H. L. Quist
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This story is about the universal themes of man's quest for the secret to success, the search for truth, and the battle of good versus evil. Most of us at one time in our lifetime have dreamed of discovering a secret to fame and fortune, whether it be replicating the golf swing of Jack Nicklaus, the technological genius of Bill Gates or the faith and caring of Mother Teresa. As a teenager, Robbie Morris was destined to be the next Jack Nicklaus, a golf superstar. Tragedy struck, which prevented Robbie from fulfilling his dream. Mystically and mysteriously, however, Robbie found his secret to success, and he shocked the golf world by winning the U.S. Open Golf Championship. In exchange for his secret to success, however, Robbie is obligated to fulfill a mission for the forces of good. What begins as a simple story of the challenges faced by a young professional golfer becomes increasingly complicated, clandestine and controversial. Numerous well-known people and places appear in these pages but this is a work of fiction. None of the principal characters are real. None of these events ever happened.
H. L. Quist was born in Green Bay, Wisconsin, raised in Albuquerque, New Mexico and now resides in Phoenix, Arizona. Prior to Secrets, his writing primarily focused on social, political and economic events published in Trends, a nationally distributed newsletter. H.L., better know by the nickname, 'Buster,' enjoyed a successful athletic career at the University of New Mexico. He was a two-time NCAA All-American in Track and Field, a member of four U.S. Track Teams and a gold medal winner and record holder in the Pan American Games. He has played golf in 15 different countries and considers himself 'a good competitor rather than a good golfer.' His background, experience and ability to forecast future trends uniquely qualifies him to write this book.
'GOLF WITH THE PRESIDENT'
This routine continued until the 17th hole. It was hot and muggy and the Agents in the black suits were having a heat attack. The President took another call and the Agents told Robbie and me to distance ourselves from him. We found a spot to the left and a little ahead of the tee box under a large oak tree that shaded us from the hot late June sun. Finally, the President was ready to hit. Looking distracted and possibly agitated from the previous call, the President came 'over the top' and hit his drive on the heel of his club and the ball careened like a rifle shot directly at us. I yelled, 'Duck!' but Robbie didn't react quickly enough. The ball struck Robbie directly behind his right ear. A sickening thud! Robbie fell to the ground like his legs had been cut out from under him. He laid there unconscious, with blood trickling from the back of his head!
The President was horrified! The Agents came to Robbie's aid immediately. Robbie was not moving. I felt nauseated, with a thickness in my stomach. Every time Robbie was on the brink of success, something happened. If he didn't have bad luck, he wouldn't have any luck at all.
'Get him help!' yelled the President. 'Now, I said! Call my chopper. Get it to this spot right now!' the Commander-in-Chief demanded.
'TEAM MORRIS'
It took over an hour or so for the tournament committee to figure out the results of the Calcutta. It was a big day for 'Team Morris.' Robbie won a trophy and a $300 gift certificate. Harvey won 70 percent of the $120,000 pot. $84,000!
Robbie and I were sitting near the putting green in the cool shade as a typical beautiful red New Mexico sunset signaled that the day was about to end. Harvey walked out of the clubhouse carrying a large brown paper bag. In it was the $84,000.
'Let's go home team,' Harvey said, as he motioned to Robbie to go get the car. After Robbie left, Harvey opened the bag.
'Ya earned yerself fifteen grand, Darden. Help yerself. Now ya knows what A'h do for a livin'. Where could ya make fifteen grand that easy, huh? Ain't Farmington a great place? Where in the world can ya get drunk, get laid, make tons of money at golf and get shot at all in one place? Man, A'h love it!'
I pocketed my share and watched Harvey head for the parking lot. 'Team Morris.' What a team. One player was a good a guy as you would ever meet. He knew the rules, played by them and won. The other, I suspected, was a bad guy who made his own rules and won any way he could. What a father - son contrast.
Events were soon to unfold that would dramatically demonstrate Harvey's 'dark side' of the mountain.
