Last weekend, Maureen and i had wonderful time in Las Vegas. We didn’t stay at one of those over the top fancy casino hotels. As a matter of fact, we did not go to any casinos. i didn’t place one bet. We did go to the strip, but that was to go to The Mob Museum, which was entertaining while smashing any idea of this place beginning with a good history.

As we flew from San Diego to this city created from a desert, i, in a rare window seat for me, looked down on the terrain. Las Vegas water comes mostly from Lake Mead (which is drying up) fed by the Colorado River. Other water comes from several large aquifers under the city. But for miles and miles around from horizon to horizon, even on an aircraft at 35,000 feet, i could only see desert. This is a strange place to have an adult playground, i thought, but it is a getaway, far away from other civilization.

Our trip was not to party or gamble in Vegas. Maureen does not like Vegas. i used to go occasionally to see a show or watch the people. No, i’m not innocent. i did gamble a bit, i’ve concluded i’m possibly the worst gambler in the world. i did win about two bucks in a late night game in the 60’s. Henry Harding, Charles “Fox”Dedman, and i played “Mexican Sweat” late into a Saturday night. i also won in the game room of the Navy Officer’s “Town Club” in Sasebo, Japan, enough to pay for my flight to and from Osaka and Expo ’70. But slots were still one-armed bandits. They have gone far beyond that now.

We were there to spend time with daughter Sarah and her husband Aaron and meet his family. It could not have been much better. Aaron’s mother Deborah, his sister Alicia and her husband Kobe were just flat great. They are great people. It was such a great feeing to see them all loving life and Sarah being an integral part.

Driving around or going for a walk beyond the strip, i marveled how this place just rose from the sand. How the streets run straight without any rocky hills to require curving them. The buildings are almost identical to those in strip malls every where and those chain stores seemed to have popped up by just adding concrete. It seems very strange to me, but of course, the Southwest corner would be strange for those of you in the east.

Bottom line: it’s a wonderful place. After all, our daughter is happy there, and she has a wonderful husband and another great family.

i’ll bet on that.

In 1985, i resumed my San Diego golf playing when i reported for my last tour at the Naval Amphibious School in Coronado. My first playing partners were Marty Linville and Rod Stark. i also played with Ray Boggs, my father-in-law. Soon, Ray frequently joined our group. We played the Navy’s three courses: the Navy’s large recreational park in Mission Valley, Admiral Baker; Naval Air Station, North Island’s Sea ‘n Air; and Naval Air Station, Miramar’s Memorial golf course.

Over the years, Ray and Marty developed a special bond. While Rod completed his active duty and became the club pro at the North Golf Course in Sun City, California, Ray became a constant third in our many golf outings. Rod came back in the mid-90s and became part of constant threesome after Ray had crossed the bridge in 1992.

Ray, being a quarter of a century older than Marty or i, did not hit the ball as long as we did then (now, i understand the frustration, hitting my shots twenty yards or more shorter than i used to hit them). This was before they had come up with the forward tee concept for seniors. Ray was constantly complaining about hitting from the blues as Marty i did in those days — except when we went to the desert and foolishly played championship/difficult courses from the blacks, the longest tee placements. Finally, we went to the Sea ‘n Air course and before we went to the first tee, Ray announced he was playing from the whites. Marty and i agreed that was a good idea. That day, the greenskeeper, had somehow placed the tee markers where there wasn’t five yards difference between the longer blue markers and the shorter white markers.

Marty and i laughed as we arrived at all 18 tees.

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For a while in the late 80s, we frequently played at Mirarmar, which was then a Naval Air Station and home of “Top Gun.” It is now Marine Air Station, Miramar. Ray was supposed to meet me around 0600 at the east gate in order for me to escort him past the marine gate guards. But every time i arrived at the pickup spot, Ray’s car would not be there. The first time, i waited for him to show up but with time running out, i finally drove through the gate to the course. Ray was already there. He had somehow talked the guards in letting him through even though he had no military ID. Ray had arrived early enough to have the 19th hole’s SOS (chipped beef in gravy on toast, called “SOS” for “Shit On a Single” by military folks). He continued to get through the gate every time we played Miramar.

When we played Admiral Baker, which was a recreational park and had no gate, Ray would there early enough to have two servings of SOS.

After that first time at Miramar if his car was not there, i just went to the course.

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It was at Mirarmar after Ray had played with us a number of times that Ray admired Marty’s golf after the round. Marty was an exceptional self-taught golfer before injuries curtailed his swing — he was still a remarkable golfer up until his last round with us. Over our beers at the 19th hole, Ray complemented Marty, “Marty, i admire how you play within yourself.”

Marty had problems hitting good shots for about six months after that.

When his game was coming around again, we had played Miramar again and were sharing another pitcher of beer. Marty was one of the best short game players i have ever played with (more stories about his chipping and putting later). That day, Marty had putted extremely well.

Again, Ray attempted a compliment, “Marty, you are a terrific putter, but you still stand funny.”

Again, it was nearly six months before Marty’s putting got back to normal.”

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Those two were great friends, and i treasure the rounds i had with them. Rod and i still share their stories.