Two white kids who were game to try were ROTC students ("they picked kids with short hair to represent the school") from Butler High. They were employed posting scores on the board near the 8th hole, or Yellow Jasmine. Sloping up from the tee is a hill, one of the places where the nonworking young traditionally sun themselves under the scrutiny of security men. The score posters were using binoculars to get a load of strange girls going by in halters. ("A lot of girls from Ohio are here every year," a local high-schooler observed. "Those Ohio girls are funny. They just want to listen to the way we talk.")
One of the score posters took a break to change Tommy Aaron's number from three under to four. A cheer went up. The poster took a bow. "Thank you, thank you. I put up that score," he said.
"Scoreboard guys get $5 a day meal money," his friend said, "and $10 on Monday, when we should be in school. We're going to break the color line next year. We're going to pick up paper."
"Those cats told us they were getting $2.10 an hour."
One major problem during the Masters is the influx of automobiles. "We've got 1930 streets, and here it is 1973," pointed out a city policeman. The department works overtime, some men 16 hours a day for seven days, to handle the extra traffic. Last year an officer on crutches had to be pressed into duty for office work.
The traffic can be turned to the advantage of some, of course. Last year there was a man selling trampolines outside the main gate to the club. He said he had taken orders for five in six days. He had a sign up reading TRAMP-O-LINES. TRY IT, YOU'LL LIKE IT. But he did not have an actual trampoline assembled on the scene.
"Oughta put one up and have a broad in a bikini bouncing on it," a man told him.
"Kids would get on it," he said.
"Kids wouldn't be all," the man said with a leer.