down, and it was then that his pants split for the first time that day. Ernie's advice worked, though, and with the extra force Hobart was able to apply, they were slowly able to push the car out of the ditch and back onto the side of the road.
"Thanks a million, Ern. Don't know what I would have done without you. We'd better get going though, or we'll both be late for work."
"You're welcome, buddy. See ya there," said Ernie as he got back into his car.
After the early morning excitement, Hobart arrived at the zoo right at 8:30. He rushed from the parking lot into the locker room, where he hung up his jacket (the zookeepers were not required to wear them during the summer months) and changed his pants. His other uniform was in the laundry hamper at home, so he had to put on a pair of old gray pants he kept in his locker as a backup pair. His cap was indeed ruined--flattened and shapeless--so he placed it in his locker, then hurried into the bullpen and sat down next to Ernie. He was four minutes late.
"Well, Flapdoodle. Nice of you to join us today," said his boss, Pickens. "Where are your cap and your uniform pants?"
"I had a bit of a mishap on the way to work this morning and ended up in a ditch. Ernie here helped me to push it out, but I split my pants in the process."
"Not surprising. If you weren't such a tub of lard, you might be easier on your clothes. And the cap?"
"Squashed beyond recognition, sir, by a passing car."
Pickens frowned as the other zookeepers tried to stifle laughter. "Alright, Flapdoodle. For being late, you get to feed Louie today. Mr. Soames, would you please adjust the schedules accordingly?" he said to his assistant.
Hobart smiled to himself, as he did not see this as a punishment at all the way others might. Louie was a large, gray western lowlands gorilla who was bad-tempered with most of the keepers, but had a special fondness for Hobart, whose affable nature must have put Louie at his ease. He and Louie got along just fine.
"Alright fellas," said Pickens. "The zoo closes at noon today to give you a half-day holiday because tomorrow is the 4th of July. For those of you who work the weekend shift, I will see you tomorrow morning at the regular time. Dismissed."
"Good luck with Louie today," said Ernie as they began filing out. "I heard Becky is in heat, so he's likely to be in a particularly bad mood since she's been moved to a nearby cage and he can't get at her."
"Thanks for the tip, but I've never had a problem with Louie. I'm sure it will be just fine."
"Well, don't say I didn't warn ya."
Hobart picked up his schedule of animals to feed that day and headed to his small Cushman truckster. He started the motor, then drove to the supply house to fill it with the food he would need that morning for the different animals on his schedule.
Louie had been penciled in by Soames at the bottom of Hobart's list, so he would be the last one to feed that day before he left to enjoy his afternoon off.
Hobart was a proud member of the local chapter of the Lion's Club, which was hosting a golf outing that afternoon. Although not a very good golfer, Hobart loved the game and planned to play in the outing.
At about 10:30, with half of his charges provided for, he stopped for his mid-morning break at the concession stand as he always did when Tillie was working.
Tillie beamed when she saw Hobart approach. They say there is someone for everyone, and Tillie appeared to be the perfect match for Hobart. She had a pretty face with cupid's bow lips and wore her hair in a bun. She was a big girl with the same general shape as Hobart, whom she enjoyed cooking for, inviting him over for dinner often.
"Good morning, my sweet. How are you this lovely summer morning?" said Hobart.
"I'm just fine, my love. Are you having a good morning so far?"
"I am now that I'm seeing you, my pet. I'm also looking forward to a round of golf this afternoon with the Lions."
"Will the monkeys and elephants be joining you as well?"
Hobart smiled. "Your wit could brighten the darkest mood, my sweet."
"Will you be able to come over for dinner tonight, Hobart? I could make your favorite--pork chops with Duchess potatoes and buttered string beans."
"That's awfully tempting, but I'm afraid there is a banquet after the golf match that I must attend. Could I perhaps take a rain-check until tomorrow?"
"That would be wonderful, dear. I will even make your favorite dessert--peach cobbler a la mode."
"I'm tempted to skip the banquet and come over tonight; that meal sounds heavenly.
"No, you had best dine with your friends tonight. But bring your appetite tomorrow night."
"I certainly will. Speaking of all this food has made me very hungry. How about a large coke, a hotdog, and a couple of Milky Ways, my sweet?"
Tillie prepared his order, which Hobart then sat down at a table to eat, as she was busy with other customers. When break time was over, he blew her a kiss goodbye and walked back to his truckster.
The morning had gone very smoothly until he reached his final stop--Louie the gorilla. As Ernie had warned him, Louie seemed to be more agitated than usual since Becky had been moved out temporarily while she was in heat. When Hobart drove up and stopped by his cage, though, he quit pacing back and forth at the rear of the cage when he noticed that it was Hobart who'd come to feed him this morning and just sat down to watch Hobart.
"Hello, little girl," said Hobart to a young patron who stood outside the cage with her mother to watch Louie.
"Are you going to feed the big monkey?" asked the waif as she watched Hobart step out of his vehicle.
"Yes, I certainly am. I've got all of his favorites here--especially bananas. Lots of bananas for Louie. He's a gorilla, by the way."
Hobart reached into the back of the truckster and picked up the crate of food items for Louie. The bunch of bananas was at the very top, balanced precariously on the other vegetables below.
Holding the crate in one arm, he reached for his key ring with his free hand and unlocked the door at the rear of Louie's cage. He went in and set the crate on a high bench at the rear of the cage, but when he set the crate down, the bunch of bananas that had been perched on top fell down behind the bench.
Hobart reached over to retrieve them, but due to the height of the bench, his arm wasn't long enough and he was unable to reach them from behind, so he squatted down in front of the bench to reach them from below.
Unfortunately, in so doing, he split his pants for the second time that day. These gray "backup pants" had not been worn by Hobart in some time, and consequently were a bit snug as Hobart had shared many sizable meals at Tillie's house over the past months. Tillie was a wonderful cook and loved to prepare all of Hobart's favorite meals, which was not good for Hobart's waistline and backside.
With Hobart bent over in that attitude in his gray pants with the pink underwear visible beneath the split in the pants (remember Hobart's lack of laundering skill), this stirred something in Louie, who was watching Hobart closely. In fact, he became so aroused at the sight that the little girl outside, who was observing this with fascination, asked her mommy, "What's that big stick between the monkey's legs?"
Louie got up from the floor of his cage then, and with lust in his eyes, he hurried over to an oblivious Hobart, leaning down and reaching under the bench to fetch the bananas with his big gray bottom with the pink slit sticking up in the air.
Hobart shrieked as he was mounted from behind by an amorous Louie who grabbed him around his stomach and wouldn't let go until he'd finished his business.
Hobart heard the little girl cry out, "Mommy, what's the monkey doing to the man?" Her mommy, who was totally absorbed by this startling scene, suddenly came to her senses and covered the girl's eyes as they quickly rushed away. Hobart heard a great deal of laughing from other patrons who had also witnessed this remarkable feat of primate passion.
"Get off, ya big lunk," hollered Hobart as he attempted to extricate himself from under the bench. A satiated Louie then ambled over and resumed his seat on the floor of the cage, and if there is such a thing as a smile on a gorilla's face, he appeared to have one.
With as much dignity as he could muster, Hobart stood up and let himself out of the cage, avoiding the eyes of the hysterical onlookers. He put the crate in back, then sat down to a squishing sound on the seat of his truckster and speedily drove away.
Back in the employees' locker room, Hobart removed the gray pants, cleaned himself as best he could until he could get home and shower off, and put on the uniform pants that he had split while pushing the car out of the ditch earlier that morning.
By this time, word had gotten around to the other zookeepers who were also preparing to leave.
"I heard you was r-aped by Louie this morning, Hobart," laughed one wit.
"What will Tillie think when she finds out you've been stepping out on her, Flapdoodle?" asked another.
Hobart tried to laugh along with his friends, but he was groaning inside and couldn't wait to get out of there and get home where he could settle down and try to relax from this harrowing experience before leaving to play golf with the Lions.
After a good bit more joshing, he bade them farewell and left.
At home, Hobart stripped down and immediately stepped into the shower before doing anything else. As he stood there with the warm water cascading over him, he finally began to relax.
By this time, he was hungry again and padded to the kitchen in his bathrobe, where he made himself a few sandwiches and ate them. He also looked for and finally found the bottle of brandy his Mum used to keep and poured himself a small glass of it to further help him relax. He then retreated to the living room, sat down in his big easy chair, and poured himself another small glass of brandy.
He was finally relaxed and actually nodded off to sleep. He awoke a couple of hours later with a start. He had not meant to fall asleep and realized he had to now get a move on, or he would be late for the start of the 9-hole golf outing, which began at 3:30. It was 3:00 now.
He quickly changed into his golfing clothes. The only pants he had left that weren't in the laundry were the old, checkered plus-fours that his father had bequeathed him when he could no longer play. They hadn't been in style since the late 30s. It took some effort by Hobart to squeeze into them. He had not actually worn them before, and his father had never quite gained the heft that Hobart carried, but he now had no time to wash and dry another pair or stop at a store to purchase some new pants, so they would have to do.
He finished dressing, put on a bucket hat that he used for golfing, and retrieved his bag of clubs and golf shoes from the basement. He threw them in the back seat of his car and headed to the golf course. He made it with a few minutes to spare.
In the Pro Shop, he paid his greens fee and bought a half-dozen golf balls. At a table outside the Pro Shop, one of the Lions was selling raffle tickets for 50 cents apiece. Hobart bought three. Mulligan tickets were also being sold for 50 cents, and he purchased one of those as well. Plus, there was a hole-in-one contest. For the price of one dollar, anyone who scored a hole-in-one on either of the two par-3 holes would win $1,000. Hobart spent another dollar on one of those.
Soon the starter called out, "Vanderway, Nester, DeMeo, and Dudley to the tee, please!"
Hobart headed to the first tee where the starter explained the rules to his foursome: "Gentlemen, this is a captain's choice event in which each player in the group tees off, then the best drive is selected, and all four players hit their second shots from that location. The same procedure is followed with the best second shot, etc. until the ball is holed, thus producing a single team score for the hole. Also, you must use at least one drive from each player on the team somewhere on the nine. Good luck to you all and play well."
The group mutually decided to let Nester be the captain because he was the best player of the four by far. He would determine the order of hitting as well as the best shot to select for the next one when there was a close decision.
"You're looking very spiffy in those plus-fours, Hobart," said Nester. "Why don't you lead us off."
He had not had a chance to warm up beforehand due to being late to arrive at the course, so he was rather stiff. He teed up his ball and took an awkward swipe at it. He barely made contact with the top of the ball, which succeeded only in advancing it three feet to the left. As he had purchased a mulligan ticket, he decided to use it now. After re-teeing he took a practice swing or two before stepping up to his ball again. He took a mighty swing at it, but the result was much the same--three feet to the left. He looked at his playing partners with a smile on his face and said, "One of those days, boys--hook, hook, hook."
His companions laughed heartily at this. Nester said, "You might as well pick it up, Hobart. I think we'll be able to improve on that one!"
Hobart reached for his ball, pocketed it, and stepped to the side of the tee to watch the rest hit their drives. Nester, who went last, hit the best of the drives--a 230-yard shot down the middle--and they all hefted their bags and moved off down the fairway.
Through the 6th hole the team was 3-under par, thanks in large part to Nester's fine golf. Unfortunately, the team's efforts took a severe blow on the 7th hole when Hobart's drive struck a tree close to the right side of the tee, ricocheted back, and hit Nester squarely on the kneecap with such force that he fell to the ground in agony. After rolling around for a while in obvious pain, his playing companions were able to heft him up from the ground, but he was unable to put any weight on the leg, and would no longer be able to play.
Hobart was dreadfully sorry and apologized to Nester profusely. Nester, being the decent fellow that he was, forgave him and told him it was not his fault and that it was just a freak accident. This did little to assuage Hobart's sense of guilt. Not only was his friend injured, but he had just taken out the best player on the team. There was little chance of winning the event now, as their horse was suddenly lame.
Not only was Nester unable to play, he couldn't even walk, and the others would take turns propping him up as he hopped along on his good leg with his arms around two of their shoulders. This got to be tiring for all involved, reminiscent of the old golf joke about the man who came home exhausted from playing golf one day and collapsed on the sofa. His wife asked him why he was so exhausted, and the man said, "My pal, Charlie, had a heart attack and died on the 4th hole, and for the rest of the round it was hit the ball, drag Charlie, hit the ball, drag Charlie."
The team still managed to par the 7th hole with the aid of decent shots by both DeMeo and Vanderway. Through seven holes, Hobart had yet to contribute a single shot, and they still needed to use one of his drives before the end according to the rules.
His companions laughed heartily at this. Nester said, "You might as well pick it up, Hobart. I think we'll be able to improve on that one!"
Hobart reached for his ball, pocketed it, and stepped to the side of the tee to watch the rest hit their drives. Nester, who went last, hit the best of the drives--a 230-yard shot down the middle--and they all hefted their bags and moved off down the fairway.
Through the 6th hole the team was 3-under par, thanks in large part to Nester's fine golf. Unfortunately, the team's efforts took a severe blow on the 7th hole when Hobart's drive struck a tree close to the right side of the tee, ricocheted back, and hit Nester squarely on the kneecap with such force that he fell to the ground in agony. After rolling around for a while in obvious pain, his playing companions were able to heft him up from the ground, but he was unable to put any weight on the leg, and would no longer be able to play.
Hobart was dreadfully sorry and apologized to Nester profusely. Nester, being the decent fellow that he was, forgave him and told him it was not his fault and that it was just a freak accident. This did little to assuage Hobart's sense of guilt. Not only was his friend injured, but he had just taken out the best player on the team. There was little chance of winning the event now, as their horse was suddenly lame.
Not only was Nester unable to play, he couldn't even walk, and the others would take turns propping him up as he hopped along on his good leg with his arms around two of their shoulders. This got to be tiring for all involved, reminiscent of the old golf joke about the man who came home exhausted from playing golf one day and collapsed on the sofa. His wife asked him why he was so exhausted, and the man said, "My pal, Charlie, had a heart attack and died on the 4th hole, and for the rest of the round it was hit the ball, drag Charlie, hit the ball, drag Charlie."
The team still managed to par the 7th hole with the aid of decent shots by both DeMeo and Vanderway. Through seven holes, Hobart had yet to contribute a single shot, and they still needed to use one of his drives before the end according to the rules.
The 8th hole was a 180-yard par-3 hole to a narrow green over a large pond with boulders sticking up out of it in the middle. It was a fearsome hole that had wrecked the score of many a round up to that point.
Not wishing to see a shot into the water that would put that mental image in the minds of the other two, Nester told Hobart to hit last this time. DeMeo, who was a powerful fellow, chose a 5-iron and stepped to the tee. He hit a good-looking shot that was heading straight for the flag, but he had caught the ball a tad thin and it plunked into the pond just a foot from the far edge.
Vanderway also hit a good 4-iron, but a gust of wind knocked the ball out of the sky, and it too suffered a watery fate. They all turned to Hobart then, and Nester said, "Hobart, if there was ever a time to shine, this would be it. Not meaning to put any pressure on you, old boy, but if you could somehow reach down deep and come up with a good shot, it would be much appreciated by all."
"I'll endeavor to do my best, boys," he said as he pulled out his driver and strode to the tee box. This was it--his chance to make amends for his poor play. He didn't want to let his friends down, so he took extra time setting up to the ball.
He pulled up some grass and tossed it up to gauge the direction and strength of the wind. He took two practice swings and some extra waggles while adjusting his feet. Then it was time to pull the trigger.
He was not a long hitter, and it would be all he could do to reach the green 180 yards away with his driver. He took a mammoth swipe at the ball, which took off like a shot, but it never rose more than a foot off the ground and was headed for a watery grave until it suddenly struck a rock sticking up from the pond and bounced high into the air. The shot was hit with such force as Hobart had never before been able to muster, that it flew over the green, but on its way to earth, it struck a ball washer on the 9th tee directly behind the green and again ricocheted into the air and back towards the green again. It finally came down softly on the rear of the green, which sloped down to the pond, and began rolling towards the hole. The group stood transfixed on the tee as they watched the ball take its circuitous path. It was rolling slowly down the slope, directly for the pin, and nearly stopped, but on its last roll, it gently dropped into the back of the cup.
Hobart let out a shriek, threw his driver into the air, and jumped straight up off the ground. Unfortunately, the grass was a bit moist on the tee, as it was in the shade, and when Hobart's feet came down, the left slid forward as the right slid back, and he ended up doing a perfect split. A ripping sound accompanied this as the seam of his rather tight plus-fours was simply not strong enough, and for the third time that day, Hobart split his pants.
Vanderway and DeMeo came running up to pat him on the back and congratulate him on his ace and to help him up from the ground, as he was unable to do this by himself from such a position. They were all ecstatic as Hobart's hole-in-one now put them 5-under par through 8 holes, and they had used one of his drives.
The 9th hole was anti-climactic, and they ended with a par. They made their way into the clubhouse and settled Nester at a table in the bar while Hobart and the others went out to post their 5-under score. They led by three at this point, but there were still five more teams out on the course.
They rejoined Nester in the bar then and ordered a few pitchers of beer. As the remaining teams made their way in, they asked each team how they had done, and their lead held up. When the final team came in with a score of 4-under par, they knew they had won the tournament. Hobart was in fine fettle as everyone congratulated him on his hole-in-one.
It wasn't until one of the players asked him if he'd bothered to buy a hole-in-one ticket that he remembered that he had and that he would be the recipient of $1,000. He suddenly realized that he would now have enough money to afford the engagement ring for his beloved Tillie! This made his day even more than scoring the ace and helping his team win the tournament.
It was a splendid banquet the Lions put on, and Hobart received many accolades for his feat as well as a $1,000 bill, not to mention a trophy for first place and a $20 credit toward the purchase of golf equipment or attire from the Pro Shop.
Not wishing to see a shot into the water that would put that mental image in the minds of the other two, Nester told Hobart to hit last this time. DeMeo, who was a powerful fellow, chose a 5-iron and stepped to the tee. He hit a good-looking shot that was heading straight for the flag, but he had caught the ball a tad thin and it plunked into the pond just a foot from the far edge.
Vanderway also hit a good 4-iron, but a gust of wind knocked the ball out of the sky, and it too suffered a watery fate. They all turned to Hobart then, and Nester said, "Hobart, if there was ever a time to shine, this would be it. Not meaning to put any pressure on you, old boy, but if you could somehow reach down deep and come up with a good shot, it would be much appreciated by all."
"I'll endeavor to do my best, boys," he said as he pulled out his driver and strode to the tee box. This was it--his chance to make amends for his poor play. He didn't want to let his friends down, so he took extra time setting up to the ball.
He pulled up some grass and tossed it up to gauge the direction and strength of the wind. He took two practice swings and some extra waggles while adjusting his feet. Then it was time to pull the trigger.
He was not a long hitter, and it would be all he could do to reach the green 180 yards away with his driver. He took a mammoth swipe at the ball, which took off like a shot, but it never rose more than a foot off the ground and was headed for a watery grave until it suddenly struck a rock sticking up from the pond and bounced high into the air. The shot was hit with such force as Hobart had never before been able to muster, that it flew over the green, but on its way to earth, it struck a ball washer on the 9th tee directly behind the green and again ricocheted into the air and back towards the green again. It finally came down softly on the rear of the green, which sloped down to the pond, and began rolling towards the hole. The group stood transfixed on the tee as they watched the ball take its circuitous path. It was rolling slowly down the slope, directly for the pin, and nearly stopped, but on its last roll, it gently dropped into the back of the cup.
Hobart let out a shriek, threw his driver into the air, and jumped straight up off the ground. Unfortunately, the grass was a bit moist on the tee, as it was in the shade, and when Hobart's feet came down, the left slid forward as the right slid back, and he ended up doing a perfect split. A ripping sound accompanied this as the seam of his rather tight plus-fours was simply not strong enough, and for the third time that day, Hobart split his pants.
Vanderway and DeMeo came running up to pat him on the back and congratulate him on his ace and to help him up from the ground, as he was unable to do this by himself from such a position. They were all ecstatic as Hobart's hole-in-one now put them 5-under par through 8 holes, and they had used one of his drives.
The 9th hole was anti-climactic, and they ended with a par. They made their way into the clubhouse and settled Nester at a table in the bar while Hobart and the others went out to post their 5-under score. They led by three at this point, but there were still five more teams out on the course.
They rejoined Nester in the bar then and ordered a few pitchers of beer. As the remaining teams made their way in, they asked each team how they had done, and their lead held up. When the final team came in with a score of 4-under par, they knew they had won the tournament. Hobart was in fine fettle as everyone congratulated him on his hole-in-one.
It wasn't until one of the players asked him if he'd bothered to buy a hole-in-one ticket that he remembered that he had and that he would be the recipient of $1,000. He suddenly realized that he would now have enough money to afford the engagement ring for his beloved Tillie! This made his day even more than scoring the ace and helping his team win the tournament.
It was a splendid banquet the Lions put on, and Hobart received many accolades for his feat as well as a $1,000 bill, not to mention a trophy for first place and a $20 credit toward the purchase of golf equipment or attire from the Pro Shop.
The next day was Saturday, the 4th of July, and Hobart would be having dinner with Tillie tonight. He was so excited about getting her the ring to present to her this evening and to ask for her hand in marriage that he forgot this was a national holiday. When he arrived at the jewelry store, it was closed, and Hobart was sorely disappointed.
Then he happened to notice a solitary employee, who appeared to be putting some additional items in one of the display cases, and he rapped on the window.
"We're closed," came the muffled reply from the employee who happened to be the owner.
Hobart then took the thousand-dollar bill from his wallet and held it up for the man to see. The man quickly came over to the door and let him in. $942 dollars later, Hobart left with the ring in a box and a smile on his face.
He spent the afternoon preparing for the momentous evening. After showering, shaving, and dressing in his finest suit, he put Brylcreem in his hair (a little dab'll do ya) and spent a few minutes styling it. When he was all finished preparing, he looked at himself in the mirror and was pleased with the result. He hoped Tillie would be as well.
He put the top back up on his convertible to help keep his hair in place and drove over to Tillie's house with the ring in his side pocket.
Tillie looked exquisite to Hobart in a long, flowery, sleeveless dress. Her hair was in a big bun on top of her head, and her cupid's-bow lips were cherry red with lipstick. She also smelled of lilies of the valley, a fragrance that Hobart particularly loved.
They sat down and talked for a few minutes while the food finished baking in the oven. Hobart told her how his team had won the golf outing yesterday and about his hole-in-one, but he did not mention the prize money he had won for it. Tillie was so proud of him for being the hero of the day.
After the wonderful meal he had been promised, he and Tillie gathered up a blanket, and headed out to the backyard to watch the fireworks. Tillie's house was on a sloping lot, the rear of which looked out over a valley. The fireworks would be shot off from the city park down below.
Together they spread the blanket on a flat spot at the top of the hill, just behind her house. From there, the ground sloped down rather abruptly in a short but steep slope that was seldom mowed. A neighbor of Tillie's had recently mowed it with a scything blade on his tractor, though, and Tillie had thanked him with a couple of pies she had baked.
As they settled comfortably on the blanket, it was then that Hobart brought out the ring from his pocket and handed the pretty package to Tillie. She could tell by the shape what it probably was, and her eyes began to tear up as she ripped off the wrappings and opened the box. Hobart reached in and pulled out the beautiful diamond ring. He got on one knee, held the ring out for Tillie, and said, "Matilda Peabody, my sweet, I have waited a long time for this moment. Will you marry me?"
Right then the sky lit up with the first of the fireworks as Tillie, with tears streaming down, said, "Yes, Hobart. I will marry you!"
He then slipped the ring on her ring finger. It didn't quite make it all the way down, but they would be able to get it sized properly on Monday. He then embraced her and reached for a kiss, as the next firework lit up the sky.
Unfortunately, when Hobart grabbed Tillie in an embrace from his position on one knee, he was off-balance and pulled her over on top of him as he collapsed and rolled over on his back. But being at the very top of the steep hill, down they went together, arms around each other, rolling over and over until they reached the bottom. Hobart's pants split open in the process, but aside from that, they were unscathed. They both burst out laughing and could hardly stop as they sat up and pulled strands of grass off each other.
Between fits of laughter, Tillie managed to say, "Hobart, I never thought our first roll in the hay would be exactly that!" And this started the laughter anew as the fireworks continued to light up the sky above.
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The first two lame jokes in the diner are courtesy of a Reader's Digest website of "Dad Jokes," found at https://www.msn.com/en-us/lifestyle/lifestyle-buzz/60-dad-jokes-that-are-actually-pretty-funny/ar-BB12Jt99
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