This is a bit of a follow up to the Town Crier's article of last week.

It was the summer of 1968. I had just graduated from high school and took a job working on the greens crew at the Sakonnet Golf Club. Billy Wordell, a lean tall yankee, was the greenskeeper and our boss. Seven of us were on the crew. I was paid $1.65 an hour.

Richie Elwell was the old timer on the crew. He got to mow the fairways on a tractor we called the Chief. To this day, I can see him heading down the third on a foggy morning with golf balls whizzing around him. He had some choice words for those golfers. In fact his language would have made a sailor blush. He could be a bit cantankerous.

Richie was not, though, above collecting "errant" golf balls and selling them back to club members out of the trunk of his old black car. I don't recollect the make and model. It looked like the humpy black one that Rozwell Briggs used to slowly drive around in down at the harbor, feeding Slim Jims to his dog in the seat next to him.

Richie's work attire often was a bit disheveled and was the same every day. He wore those overalls with straps that went over your shoulders. He did not take his long johns off till the 4th of July. You could see them, somewhat brown in color, hanging out from the bottom of his pants and tucked into his leather work boots — the kind that had metal hooks to wrap the laces around. Richie often had a breath on him in the morning. I was told not to light a match near him.

At lunch time, he would hold court in the shop, where the crew gathered, next to the first hole. He sat in the same place. His lunchbox was one of those old black metal ones that had a rounded top. Manny Fagundes, also on the crew, had one like it. Richie would regale us with stories. I was then of an age where I especially listened to the ones about soldiers stationed at Fort Church romancing local girls. Perhaps because he was hard of hearing, he talked loudly. I concluded there wasn't much that went on in town that he did not know about.

I returned to the greens crew after boot camp in the summer of 1970, but Richie had sadly moved on. He was a real character. Little Compton has thankfully bred many like him, and I consider myself fortunate to have known Richie. In closing I would like to thank the Town Crier for her LC350 articles. Aside from taking me down memory lane, they are well researched and very entertaining. Rest in peace Richie. 

Stetson (Tack) Eddy

Little Compton