32 Caliber
By Donald McGibeny
I was in the locker room of the country club, getting dressed after the best afternoon of golf I had ever had. I had just beaten Paisley “one-up” in eighteen holes of the hardest kind of sledding.
If you knew Paisley you’d understand just why I was so glad to beat him. He is a most insufferably conceited ass about his golf, for a man who plays as badly as he does; in addition to which he usually beats me. It’s not that Paisley plays a better game, but he has a way of making me pull my drive or over-approach just by his confounded manner of looking at me when I am getting ready to play.
We usually trot along about even until we come to the seventh hole I’m usually ahead at the seventh—and then conversation does me in. You see, the seventh hole can be played two ways. There’s a small clay bank that abuts the green and you can either play around or over it to the hole, which lies directly behind. The real golfers play over with a good mashie shot that lands them dead on the green, but dubs, like Paisley, play around with two easy mid-iron shots. When we get to the place where the choice must be made, Paisley suggests that I go around, which makes me grip my mashie firmly, recall all the things I have read in the little book about how to play a mashie shot and let drive with all my force, which usually lands me somewhere near the top of the clay bank, where it would take a mountain goat to play the next shot. After that, Paisley and I exchange a few hectic observations and my temperature and score mount to the highest known altitude.
Of course, now and then, I forget my stance and Paisley long enough to send the ball in a beautiful parabola right onto the green, and when I do—oh, brother!—the things I say to Paisley put him in such a frame of mind that I could play the rest of the course with a paddle and a basketball and still beat him. This particular afternoon he had tried to play the seventh hole as it should be played, and though we had both foozled, I had won the hole and romped triumphantly home with the side of pig.
I was gaily humming to myself as I put on my clothes when James Felderson came in. His face was drawn and his mouth was set in a way that was utterly foreign to Jim, whose smile has done more to keep peace in committee meetings and to placate irate members than all other harmonizing agencies in the club put together. There was something unnatural, too, about his eyes, as though he had been drinking.
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Donald McGibeny
Biography.
Donald McGibeny, an author whose work reflected the burgeoning complexities of the early 1900s, was adept at portraying the moral ambiguities of the time. It is plausible that McGibeny’s writing was influenced by the social upheavals and technological innovations of his era, factors which may have imbued his work with a sense of urgency and relevance. This background, paired with a keen observational prowess, might have driven McGibeny to create narratives that resonate with authenticity and keen psychological insight.
‘Readers who relish the intellectual challenge of unraveling a tightly woven mystery will find ’32 Caliber’ a remarkable journey. The meticulous attention to detail and masterful character development make this novel an enduring addition to the detective genre. Both aficionados of classic detective tales and new explorers of literary history will be captivated by McGibeny’s narrative acumen. As a DigiCat edition, this book promises not only a window into a bygone era of storytelling but also an experience that demands the recognition and ardor reserved for the most enduring of world kinds of literature.
Donald McGibeny
