The Legend of Bagger Vance Read Online Free PDF Page A

again. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I wish you luck in securing the champion you seek but I must repeat, with finality, that it will not be me.”
    The crowd rocked rearward; they believed him now; for the first time, true despair began to grip the assembly. I could feel Vance’s hand nudge me gently.
    “If I may speak, sir,” Vance’s voice broke the silence, addressing Junah.
    “We don’t need any more damn coffee!” Judge Anderson roared at the interruption. All eyes spun toward Vance, thinking him one of Junah’s servants, and a damn fool one at that.
    “Go ahead, Bagger,” Junah said gently.
    “I was thinking, sir, of our discussions.” Vance spoke to Junah, stepping forward to stand beside the desk with the volumes and writings. “Do you recall what we spoke of, regarding entering the spirit by way of the flesh?”
    “I do,” replied Junah.
    The elders stared, baffled and dumbstruck.
    “I was thinking,” Bagger Vance continued, “that if you’ll change your mind and play, I’ll be happy to carry your clubs.”
    A laugh burst from Junah.
    “You? You’d be my caddie?”
    “I’d consider it an honor.”
    Every eye in the room now wheeled from Vance to Junah. No one knew what the hell to make of this mysterious black man,who he was or what sway he held over Junah. All they knew was Junah was listening, Junah’s refusal was wavering.
    Judge Anderson swept forward, seizing the moment to step beside Vance, who in seconds had vaulted from the gutter to the jurist’s most lofty esteem.
    “What do you say, sir?” Anderson addressed Junah. “The man, by God, is talking sense.”

Seven
    J UNAH WAS IN .
    Hagen and Jones would arrive the day after tomorrow; there would be a practice round that afternoon, banquets at Krewe Island in the evening, then the actual match the day after. Seventy-two hours to marshal an operation on the scale of the siege of Vicksburg.
    The city’s madness expanded exponentially. Special trains had to be added, then more and more after that, to handle the multitudes arriving, not just for the match but to serve those arriving for the match. In those days, Michael, the wealthy didn’t travel on their own, lugging their carry-on bags through airports and heading to Hertz for a rental car. They traveled with entourages, all of whom needed rooms and food and towels and hot water. Now entourages were arriving to serve the entourages. Freelance cars and drivers flooded in from Atlanta, Columbia, Mobile; men hired themselvesout as chauffeurs, footmen, guides, bodyguards, porters and bellmen. Waiters and chambermaids poured in; every able-bodied man, woman and boy was pressed into service. I remember my friend Billy Utaw’s mom’s cook, Addie, being chosen by lot to be chambermaid for the suite that Bobby Jones would share with O. B. Keeler. It was like they’d all just been called to the head of the line for heaven. Billy’s head swelled so you couldn’t talk to him, and his mom began putting on airs like the Queen of Sheba.
    My brother Garland was out all that first night cornering the market in grape snowball syrup. I myself was held down almost literally by my mother, who insisted that I get my sleep before I took sick and ruined my own and her chances to take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I would never have forgiven her except that, that morning, I encountered greatness for the first time face-to-face.
    Arnold Langer took a room with us.
    Mother had agreed finally to allow some of the descending locusts, as she called them, to stay under our roof. She refused however to accept compensation, insisting on giving the space, plus breakfast, dinner and supper, as a pure gesture of hospitality. One thing she insisted upon, however: that her home would not be open to mere rubbernecking tourists, but only to working people with a legitimate purpose for being in Savannah. As luck would have it, that included journalists. Sportswriters.
    Langer covered sports for the