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"Golpher Drives Carts"

June 10, 2017

Page 5

 

     My great, great, great, great grandfather drove a rail cart.  Bobo P. Spike his name, he was trained to pump a hand cart along railroad lines.

     “Woof.”  Bobo’s bark was worse than his bite. 

     But with his hand cart he was paid well to inspect and repair rail lines.  While doing so, buffalo bones, not Milk-bones, kept him happy, for grandfather could gnaw on buffalo bones for weeks.  Golf kept him happy, also.  During his down-time, Bobo used hickory shafts with persimmon-heads and his gutta percha balls to play along the tracks.  Too, he’d met Indians.  Bobo didn’t smoke peace pipes because he knew smoking was not healthy.  Yet, teaching the Indians how to play golf, Bobo helped make peace while the railroad was built.

 

(Image of Bobo with golf club and Indians with golf clubs)

 

 

Page 6

 

     You guessed it.  For Bobo’s peace-saving, tireless help President Ulysses S. Grant gave Bobo the President’s Medal of Honor for helping drive spikes, bring peace, business, to east and west.  The first transcontinental railroad finished, Bobo jumped for joy that he’d been a part of uniting the Union Pacific and Central Pacific railroads.  In Promontory Utah, Bobo helped drive the last spike.

     “Bobo,” said President Grant.  “Cart boy, you are.  Continue your swing with the Indians.”

     Bobo retired not long thereafter.  Boxcar Bobo P. Spike had traveled more miles than Willie Nelson ever claimed to.  Bobo said the Indians weren’t bad golfers, that they wouldn’t have gone to Cleveland and played baseball, but, rather, had they been allowed to stay on their lands, they would have booked reservations for years.

 

(Image of Bobo with President Ulysses S. Grant and rail cart in background)

 

 

Page 7

 

     But, I still wondered. 

     “Cart history, Jinx, do you think there were any carts, I mean golf carts before the Egyptians?  Surely Egyptians had plenty of sand to work with.  Carts Jinx?”

     Jinx batted her long eyelashes and smiled.  “Scrnn, nyx, skaeshe, scrarow.”  Jinx nodded.  “Golpher, have you forgotten?”

     “Hum.”  I scratched my furry chin. 

     “See,” said Jinx.

     “Ah,” I gasped.  My eyes bonked.  Jinx had flashed a picture to me.

 

 

 

 

      Of course, Jinx was right.  I’d forgotten.

 

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