Marty had retired from the Army. He was working for a military contractor in human interface with weapons computer controls. I was getting close to retiring. So we decided to hit the road for a golf outing in the desert.

i had been on several such trips with my friend Jim Hileman and Mike Kelly, telephone guys. We would go out to the Palm Springs area sometime between June and August. With coupons, costs were essentially cart fees. The drawback is the temperatures were always between 110 and 120 degrees. We would play 6-8 rounds in five days.

So Marty and i decided to try it. We would go the mountain route, which included switchbacks with climbs and descents ranging up to 5,000 feet. Naturally, we chose to go in my Mazda Rx7. It was July.

Now, being an Army retiree and a Navy retiree, we naturally put a case of beer in behind the seats with our clubs and minimum luggage. We didn’t drink the whole case, but we downed a number, yes, illegally, on the two-hour plus drive. Consequently, we were stopping at almost every turnoff for one of us to take relief in the bushes. i was happy it was over when we reached Marty’s condominium.

The next morning, we had the first tee time at PGA West’s Jack Nicklaus Resort Course in La Quinta. It was so new, the pro shop was a trailer, no club house yet. They had just finished watering the course. This resulted in a mist over the course. Marty noted it looked like the British moors. That image quickly faded as the temperature accelerated from a comfortable 80 degrees to 115 before we finished. On the back nine, the mist had been replaced by mosquitoes, the only time i encountered them on desert courses.

Being brilliant, we chose to play from the black, championship tees. That meant we played a 7,204 yard course.

Marty commented he had never hit so many drivers, three woods, and wedges on a round.

We drove from PGA West to the La Quinta Citrus Course, a public course. Back then, it was a 7400 yard course from the championship tees, which, of course, we chose to play. By the time we reached the pro shop, it was past noon and over 120 degrees. The only person on the course was manning the pro shop. He was amazed we were playing.

We teed off on a lovely first hole we thought. But when we had holed out, we couldn’t find the number two tee and realized we had played the tenth hole. So we drove back to the pro shop and began over on the first, correct tee.

To say we were beat when we finished the two rounds would be an injustice. That evening, we sat out in the unheated spa, drinking gin and tonics, a signature libation for Marty and me. We calculated the yards of golf we played that day. Because of the extra hole at the citrus course, we had covered over 15,000 yards of golf for our introductory twosome rounds in the desert.

We often laughed at how ridiculous that was. But in our way, we were proud of it.

As i have previously noted Major Marty Linville was an Army officer. So technically these are Army war stories, not Navy sea stories. But they are kin, and Marty deserves to be included in my sea stories.

i have written two posts about my friend, an inadequate description for the relationships we had and what many other folks had with Marty Linville after he crossed over the bridge. i plan to post more of stories about him. They are meant to honor him. This is one of my favorite ones:

After Marty finished the Army’s Officer Candidate School and artillery training, he reported to Fort Carson and was in charge of a 105 mm Howitzer unit. A large exercise between Marty’s side and the “Orange” opposition.

On the first day, Marty’s unit was directed to set the battery and conduct a non-live firing operation. As it began, a gas attack was simulated and Marty and his unit donned protection against gas warfare, including gas masks. When Marty began to give his unit orders for operating the system, the soldiers could not understand him, and he couldn’t understand them. Finally, in frustration, he yanked off his gas mask so his troops could understand his direction.

An exercise umpire overseeing the howitzer unit, halted the action. He then proceeded to chew out the second lieutenant, vividly pointing out that all exercises should be treated as if they were actual conditions, not simulated. Marty saluted and snapped, “Yes, Sir,” taking the admonition to heart.

The operation continued the next day. Marty’s unit was ordered to move into a position to fire on the orange forces. They proceeded down a rough road headed for the position when they were confronted with a problem. The orange forces had downed several trees and blocked the road with the logs making the passage through the road impossible. The unit would have to detour, a significant added distance, which would prevent them from reaching their objective on time.

Remembering his chewing out and the direction to treat the war game as if it were real, Lieutenant Linville called his top sergeant to his side. He asked Top what he thought about clearing the blockade with the howitzer. The top sergeant was excited about the opportunity to shoot the howitzer in live fire.

The backed up the big gun up and blew away the blockade.

Marty relates the next morning, he had breakfast with the commanding general. Or rather, the general had breakfast while Marty stood at attention while between bites, the general let Marty bear the philippic in no uncertain terms.

A letter was entered into Marty’s service record noting the general’s reproof of the incident. i’m sure the letter kept from Marty from being promoted beyond major. He proved his mettle and leadership in Vietnam, receiving the Silver Star and Purple Heart for his actions when a North Vietnamese company conducted an attack on Marty’s 13-man Howitzer unit.

Marty is one of the finest military officers i ever met.

The general made a huge mistake.

i wish to confirm that Marty Linville’s grandmother was indeed a full-blooded Cherokee. Her name was Marquita. After Marty stories, i wish i had met her. This is the second of my stories about my buddy and fellow curmudgeon.

This is one of my favorite stories about Marty. It is a story that could never happen today.

Marty went to Pittsburg State, now a university, to play football. He had been an extremely good quarterback in high school. His coach was an old school football coach named Carnie Smith. Carnie deserved to be called old school. He became the head coach in 1946, two years after i was born. He coached Marty’s father, Big Don Linville.

Don appropriately had the nickname of “Big” as he was huge, about 6-4, 6-5, with hands that would make mine disappear when i shook his hand. He went to Pittsburg State after serving in the Navy during WWII on a submarine. i am still trying to figure out where he could sleep in those cramped quarters. After the war, Don played lineman for the Pittsburgh Steelers for a number of years before becoming a teacher because it paid better. He is a marvel of his own.

Before Marty matriculated, this other guy named Rod Stark went to Pittsburg State and played for Carnie Smith as a lineman (Rod is one of the finest golfers with whom i’ve ever played). Carnie, as i have alluded, was old school: three yards and a pile of dust was the game he coached. Marty was a superb quarterback and started his sophomore year (freshmen weren’t eligible until 1972). Carnie had two rules for his quarterbacks: 1) Do not throw a pass inside your 20 yard line, and 2) Do not throw a pass if you are inside your opponents’ 20 yard line.

In his first game as a starter, Marty threw an 80-plus yard touchdown pass. That was inside his own 20 yard line. Carnie took him out of the rest of that game and the next one. On the third game of the season, the Gorillas had driven down inside the opponents 10 yard line. Marty threw a pass for a touchdown. Coach Carnie sat Marty down for the rest of that game and the next one.

Three yards and a pile of dust. Don’t mess with Carnie.

More than twenty years later, Major Marty Linville reported to the Naval Amphibious School, Cornado. Where he met another Pittsburg State football player, Rod Stark, who, at the time, was the Director of Amphibious Training. They had never met previously. They became friends. Their families became close. Their children grew up together, and Marty and Rod played golf together for forty years. i was lucky to be a tag-a-long for thirty-nine of those years.

i didn’t play for Carnie Smith, but i did play for Stroud Gwynn at Castle Heights Military Academy: single wing. Three yards and a pile of dust.

i wrote a bit about Marty after he passed on July 5. He and i shared war and sea stories for 39 years. These tales were shared with a bunch of other folks most of whom were retired military. There were a few just Marty and i swapped with each other. We went on golf trips together, and we went to a load of Padre baseball games together when i shared season tickets with Jim Hileman. Rod Stark, whom Marty met at the Naval Amphibious School, Coronado before me — Rod was there when Marty reported aboard in 1984; i reported in May 1985. Rod also was a major listener and contributor to our tales. And many others, nearly all golfers, heard a bunch of those yarns as well.

It would be impossible for me to recount them all. However, i decided to honor him with some of the stories by and about him. This is the first of that series.

James Martin Linville was Kansas through and through. His father, Big Don, was a pro football lineman for the Pittsburgh Steelers in the 1940s, quitting to become a teacher because it paid more money. He taught Marty a lot about football and baseball (more about that later).

Marty spent a good deal with his grandmother, a full-blooded Cherokee in Oklahoma. i was always engrossed when Marty talked about life on the reservation.

Like most boys in those days of our youth, we worked in our summers, usually at manual labor jobs. My friends in Lebanon rode bush hog tractors to clean road sides. Marty and Rod rode tractors in Kansas. I laughed when the two of them talked about days in the hot summer Kansas sun ploying the fields, reaping the hay, and hoisting it into the haylofts. When i confessed i never drove a tractor, that i was assigned to be a grave digger by the City of Lebanon staff because i was too small to drive a tractor, Marty would chuckle his famous deep chuckle.

Two of Marty’s stories about high school sports always amused me. Marty was the catcher for the Kansas American Legion team that won the state tournament. i was the second team catcher for my Lebanon Legion team that went to the state tourney but did not win. The kicker is Marty was the catcher for Mike Torrez. Mike went on to be drafted by the Cardinals before winning 20 games for the Baltimore Orioles in their 1975 World Series championship.

Perhaps the best story from Marty’s high school athletics was in track. Marty made it to the finals of the Kansas state high school track meet in the mile.

Marty told me he finished second. Then he confessed he was lapped by the guy who won it. Jim Ryan was that guy. In case you don’t remember, Ryan was the first high school runner to run the mile in under four miles in 1964. i’d say finishing second was just fine.

♦︎ ♦︎ ♦︎

This past Thursday, i was watching the Padres in the middle innings. The Mets pitcher was beind in the count, 3-0, to the phenomenal hitter Luis Arraez. Arraeze watched a straight fastball split the middle of the plate to bring the count to 3-1.

i immediately thought of Marty. For a major league hitter to take a 3-0 pitch never made sense to me. This guy is one of the premier hitters in the majors, and he should hit that fat of a pitch anywhere he wanted to place it. Marty and i would have discussed that for hours…

i miss him.