The Beginning of My Love-Hate Relationship With Golf

This Golf Talk blog is the result of my decision eight years or so ago to buy a used set of golf clubs, and then show up at an executive golf course in Van Nuys, California, looking for a game. Little did I know that was going to be a life-changing event.

I hadn't had a club in my hands since vowing never to caddy for anyone again at the age of 12, which was almost 50 years earlier. At 125 pounds, I didn't weigh much more than those damned old leatherbags crammed with as many clubs as the country club members in Ladue, Missouri, could shove into them. After 18 holes, it took all I had left to peddle my bike home across St. Louis. A year and a half of that - too often with no tip at the end - was all I could handle. I never wanted to pick up a golf bag or talk about golf again in my life!

When I got into my 60's, however, my attitude was changed by my friend Dick Mainwarring's incessant golf talking , and I started scowering the local paper for a set of used clubs. If I was going to play golf with Dick, I needed to get the equipment and some experience. Within two weeks, I was the new owner of a set of Wilson Tour irons and woods, with a bag, for $100. All that was needed was a putter, which they had on sale at a local pro-shop for $20.

The Van Nuys, California, executive course looked like a good place to start. It is only 1600 yards long, with three par-4 holes. Shouldn't be too difficult to get around without looking like a total idiot. So, off I went to see if I could get into the game.

That entire process turned out to be one of my best and worst decisions, because it was the beginning of my love-hate relationship with golf.

The Starter paired me with another player who appeared to be in his 80's, named Jim. Jim was a small man, maybe five-six and 140 pounds. When I walked up to the first tee and introduced myself, I thought I had better let him know that he was playing with a "newbie". He asked me how new, so I told him I hadn't really hit a golf ball in almost 50 years. He looked up at me for a moment, and then he said: "Well, I'm in no hurry. Just do your best, and have fun. Let's see what you've got."

Then, the most incredible thing happened. I stepped up to the tee on the first hole - 93 yards - and hit the shot that would keep me coming back for a long time. The ball stopped two feet from the hole! After a moments silence, Jim said "Not bad", and we started walking down the fairway. I still remember that moment when I'm searching for my swing.

Jim and I played together and talked about golf every Sunday morning for the next six years, until cancer ended our wonderful friendship. It's amazing how much we learn about people walking around a golf course. Turned out Jim had been a widower for two years when we met, with two great kids and three grandkids. He had been playing golf for 65 years and had the sweetest, easiest swing I have ever seen. It was jaw-dropping how he could put the ball right where he wanted it to go, most of the time. When it didn't, he would say "Bless you, Jim!". Don't remember ever hearing a curse word pass his lips.

He was a quiet guy, but over the years he revealed more of himself and his experiences. He served in the Navy during WW II, but didn't say much about it. The Navy sent an Honor Guard and Firing Squad to his burial ceremony, presenting an award to his family that said he had been on two ships that were both sunk by the enemy in the South Pacific. Jim spent over twelve hours floating in the middle of the ocean before being rescued. Perhaps, that was why he was so patient playing with a "duffer" every week.

Jim called and asked me to come over to his house a week or so before he died. We sat outside golf talking, and talking about our good friend Dick (who joined us in the second year) and the other guys we had played with on our Sunday strolls. Then, he said he wanted me to have his White Hot putter. He hit a lot of beautiful putts with that club...and he thought it might help my game. It's amazing how often I think of him when I pull that club out of my bag.

So, this blog is dedicated to Jim's memory, and I'll share more golf stories of him and our good buddy Dick with you as they arise from time to time. They are part of the "love" side of this relationship with golf.

The "hate" side began with me finishing with 55 on that first par 31 round!

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Hit 'em Long, Straight and Often.


Contact: darabbitt@gmail.com

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