TSenior Tour 2012
(from Golf Illustrated/April 1992)
What will the slim, trim stars of today look like when they hit the Senior PGA Tour in 20 years or so? Have a look at the future, as depicted by artist Mike Okamoto.
Chip Beck
Cory Pavin
Tom Watson
Jewel of the Nile
(excerpted from Golf Illustrated, February 1988)
Golf fans may know him as the man with the NBC microphone in hand, strolling the fairways of the PGA and LPGA Tours. But it's unlikely that many realize sportscaster Jay Randolph is a pretty fair golfer in his own right.
It was 32 years ago that Randolph claimed his first title, winning the 1955 Egyptian amatuer Championship at the Gezira Sporting Club, located in Cairo on an island in the Nile River. Randolph captured his "jewel of the Nile" after being sent to Egypt by the U.S. Embassy from his regular U.S. Army duties.
Ho OK After KO
(from Golf Illustrated, Nov./Dec. 1988)
They might have been bellyaching about the greens at the Masters, but at the Malaysian Masters there was some real aching going on.
Ho Ming Chung of Taiwan was playing the 12th hole during the first round at Royal Selangor GC when he got beaned by a stray tee shot. Ho was unconscious for several minutes, but when he came to, he promptly birdied the next trhee holes. "I was in kind of a daze," he admitted while holding an ice pack to his noggin. Daze? We;ll say. He finished with 67 and led the tournment, giving new meaning to the expression, "playing lights out".
The Magic Touch
(from Golf Illustrated, Nov./Dec. 1988)
After his sand shot on the 18th hole of the fourth round of the U. S. Open, no one could question Curtis Strange's touch around the greens under pressure. But his touch at the awards ceremonies following a few of his recent victories leaves a bit to be desired.
The problem surfacd at the NEC World Series of Golf last year, when the trophy seemed to literally disintegrate in his hands. Then, this year after his victory at the Memorial, instant replay; in the words of an on-site observer, the trophy "came unglued and went into orbit." The bad hands reached a zenith at the U.S. Open presentation ceremony, when the trophy's lid seemed to fly off at its own volition - not once, but twice, at the podium and on the green at The Country Club.
-Steve Wilson
Tour Life Is The Life For Me...
(from Golf Illustrated, Nov./Dec. 1988)
Professional golf is big business, but there's more to it than just the players. The people that work for the respective tours put in a lot of time on the road, and long days once the get to a tournament site. But that doesn't mean they don't have some fun while they're at it.
Take David Eger, a tournament director for the PGA Tour. Eger was at the U.S. Open, serving as a rules official, when he was called upon to accompany Less Trevino as a marker in the third round. Equal to the task, Eger carved himself a nifty 77 while playing with the Merry Mex, and wound up his round with a birdie at the 18th hole to break even on a bet he'd made with a friend before teeing off that he wouldn't shoot 77 or better.
After his round, Eger recalled playing in the 1968 U.S. Junior Amateur at The Country Club when he was 14 years old. During dinner at the club that year, he snatched a teaspoon with the TCC logo engraved on it. On the Wednesday evening prior to the Open, Eger dined at TCC. His place setting was sans teaspoon. Honest.
House Fraus
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1988)
For one week in mid-October, nine LPGA Tour players and a caddie traded in their woods and irons for some two-by-fours and hammers to help build houses for some needy folks in Tennessee.
Two work crews - No. 1, with Betty King, Debbie Hall, Cindy Ferro, and Chris Lebidz (a mini-tour player and Sherri Turner's tour caddie), and No. 2, with Barb Thomas, Terese Hession, Nancy Taylor, Petty Jordan and Barb Pendergast - put on the hard hats, taking part in Appalachian Habitat's non-profit program to renovate existing homes or build new ones for people who otherwise couldn't afford a place to live. The houses are then sold for $16,000 - monthly payments are about $90.
According to Barb Thomas, the crews measured, nailed and jigsawed away, completely drywalling two houses (a carpenter headed up each crew). And, in a scene right out of Witness, the two crews teamed up to construct a pole barn in one day.
Said Thomas, "On tour we really get catered to, so it's nice to give something back and work together without competing." Barb did assure us, however, that her crew outworked and outproduced Betsy King's team. Which leads us to believe that Betsy with a hammer is a different matter from Betsy with a driver.
Cut and Run
(from Golf Illustrated/February 1988)
Normally quiet and serene Blackrock CC in Mentor, Ohio, was recently the scene of a most bizarre and complex crime. A cardboard likeness of Fuzzy Zoeller mysteriously disappeared from the club's pro shop.
Shortly thereafter, puzzled Blackrock pro Jack Austin received this ransom note, pieced together with letters and words cut from newpapers and magazines.
"If you want to see Fuzzy Zoeller again, put one dozen Titleist and Ultra golf balls in a brown paper bag and give to Buzz or Cindy. No law or Fuzzy dies."
Blackrock members assumed Fuzz's ordeal was over when the cardboard figure was found floating in a course pond, bound to an inner tube. But the enterprising Austin was to have the last laugh.
With the help of club member/police officer Fred Fuldaner, 15 mock warrants were issued to members suspected of being inon the caper. After arrests, Mentor deputies escorted most of these golfers to the Mentor City Jail via paddey wagon.
The chagrined culprits were finally released when a woman member, who spilled the beans after being promised anonymity, admitted to being the mastermind behind the crime.
Sitcom Search
(from Golf Illustrated, August 1988)
It's been said that television has greatly influenced the lives of an entire generation. We got to wondering just how the "idiot box" has presented the game of golf over the years - outside the broadcasting of professional tour events.
After some cogitation, we recalled the Three Stooges taking to the links one fine afternoon, not quite sure of the object of the game. When Moe made a hole-in-one, an astonished Larry yelled, "It went in a hole!" "Just my luck," said Moe, thinking he'd lost his ball.
None other than Herman Munster knocked down a tree with his backswing, tore up a green while taking his putter back, singlehandedly emptied an entire bunker of its sand trying to extricate his ball (all the sand ended up in a pile on tope of some Eddie) and shattered a tree marker after mistaking it for a practice ball. After reading in the morning paper of the terrible damage done to the course by a wile man, Herman staunchly refused to join the club.
And Beaver Cleaver once found himself faced with a serious moral dilemma of whether or not to turn in a player who cheated while the Beav was toting his bag. (Young Theodore eventually confronted the dishonest hacker).
Water Hazard
(from Golf Illustrated/June 1990)
Is Greg Norman, a.k.a. the White Shark, taking his nickname too seriously? a ferocious image and lively publicity are all very well, but descending into the waters off Australia to make the personal acquaintance of a great white, as Norman did in February, is another story.
Norman was part of an expedition attempting, among other things, to set a record for the largest great whie caught. He came close, waging a four-and-a-half-hour battle against a monster estimated to be between 1,600 and 1,800 pounds, which would have chewed up the previous record by several hundred pounds. The real shark won that fight, but Norman did manage to land a half-ton great white.
fr the up close and personal part of his adventure, Norman wore a wet suit - and a cage. A 15-foot great white, no doubt attracted by Norman's family resemblance, or maybe by the 15-pound salmon he was holding, dropped by to say howdy. Norman gave his namesake the salmon, but declined to forge a closer relationship,
-Tim Rosaforte
Sitting Down on the Job
(from Golf Illustrated/December 1989)
Slow play has plagued the professional tours for many years. Tournament officials have attempted to eliminate the problem by levying fines and penalty strokes against golfers. But maybe players should have the right to fine the officials a little something too. At the LPGA Greater Washington Open, officials took 45 minutes to agree on a ruling, which slowed play to an agonizing crawl. One professional, Lori Garbacz, carried a lawn chair with her and sat down between shots. Rumor has it that she was seen reading the Sunday paper on the 10th fairway.
No Way Out
(from Golf Illustrated/April 1988)
Greg Norman has taken up a new hobby he hopes will provide moments of peaceful respite from the rigors of tournament competition - scuba diving.
On a December dive, a mile out into the Atlantic and 40 feet down, he probed the ocean floor at the base of Snapper Reef in wide-eyes anticipation, hoping to find something interesting.
He did. A golf ball.
"I can't get away from the game," Norman chortled. "I couldn't help myself. I started laughing, and found myself looking around to show somebody what I had found."
-Larry Guest
We Got a Million of 'Em
(from Golf Illustrated/August 1988)
Does it pay to be the Millionth golfer to play a Myrtle Beach golf course? In Woodrow Bierly's case, it sure did. Bierly was recently honored as Beachwood GC's millionth visitor. He was presented with a commemorative plaque, a new set of clubs and bag, a week's free golf and a complimentary week's lodgings at the South Carolina seaside resort's Breakers Hotel.
Bierly and his wife Phyllis, who were visiting from State College, PA, were also dressed from head to toe in new golfwear, courtese the Beachwood pro shop and management.
20 Things That Are Wrong With Golf
(excerpted from Golf Illustrated/June 1988)
...4. There are no cheerleaders in short skirts around to lead a yell for you when you are putting for eagle.
5. But if there were cheerleaders, they would be forced to stand and cheer in absolute silence.
Barking Lot
(from Golf Illustrated/October 1988)
The Arizona City (Arizona) GC is going to the dogs, and we mean that literally. The coyotes who inhabit the environs of the course are getting too bold for comfort, say golfers and residents.
One Arizona City resident, F. "Boots" LeBouton, 80, had an experience while walking his dog that stood the hairs on his neck on end. "I always see at least one coyote," he said, "but this morning something happened." A coyote approached, but ran away when LeBouton hit it with his walking stick.
"He breezed away and ran up on a hill and sang a song," said LeBouton. "I've never heard anything like it before. Before I knew it, there were six of them surrounding me."
LeBouton managed an escape, he said, by burning page by page a newspaper to frighten and distract the coyotes.
Another resident, Dean Wienands, said that three of the beasts ate his 12-year old poodle Butch. "Whar concerns me is we have a little three-year old grandson," said Wienands. "The coyotes might mistake him for a dog."
Arizona City GC professional Mel McIntyre only comfuses the issue. Mel says that folks are barking up the wrong tree, and that the coyotes are no problem.
"They don't even come close to people. I think they're hallucinating or have a vivid imagination." Now howl we know who to believe?
Yet Another Top Five
(excerpted from Golf Illustrated/June 1990)
...#3) Big Bend C.C. Squattingham, Minn.
The lake in the middle of the fourth hole at Big Bend had been giving the members fits for years. Then Joseph "Hutch" Johnston, a member of the club and an engineer, came up with the idea of paving the lake, leaving six inches of water on top of the concrete. To the untrained eye it still looks like a lake, but now, when a golfer slices one, all he has to do is roll up his trousers and wade in, and there's his ball. "Hutch" is now working on a similar idea for sand traps.
The Triumph of Capitalism
(from Golf Illustrated/September 1990)
According to The Wall Street Journal, the first golf association in East Germany has been formed in Dresden.
Wormburners
(from Golf Illustrated/October 1989)
An underground business has surfaced at Indian Canyon GC in Spokane, Wash., it has course administrators aquirming. Almost nightly, under the cloak of darkness, entrepreneurs gather at the corse and harvest worms to be sold to bait fishermen.
"With a dozen worms going for a buck or $1.25, it's a pretty lucrative business," said Mike Stone, Spokane city golf manager. "These folks are out there with all their equipment, wearing miner' hats, going around on their hands and knees and picking them up. They can pull 100 pounds of worms a night, so it's pretty big business."
The fear is that these night-crawlers in search of nightcrawlers might damage the course - considered to be the most challenging in eastern Washington.
"They've used everything from electric shocks to water mixed with various chemicals to bring them up," Stone said of the worm-wranglers' techniques. "That's where our concern comes in. We don't want damage done to the grass from their chemicals or vehicles."
Seeking some control, the city has taken bids from several bait companies, hoping to arrive at an exclusive contract that would guarentee that the course would not be damaged.
"We haven't come to a decision yet," said Stone. "In fact, we're considering even going into the worm business ourselves. Some people have told us we could make as muchh as $30,000 or $40,000 profit a year from it.
"We just don't know. We've opened a real can of worms [heh heh] and now we've got to figure out what we're going to do with it."
You Can Lead a Course to Water...
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1991)
It looked as though a British developer's plans for a nine-hole course in Portugal would have to be scrapped last summer; engineers had failed to find any trace of water that could be used for irrigation. Unwilling to give up, the developer brought in a water diviner. Using an aluminum rod, the diviner pointed out 11 promising spots. The engineers found wated on the very first one.
Big deal. We know some golfers who don't even need a divining rod. Just stick a club in their hand; if there's water anywhere on the course, they'll find it.
Range Wars
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1988)
What's the world's most dangerous job? Narcotics cop in Bogata, Columbia? Window washer in Manhattan? South African gold miner? Or could it be range picking in beautiful downtown Los Angeles, at the Rancho Park driving range?
Now this is risky business. Twice daily, three workers at the muni range strap foam rubber mattresses to their backs, fit crash helmets to their heads and arm themselves with rakes. Then - while the practicers keep hitting - they sally forth to gather the range falls into piles so they can be collected by the motorized ball sweeper.
"Sometimes, the golfers walk by [on the adjacent ninth and 18th holes] and tell us we're crazy to do what we do," says Robert Moreno, a two-year veteran of the Rancho Park range wars.
"But it's not so bad - you only get hit when you're not careful, not paying attention, or when a ball ricochets off a fence post.
"I've been hit a few times," Moreno adds, "but nothing serious. It kind of stings for a while, then it goes away. but the golfers still aim at you. You walk out there and you can hear them say, 'Time for target practice!"
Golf On the Go
(from Golf Illustrated/February 1990)
Step on it, I'm gonna be late for my tee time," a desperate hacker barked at her cabdriver on the way to the Pittsburgh airport. Upon arrival, she checked her luggage and did the O.J. Simpson dash through the airport, all the way to the first tee. After a relaxing nine holes she had just enough time to make the three-minute walk from the course to the gate.
Our happy golfer played at Tee Off and Take Off, a chain of indoor driving ranges that has just opened its second branch in the Greater Pittsburgh International Airport. The range is equipped with video swing-analysis machines that project the driver's distance and line of flight, allowing the golfer to play a simulated 18-hole PGA Tour course or just beat balls on the driving range.
The first range was opened at Denver's Stapleton International Airport in February 1989, and more are planned for airports across the country. Someday you may be able to start a round at Merion in Dallas and finish during a layover in Chicago.
Stop Us If You've Herd This One
(from Golf Illustrated/September 1988)
Furtures Tour player Peggy Kirsch isn't easily cowed by the unusual, it would appear. During a practice round for the Lake Eufaula Classic, some cattle broke through a fence adjoining the gold course and made for the green.
"They must have heard the commotion," opined Peggy. "A big black bull was leading the pack, pawing at the ground and all." So she did what any self-respecting golfer would - abandoned her ball, hopped in her cart and herded the bovine gallery back into their own fairway.
"I watched a lot of Westerns when I was a kid," added the non-plussed pro. Nice moo-ve, say we.
Lord of the Fliers?
(from Golf Illustrated/September 1988)
The 10-year golf ball thieves at Executive CC in Boca Raton, Fla., will threaten life and limb no more, report club officials. Knife-wielding children had cursed and threatened golfers and vandalized the club's fourth green with shovels.
Two foursomes reported that the youthful delinquents had sprung from the trees, swiped balls and, brandishing knives, challenged the stunned golfers to "come and get 'em," reported club manager Mary K. Werre. "The women are frightened and the men are angry."
But after a little detective work by the Boca constabulary, the children were identified and reported to their parents, who administered some old-fashioned seat-of-the-pants discipline. No more problems, say club officials.
Future British Open Sites
(from Golf Illustrated/June 1992)
The following is excerpted from a speech delivered in 1986 by the then president of the English Golf Union, John Wild, at the Sportswriters Dinner on the eve of the British Open at Turnberty:
"Some of you may have heard that I am trying to get the Royal & Ancient to stage the Open at my home course, Wigan Golf Club in Lancahire. We know that they would prefer an 18-hole course, and that they would think our parking is not quite adequate.
"But by moving the lady captain's bike shed, and getting rid of the steward's hen run, we can get four more cars in...
"Eighty-four letters have been exchanged between Wigan and the R&A on this subject. Actually, it is wrong to say 'exchanged,' because we have sent 83 of them.
"The only missive we received from them was signed by a Mr. Bonallack, and it asked two stupid questions. One was, 'Are you insane?' to which our secretary replied, 'No, we are in England.' the other was, 'Have you 18 greens?' to which he answered, 'No, only seven, but we have eleven Smiths.'
"The last time we wrote we enclosed a stamped, self-addressed envelope, and sent it by registed mail. We got it back with the stamp steamed off, with 24 pence postage due. The envelope was marked 'Gone away.'
"I wonder if anyone can let us know at Wigan where they have gone to, because the chairman doesn't seem to know, nor does Mr. Bonallack."
The Deep
(from Golf Illustrated/Jan/Feb 1989)
No, that's not the Creature from the Black Lagoon rising from the depths. It's only Ralph Sutton, one of the intrepid sub-aqua specialists who make a living diving for golf balls.
"I put them all through the washer, and the pro gets the resaleable balls.then I stripe the rest, package them and sell them for range balls," says Sutton, who traveled 40,000 miles last year across California and collected 150,000 balls.
Sutton hasn't exactly surfaced with the Treasure of the Sierra Madre yet. But his finds include quite a variety of golf non-golf items. "I've found quite a few golf clubs," he says, "also several flagsticks, sprinklers, tee markers, a sawhorse with blinker, two stolen bicycles, a gun in Bakersfield which the police were looking for, and even - you won't believe it - an X-rated video." Abandoned by an ex-free swinger, no doubt.
-Nils Nelson
A True Goof-Ball
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1992)
Golf nuts, stand aside.
Your new king has been crowned, and his name is Merle Ball. Now sit down, and we'll tell you of his claim to the title. In 1991, the 73-year-old Ball played 1,278 rounds of golf at Sun N' Lake Golf and Country Club, in Sebring, Fla. (At 6,430 yards, it's a legit track, too.)
Ball played at least one round every day, rain, shine, or other, the most being 220 holes from dawn to dush. Oh, yes, Ball does have an advantage over many of us; he's ambidextrous, so 883 of his rounds were from the right side, and only (!) 395 were from the left. "I mean to play every single day," says Merle. "If I'm hurt and [his wife] Mildred has to drive the cart while I just lean out and hit it, I'm going to make it," he says.
Obviously, Ball prefers to play with a cart. "They say he's got it souped up," says Mildred. But Merle won't tell. "I used to work for John Deere, though," he says slyly.
Ball believes you can't only play, you must practice. So he hit more than 60,000 range balls last year. Hey, a fellow needs to warm up.
This, ah, devotion is nothing new. In 1988, Ball played righthanded in all 50 states. He must have enjoyed it, because the next year he played in all 50 states left-handed. His average score is "around 85."
Does the Ball endeavor sound costly? Nope. He's been playing the same clubs since 1988. "And I doubt I've used three dozen balls," he avers. "I'm not long, but I'm straight. Anyway, I just buy water balls - 39 cents from a bucket in the pro shop. Far as I can tell, they work just as good as the new ones."
And what does Mildred think of Merle's obsession? "I think it's nice he's got a hobby," she says, adding that Merle's secret is his low-cholesterol diet, plus he doesn't drink or smoke. But Merle disagrees. "A lot of good loving and a lot of good sex," he says. Must be a tough guy to reach on the phone; by day, he's on the course, and by night...
-Reid Green
Living on the Edge
(from Golf Illustrated/May 1988)
It may have taken 22 years, but it appears as if justice has finally been served in the Fenton vs. Quaboag CC case. the Monson, Mass., club, at the strong suggestion of a state appellate court, has agreed to shorten its ninth hole to keep golf balls off the property of John and Miriam Fenton.
"As soon as I get the equipment on the course, it will be done," said Eric Sanderson, the club owner, after Quaboag was found in contempt of previous orders to stop using part of the course adjacent to the Fenton home.
The Fentons first took legal action in 1965, complaining of broken windows. A year later, they were awarded $5,387 in damages and Quaboag was ordered to take steps to end the barrage.
The club erected a 24-foot fence along the Fenton's property line, but it did little to stem the aerial onslaught. The 600-odd golf balls the Fentons collected in the two months after the fence was built proved to be damning courtroom evidence.
The long court battle may be over, but the Fentons will not soon forget their two decades of terror. Neither will their roofer, who was felled by an errant shot. in 1983.
Take the Stairway to the Fairway
(from Golf Illustrated/Jan/Feb 1992)
The organizers call it "a great new formof the sport." To us it looks more like a great new publicity gimmick, but we still wish we'd been there. In the first "Tee & Suites" Invitational Golf Tournament, held inside the Radisson Suite Hotel in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida, contestants putted down flights of stairs, along carpeted fairways, and around such hazards as a pool and a grand piano.
The event, according to the organizers, was so successful that they'll beholding it every May. We hope that if the tournament really starts to bring in the paying guests, the hotel will earmark some of the profits for insurance premiums and allow some chip shots next year, and maybe even a mid-iron or two. Aiming, of course, for an elevatored green.
Tigers and Jaguars and Crocs - Oh My!
(from Golf Illustrated/June 1992)
Judge Fougere joined us at the bar as Doc his story about Ben Jaffiere, one of the Lucullan Golf Club's wealthiest members and worst golfers. Ben, who'd been born and raised in nearby Crowley, La., had been a bruising 175-pound fullback at nearby Southwestern Louisiana Institute in the old, single-wing, leather helmet football days. Although he was a first-round draft pick in the NFL, Ben chose to devote his time to leasing family-owned land around the bayous to shrimp fishermen. That, and his partnership in a half-dozen sporting houses with a local political big-wig, had made Ben a millionaire before his 25th birthday.
Doc cleared his throat and began "Ben carried a very high handicap, which he always blamed on his clubs, which he traded in about four times a year. Although his golfing talents were meager, his wealth was well-known, and one day he received an invitation from a small tropical nation to play its newest resort golf club, and speak with the developers abot possible investment.
"After outfitting himself with new clubs and several matching outfits, Ben hopped aboard his private jet, and arrived at the course early the next morning. At the tee, he was assigned as enotmous young man for a caddie. He was such a large man, in fact, that he made the powerful hunting rifle strapped to his shoulder look like a child's toy.
"On the first tee, the number two handicap hole, Ben sliced his drive into some light rough. As he swung, he heard a rifle shot ring out, and a dead tiger fell from a tree and landed at his feet. On the second hole, the number five handicap hole, Ben duck-hooked his drive, short of a band of trees. As he walked to his second shot, Ben was startled by another gunshot. This time, a jaguar, which had pised on a tree branch to leap upon him, fell dead at his feet.
"The par-three third, the number 18 handicap hole, was a short shot over a tropical lagoon. Ben dribbled his tee shot into the drink. Not waiting for his caddie, Ben reached into the water for his ball, and an enormous crocodile leaped out and bit into his left arm. Ben smacked the creature on its nose several times withhis 4-iron before it finally relented.
"Irate, cursing in Cajun, arm bleeding profusely, Ben turned to his caddie, and screamed, 'Why didn't you shoot the damn thing?'
"The caddie, speaking his first words of the round, said, very politely, 'Excuse me, sir, but you didn't get a shot on this hole.'"
I looked at doc with amusement and toyed with the olive in my drink. Judge Fougere suddenly remembered he had an appointment elsewhere.
Doc chuckled and tossed some beer nuts into his mouth. Then he arose from his bar stool and said, "Well, I guess I'd better hop over to the pro shop to help ben Jaffiere pick out a new set of clubs. Cheers."
Till Death Do Us Part
(from Golf Illustrated/May 1991)
Ahlgrim's Funeral Home in Chicago may be the only funeral home in the world with a strict rule against golfing during a wake. Seems that the noises from the nine-hole miniature golf course in the basement comes right up through the building's air ducts, and Roger Ahlgrim, owner of the establishment, worries that mourners might not appreciate it.
Ahlgrim originally installed the mini coursewhose holes include a guillotine and a skull, for the entertainment of his children. the basement now also contains a Ping-Pong table, a shuffleboard court, a bumper pool table and video games, and it can be booked for birthday parties and other social events. We hope you appreciate our restraint in not using that old line about people dying to get in.
Simple Arithmetic
(from Golf Illustrated/April 1990)
The ads were glowing
"Five Strokes less"
In every round I play.
Just buy this all-new training club,
And practice every day.
I bought a super "weighted glove"
Designed to groove my swing.
I bought a practice chipping net
To help me do my thing.
An extra 30 yards with balls
They tell me I can't lose.
And I'll get lots more distance
With these gimmicks on my shoes.
A magic putter guarantees
To take strokes off my game.
My set of woods will make me play
Like Seve What's-his name.
A special chipper promises,
Right here in white and black,
to give me automatic birds
with one hand tied in back.
My graphite-shafted metal wood
Will get me off the tee
And win me lots of big ones -
More than Arnie, Jack or Lee.
My scope will take off 10 more strokes;
I simply sight and dial.
And with my rail-soled fairway wood,
I'll crunch them all a mile.
For hitting longer, truer shots,
My irons are best by far.
I'll play a round in (oh my God!)
Sixty under par!!
-Freddie Alberts
Horsing A Round
(from Golf Illustration/April 1990)
After a tough week at the track, many of the 3,500 jockeys in North America head tothe golf course. Golf is a good off-day avocation for the riders, since they aren't looking for a vigorous workout and don't want to risk injury. Bill Shoemaker, recently retired, was one of the most skilled golfing jocks, often breaking 80 despite standing only four foot 11 and weighing slightly more than 100 pounds.
The main problem for the jocks is power; They don't reach a lot of par fives in two.
-Wilton Hyde
So I've Got That Going for Me,Which Is Nice
(from Golf Illustrated/April 1992)
The Japanese are well-known for their devotion to golf. How devoted? Consider that a round of golf in Japan often begins with a prayer to Kannon the Golf Goddess, who is enshrined outside a 430-year-old Zen Buddhist temple in Annaka, 60 miles north of Tokyo. the shrine itself is a Buddha look-alike with a halo of golf clubs. According to Japanese newspaper reports, some 15 million golfers have visited Annaka in recent months, leaving golf papraphernalia galore, and practicing their swings (and who knows what else) in front of Kannon.
-Gary Perkinson
Tanks, Pal
(from Golf Illustrated/October 1988)
At Fort Riley, Kan., golf carts manned by troops in full combat regalia cruise the fairways and rough of the base's Custer Hill GC. Aggressors concealed in the trees and bushes lurk in ambush. Is this a new get-tough rangering policy? High-tech aeration? No, nothing more than routine tank practice.
The Army, it seems, has figured out that it's less expensive to train potential M1 Abrams tank drivers in golf carts. A recent training exercise would have cost $15,000 to $20,000 if they'd used the 60-ton tanks; with the carts, the tab was $289.
Does it seem that there might be a slight difference between tanks and E-Z-Gos? Doesn't matte, the Army claims, the drills are useful.
"It's the same as playing in a sandbox with little bitty tanks," Newsweek quoted First Sgt. Leslie Axton. "You can practice things over and over." We hole they keep to the fairways and rough.
Links Litigation
(from Golf Illustrated/c.1988)
What could be better than living on a golf course? Anything, according to Elliot and Jeanne Hokin.
The Hokins, of Los Angeles, are suing the North Ranch C.C. and a realty company for $1.6 million because, they say, a daily shower of golf balls drove them from their new home on Ryder Cup Drive, in the Westlake Village section of L.A. According to the suit, the golf balls broke roof tiles and a glass table, and fear of bodily harm kept them from using their backyard hot tub. The suit also alleges that the errant balls forced the couple to keep their two golden retreivers inside, which led to indoor hazards.
Apparently, the Hokins did not know that the home they moved into in June, 1986, was near a fairway. They also say the realtors who found them the house did not warn them about the danger.
According to a report in the Los Angeles Times, so far the country club has shown no compassion. The newspaper says that when the Hokins complained to manager Tom Carroll, he suggested they buy bullet-proof glass or move out.
Thanks, But No Thanks
(from Golf Illustrated/c.1988)
Briton Walter Edwards passed away recently, leaving behind the fruits of his labor. Unfortunately, it was very strange fruit, and his benefactors are not exactly overjoyed.
You see, Edwards spent about 20 years collecting and hoarding golf balls. By the time he died at age 82, he and his dog, Trigger, had collected and stashed about 6,000 balls. Somehow, Wally's wife was unaware of this proclivity until she discovered them in bags, buckets and cupboards around the house, and in the shed outside.
Mrs. Edwards has a problem. First she has to figure out what to do with the balls. Then, she has to resolve the fact that the golf balls represent the bulk of the estate. So far, Mrs. Edwards is unhappy on both counts. As she laments, "He didn't leave anything else. Just these wretched golf balls."
Bay Hill Bummer
(from Golf Illustrated/c.1988)
Pause for a moment of silent sympathy for Mike Whiting and John Lisi, two combatants of the links who recently suffered the most bizarre and agonizing of frustrations at the Bay Hill Club.
Playing in a Fellowship of Christian Athletes tournament, Whiting, 29, and Lisi, 16, reached the par-3 14th in the late afternoon. Squinting into a brilliant sun, both hit excellent tee shots on the 165-yard hole, but couldn't follow the flight of their balls because of the glare.
Upon reaching the putting surface, the players could see only one of the balls, resting three feet from the pin. Lisi reached the pin first, and saw that the other ball was in the cup. He retrieved the ace and shouted, "It's a Maxfli 3!"
Lisi began celebrating. Whiting began celebrating. Then they noticed both were celebrating.
You see, both had hit Maxfli 3s. And since neither had made an identifying mark on his ball, they had no idea who made the coveted hole-in-one and who was putting for birdie. Playing partner tome Doozan, a Tampa club professional, can attest somebody aced the hole, but God only knows who.
If that isn't enough to send any self-respecting hacker to a shrink, there's a kicker to this story. There were two new automobiles and an electric golf cart offered as hole-in-one prizes on three of the four Bay Hill par-3s that day. That meansone of the par-3s had no hole-in-one prize. You guessed it.
Manhattan Mini-Golf
(from Golf Illustrated/July 1989)
Is there indeed a golf course in Manhattan? Sort of. Putter's Paradise, miniature golf in an old warehouse painted pink, recently opened on West 21st Street.
The Garden of Earthly Delights atmosphere was owner and former investment banker Kevin Milkey's idea. "We want to make it as outdoorsy as possible," says the former Florida resident.
Green - well, carpet - fees are New York rates - $6 per person, $4 for kids under 12/ Unusual for mini-golf, there are several par-three holes. And there's a bonus; the building is a fallout shelter.
Six Shooters
(from Golf Illustrated/August 1990)
In Hawaii, home of some of the busiest golf courses in the country, an experiment with potentially far-reaching ramifications is under way. Many courses, including the five operated by the City and County of Honolulu, now require fivesomes and sixsomes, at least during the week. According to Dave Mills, Honolulu's Golf Course Systems Administrator, the five city courses mandate golf carts and ban honors, and most sixsomes finish in about four hours.
-Ken Crost
A Club Sandwich?
(from Golf Illustrated/August 1990)
This ad from the Kansas City Star Tribune was brought to our attention by Dave Thompson of Overland Park, Kansas:
GOLF Clubs, Ping 1, Irons, 3 thru sandwich. $250. Sun after noon.
Buried Lie
(from Golf Illustrated/February 1991)
Please, let's have no jokes. This is serious, dignified stuff. A company called Mod-Urn Columbarium Gardens, based in Montreal,. wants to instal granite "gardens" for creamation urns on golf courses located around the world. Each garden would be able to accomodate the remains of up to 2,000 golfers who've landed in that great sand trap in the sky.
"We believe that golfers have a more personal attachment and love for their golf club and its members than for an anonymous space in a public cemetery," says the company's president, Dennis Braun.
There may, however, be more here than love of the game and a wish to
do something for its devotees. Braun says that a club that installs a
garden can make a profit of up to $7 million in 10 to 15 years from members'
fees, which will run to about $1,000 an urn, and he enthusiastically points
out that the dedicateion ceremony held when a member's urn is installed
"would generate food and beverage revenue."
D. Tees
(from Golf Illustrated/December 1990)
Mikael Krantz, a Swedish golfer on the European Tour, had a rough time at the Irish Open this year, a particularly tough time in the third round, and an especially tough time on the first hole of that round. Seems that Krantz had spent Friday night partying in the company of an unnamed number of Guinness stouts, and when he showed up for his round on Satuday morning he was much the worse for wear.
Krantz's drive got away okay, but as the ball took off the golfer fell down, knocking over his caddie and a tournament official in the process. His second shot went into Dublin Bay. It must be considered a tribute to Krantz's golfing skills that despite this miserable start, he shot only an 11-over-par 83 on the day.
Krantz says he's learned his lesson, and European Tour officials seem inclined to believe him. "His 83 and the hangover he had may be punishment enough," said a spokesman for the tour.
Golf Joke MCXX
(from Golf Illustrated/September 1990)
With increasing infuriated slashes, a golfer was trying to hit out of a deep bunker. The ants were scurrying around madly, in fear for their lives. "He's going to kill us all," they shrieked. "What shall we do?"
"Okay," yelled the head ant. "Everybody up on the ball!"
-E. Wolta
Linked on the Links
(from Golf Illustrated/May 1990)
The 17th green at the Desert Springs Golf Resort in Palm Springs, California, has no doubt heard its share of oaths. But it recently added bridal vows to the spicier variety when Dennis and Lori Pappas were married on the flowery island green. The bride and groom, whose first date was on a golf course, arrived in matching golf carts, and spent their honeymoon at golf school.
Catchin' Some Rays
(from Golf Illustrated/October 1990)
Scientists at the appropriately named Whiteshell Nuclear Research establishment in Pinawa, Manitoba, have known for some time that subjecting golf balls to a dose of gamma rays- a process used to toughen the rubber in radial tires - gives them extra bounce. the scientists have been irradiating their own balls, of course, and in the spirit of sportsmanship have been providing the service free to anyone who wants to ship up a few sleeves. Several thousand balls have rolled through the linear accelerator so far.
The process works only on two-piece balls, not the wound type, and you have to be a pretty hard hitter to get any real benefit from it (about 15 yards extra on a 300-yard drive), but it does work. What's more, the USGA has ruled that irradiated golf balls are acceptable for play. Whiteshell generously offers to stamp the balls to show that they've been zapped, but most people have declined. Strange.
The Creature From the Black Lagoon
(from Golf Illustrated/July 1990)
I was playing a round at Wildcat Cliffs Country Club with my friend, Allen," writes Willett Stubbs of Vero Beach, Florida. "There's a good-size lake in front of the green on the second hole, a par three. I cleared it, but Allen's ball splashed down in the middle. Since I've taken many a penalty shot there, I had as much trouble concealing my glee as Allen had hiding his disappointment.
"Then a small head with white object in its mouth appeared in the water. The creature, a muskrat, swam to shore, ran several yards toward the green and dropped the ball. Then, I swear it, he stopped and glared at me before returing to the water.
"Allen wiped the ball dry and took the hole, the game and our small
wager by a single stroke. We laughed about it for months, Allen and I,
before he told me that the muskrat's ball wasn't really his."
Jet Set Golf
(from Golf Illustrated/July 1990)
To celebrate his 50th birthday, Dave Tuch of Los Angeles went out and played trhee 18-hole rounds of golf - one in New York City, one in Chicago and one in Long Beach, California. On his 60th birthday he played a round each of three countries: Canada, the United States and Mexico. For his 70th birthday, in 1983, Tuch made all the travel and golf course arrangements for the logical continuation: a round of golf in each of three continents (North America, Europe and Africa). Political problems in Morocco, unfortunately, forced a cancellation.
Tuch's 80th birthday will be rolling around in June, 1993. Wonder what he's planning.
-Harry Squires
Tagging Up
(from Golf Illustrated/October 1989)
While most of us carry a bag tag from our home course, or one showing off where we went for our latest golf vacation, Dr. Jeffrey August, a 30-year-old podiatrist from Belleville, Mich., has gone a bit further. Collecting tags since 1975, August says he now has 11,000 - representing courses from all 50 states and around the world.
Lest you think August carries around a very heavy load, he keeps only 15 on his bag at a time.
Shake, Rattle and Fall
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1990)
The earthquake that jolted Northern California in October provided a windfall for at least some folks. Once the initial confusion and consternation caused by the quake had died down, golfers playing San Francisco-area courses found hundreds of golf balls littering the links along the tee line. Until they were shaken by the quake, the balls had been trapped in the dense branches of the cypress trees.
-Lee Tyler
Barred From the Course
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1991)
Dredging crews working recently to clear a sandbar in the Clinton River, which empties into Detroit's Lake St. Clair, discovered more that sand impeding the flow. The sandbar was filled with hundreds of golf balls, which had apparently been washed downstream from a number of golf courses.
Duffer's Dictionary
(from Golf Illustrator/August 1992)
Driving Range:
a large field with a line of tee boxes at one end and a fence at the other, object being to blast the ball over the fence at all costs;
a proving ground, where yesterday's swing joins tomorrow's club to produce today's slice;
that place where, when driving by, hooligans cream "Fore";
home of the range boy, often a man well into his 60s who, while picking up balls, becomes a moving target;
home to the teaching pro, an immaculately dressed man or woman who talks, non-stop at the rate of a dollar a minute;
the place where, after having shanked two wedge shots off a bald artificial turf mat, your group is called to the first tee;
the "Rock Pile," where otherwise calm, normal people turn into human Gatling guns;
Ben Hogan's office;
birthplace of Sisyphus.
-Nils Nelson
The Ratings Game
Since 1988, Tony Hebel has been a man on a mission. He has become the Superman of course rating.
Hebel, chairman of the Chicago District Golf Association slope rating committee, has been the chief rater for every one of the more than 500 courses in the association's territory, which includes all of the courses in Illinois, plus a few each in Michigan, Indiana, and Wisconsin.
Often, Hebel and his ratings teammates rate two courses per day. Even when they stick to one course, the group usually performs two of three ratings since they're often asked to do more than one set of tees. Hebel has performed nearly 1,100 individual ratings for courses since 1988. a figure which, according to Dean Knuth, inventor and chief adminstrator for the slope system for the United States Golf Association, is more than double his nearest competitor's total.
"From May 10 through October 10 we proably rate 250 to 300 courses," says Hebel, who like all slope raters is a volunteer and pays his own expenses. "We're at it every day of the season, just like going to work. It's what I give back to the game."
-Rick Lipsey
For Whom the Bell Tolls
(from Golf Illustrated/October 1992)
One frequently reads about the applications that other sports have to golf - baseball players, hockey players, and tennis players all talk about the similarity of their sports' motions to the golf swing. But according to a recent newspaper clipping from the San Francisco Chronicle sent to us by Lee tyler of Burlingame, Calif., gold itself has wider applications than can be found merely on the links.
Just ask Tom O'Brien, who rang his way to first place at the 29th annual Cable Car Bell Ringing Championships. O'Brien, a 28-year veteran of the San Francisco rail system, registered an astonishing 180 pings per minute and attributed his victory to, well, his golf stroke.
"It's all in the wrist and elbow," he said when asked the secret of his bell-ringing technique. "I just kept thinking about my golf swing."
The Middle-aged Duffer
(from Golf Illustrated/December 1992)
The average person knows that middle age has begun for him when he tries to figure out when middle age begins. but the golfer has other ways of measuring. For the duffer, middle age begins when...
Being in a wet sand trap reminds him of his oat-bran breakfast.
At the very moment he can afford to ride a cart, he can no longer afford not to walk.
He is finally able to read all of the greens at the club perfectly, but he develops the yips.
He makes up in straightness what he has lost in distance.
He is proud of any putt that goes beyond the cup.
He plays with balls bearing his company's logo.
He knows where all the greens are even though he can't see any of them from the tee.
He realizes he hasn't heard much lately about his boyhood hero, Dow Finsterwald.
-John Gratton
Chimerical Plans
(from Golf Illustrated/December 1992)
Each par-three hole before my eyes
Becomes a place I fantasize.
Imagining a hole-in-one
Then drinks and cheers when the round's done.
My name typed out in local news
Some wondering what club I use;
An answer that I dare not hedge
With fingers crossed, I clame a wedge.
Reality is seldom grand.
No hole-in-one was ever planned.
-Lois Greene Stone
Kiddie Caddies
(from Golf Illustrated/August 1992)
The miracle of childbirth quickly gives way to the realization of the enormous responsibility entailed by child rearing. American Golf Corporation has taken a first step toward assisting parents who might want to take a breather out on the golf course by offering a day care center at its Lake Forest Golf & Practice Center in Lake Forest, Calif. Men and women can step out for exercise and relaxation on the golf course while their children are cared for by trained and licensed day care providers located at the site.
A Golfer Who Doesn't Mind Walking
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1989)
Mark Henderson, 62, doesn't seem to mind a little stroll. In fact, Henderson, with driver in hand and putter firmly attached to his backpack, hiked 80 miles from his Raleigh, N.C., home to play in a captain's choice tournament in Hampstead, N.C.
This unusual sort of dedication resulted in some unanticipated responses from the Carolinians who witnessed his self-imposed march. One motel maid offered him a few dollars for food; a young boy chased after him with a plateful of country sausage and biscuits. But the exercise apparently served Henderson well. His group finished second in the tournament - riding in golf carts.
-W. Pete Jones
A Dog Day Afternoon
(from Golf Illustrated/October 1992)
I was on the Big Island, properly known as Hawaii, whence the rest of the Hawaiian archipelago takes its name, to report on the final days of the village of Kalapana. Homes, businesses, churches, and dreams were being destroyed by the relentless onslaught fo lava. Having filed my last column and having seen quite enough devastation for one trip, I'd dashed an hour up to Volcano Golf Club to play a quick, soul-clearing round before dark.
Interviewing native Hawaiians whose homes had been consumed by lava about their feelings for Pele, the goddess of the volcano, I understood why they remained respectful, even reverential, toward "the Lady," And I was well aware that the Volcano course happens to be less than a mile from the rim of vast Halemaumau Crater, which for centuries has been considered Pele's home.
A heavy mist blanketed the velveteen course as I loosened up on the first tee and pulled on a sweater. The cool air was a relief after standing so close to the approaching lava that I feared for my mustache and eyeglasses. My face was still red from the 2,000° F lava.
In the thin air - Volcano is located at 4,042-feet elevation - the ball flew 280 yards down the right side of the fairway of the first hole, a long, straight par five. I was alone on the course and reveled in the serene silence so unlike Honolulu's crowded tracks. After a decent 3-wood and a dancing little wedge, I curled in a 12-foot putt for birdie. What a start!
The magic gathered and grew on the second hole, a par-four cut through ohia forest, with another big drive down the middle. I found myself humming Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" as I glided up the fairway. Another crisp wedge to the green left an 18-foot putt for another birdie. The magic was as thick as the mist.
And then, out of the corner of my left eye, I saw something. I glanced over and saw a big brown pitt bull, head down and ears back, charging toward me at full tilt!
He was 60 feet away when I started my backswing. He immediately hit the brakes and skidded to a stop 30 feet away.
My first thought was that I could die out there and that I should just walk backward the half mile back to the rental car and leave with my life intact.
Then I thought: But that's a birdie putt up there. Plus, that's a brand-new two-dollar Maxfli.
I walked to the green. The big dog stalked me step for step. He stopped on the fringe, drooling, staring at me with relentlessly cold eyes.
The putt was downhill. Normally, I would have looked at it from below the hole. But that would have meant turning my back on the pit bull. So I stood the golf bag up between me and the dog, and propped the driver and wedge against the bag - extra munitions.
I leaned the sand wedge (the clubdthat would take the biggest divot) against my right hip as I stood over the ball. Looking down, I could see my heart pounding hard and fast through the sweater logo. "Navy-Marine G.C." I was ready for war. I looked at the dog, the putt, the dog again, and the putt again. The dog took a step toward me. I yelled and cursed and waved the sand wedge. the dog stopped. I re-addressed the putt.
The truth is, I was so scared I could hardly breathe. Somehow, I pulled the putter back and hit the ball. And somehow, it ran down the slope, broke left at the last instant, and dropped dead into the heart of the cup. Birdie! Make that a birdie-birdie!
Frankly, it hung the dog up. This was no ordinary human he'd gotten involved with.
I let out a bloodcurdling yell, a war cry of the Highlands that had lain quiescent in generations of Scottish DNA. Suddenly emboldened, I grabbed the golf bag. Using it as a shield and waving one wedge in my left hand and two in my right - I'm from the Tom Kite three-wedge school - I took off after the dog with malevolence on my mind and epithets on my tongue. I was now the stalker, the pit bull the stalkee.
"Let's see how you like this game, Doggie!
The pit bull began to back away. And then, a woman on the balcony of a distant farmhouse spotted me chasing her dog. She whistled. The dog turned and gladly fled, wiggling through a hole in the fence beyond the green. so much for hors d'oeuvres; dinner was being served.
I finished the nine holes without further incident, unless you count the 30-foot putt I sank for par on the seventh hole. It was nearly dark as I putted out on the ninth hole for a 38, two over par and far below my handicap. That first-hole feeling had been right. It truly was a magical round.
The final lesson was one in course management: Besides slowing play, looking at downhill putts from below the hole is a highly overrated technique.
-Don Chapman
Spiked Shoes Overhead
(from Golf Illustrated/January 1993)
He doesn't want to play
the great courses, he wants to spend
the night with them,
spread-eagled on the cool grass,
rubbing his arms and legs
the way a child swims on snow. How
the stars move, pulling
the moon with them. This is when
the old players come back
to life - Vardon, Hagen, Jones -
unsure, learning again
to trust the swings that made the
ball disappear.
The courses they play when no one's
around: Winged Foot,
Marions, Beltusrol. the old world still
in place, quiet,
like the beds where the Scottish
masters lie half-asleep,
listening for the sound of spiked
shoes overhead.
-Nils Nelson
Ghostly Golf
(from Golf Illustrated/June 1993)
In Hawaii, where the ghosts of Kamehameha the Great's warriors are sometimes still heard marching through the night, ghosts have been reported at two golf courses on the island of Maui.
The first could explain how Craig Stadler once four-putted after driving the green of the par-four 13th hole on the Kapalua Bay Course during the Kapalua International. It was still dark on a recent morning at the Bay Course as greenskeepers Kimo Kiakona and Arnial Libunao, put out pins and tee markers on the 13th and 14th. "I seen 'em first, this white thing," said Arniel. "At first I thought a water pipe had busted, or maybe the sprinklers went on. It looked like water shooting up, except there was no sound."
He immediately called Kiakona, a native Hawaiian. "I saw this white thin, walking toward me, taking steps. But when I turned the headlights of the mainenance cart on it, there was nothing there," Kiakona said. Hawaiian culture is rich with ghost stories. Kiakona said his elders have talked about seeing ghosts and this one fits their description: "I know it was one ghost."
"Oh sure!" says Bay Course head professional Marty Keiter, a firm believer in the here-and-now, when told about the sighting. "Was it Casper the Friendly Ghost or should we call Ghostbusters?"
They're askng the same thing on the other side of the West Maui Mountains at Sandalwood. A Hawaiian warrior clad in loincloth and helmet has allegedly suddenly appeared to several groups of golfers, rising either out of a pond or out of the ground, or materializing at the edge of trees lining the seventh hole, á la Shoeless Joe Jackson in "Field of Dreams." While the story has been widely repeated on Maui, neither head professional Fran Cipro nor his staff have ever seen the apparition.
"I head one story about eight guys seeing the thing and leaving in such a hurry they forgot their clubs and carts out on the course," says Cipro. "That's just never happened."
-Don Chapman
Open Bar
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1993)
If you want to be immortalized in the British Open bar in New York City, the criterion is simple. "Just win the Open," says owner Brian Williams, who hails from Liverpool, England. "There's no riffraff on these walls."
The bar, located at 320 East 59th Street in Manhattan, includes every possible type of British Open memorabilia. And rather than engaging in the typical pub pastime of darts, patrons battle in - no suprise here - putting contests.
Winter into Spring
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1993)
In winter,
white fairways, the world
underneath left alone.
Skiing from one hole to another,
he looks for a sign of spring.
The world turns in her sleep,
knocking snow off a spruce
bough.
He swings at it with his ski pole,
remembering the afternoon
suns that gathered to watch him
practice with his father's
hand-me-down 7-iron.
Spring mud hardened into clay.
No wind, only a spark
of red dust each time the blade
clipped the ground.
Still rising, like chimney smoke
from a house
somewhere in the valley.
-Nils Nelson
The Blue Flash
(from Golf Illustrated/February 1993)
First I called Slazenger and got a firm No. The ball - a Blue Flash - hadn't been made by them. I called Spalding, and they said it would have "Spalding" on it, but it didn't. I called Wilson and Titleist and the USGA and finally someone in a small Ohio town who is writing a history of the golf ball. They all said they didn't know. So here I was with this orphaned golf ball. I wanted to know who made it and when so I could confirm my belief that it was a survivor of the first golf course on Guam.
I had found the ball in the pocket of my golf bag, which I hadn't used or seen since I was a boy living on Guam. Most people only hear of the island when a typhoon hits it. They don't know what being a golfer, of a golf ball, on Guam entailed. The island is the largest of the Marianas, 30 miles long by four miles wide at its narrowest. My family and I went there in 1949, sailing out of San Francisco 17 straight days on a military ship across 5,000 miles of ocean. the island had been occupied by the Japanese during the way, then reclaimed by the Marines - it was one big military base, and still rebuilding. High on the military's list of new projects was a golf couse, and shortly after we arrived, the first full course, at Barrigada, was opened. A triumph of cooperation between the Navy, Air Force, and Marines, it matched "any of the state-side courses," according to the newspaper. My parents became charter members of the Guam Gold Club and played year-round, every chance they could. A dutiful son, I happily followed suit.
Bordering the golf course, and covering almost every inch of land that hadn't been blacktopped or chopped with a machete, were the boondocks. I remember a scrub tree called tangen-tangen that the Japanese had supposedly brought to the island to develop cover during World War II. Its seed pods no sooner hit the ground than new trees began to sprout. In the scrub-covered boondocks lived and indeterminate number of desperate Japanese soldiers who either didn't know the war was over or who were afraid to surrender. My friends and I believed that they watched us wherever we went. Thus, retrieving a golf ball became a commando operation. We never got pounced on, or ever saw a sign, but we had vivid imaginations that were stimulated by the numerous artifacts of war everywhere on the island. Searching for a lost ball we might return instead with a cartridge belt, a grenade, a knife, a machine gun, or news of a tank. We looked constantly for such items, though we never hit deliberately into the rough.
Guam's climate also offered a unique challenge. Typhoons blew coconut trees and roofs of houses onto the fairways. It rained 80 to 110 inches a year, five to 15 inches a month during fanuchanan, the rainy season that corresponds toour summer and fall. After every fresh rain tens of thousands of snails the size of golf balls would come out of the jungle and migrate across every open surface they could find. It was said that the Japanese had introduced them as a natural food source.
I stopped playing golf when we left Guam in 1954. It was time to begin my baseball career in earnest, and besides, in the States hitting into the rough wasn't quite the same. In the intervening years Guam has been discovered and developed as a major honeymoon resort espeically popular with Japanese tourists. The last Japanese soldier to surrender, of at least the most recent, did so in 1972. The island now sports three 18-hole golf courses, one of which must be the descendent of Barrigada. I be they've cleaned up the boondocks and thrown away all the war stuff and the mouldering golf balls. Except for my Blue Flash. Maybe I'll stop trying to find out if it is from that period - the ball has already served its purpose by inspiring pleasant memories. Besides, I've just noticed a slice below the "Blue Flash," so it couldn't be mine.
-Don White
Wall Street CC
(from Golf Illustrated/March 1989)
What's the No. 1 sport among the wheelers and dealers of American business? Golf, of course. According to a recent survey conducted by Epyx, Inc., computer game manufacturers, 82 percent of hight-level U.S. business executives play the game, far outdistancing the 39 percent who indulge in baseball/softball and the 39 percent who swing a tennis racquet. Other favorites include volleyball at 31 percent and basketball at 28 percent.
The most revealing statistic, though, may be that 62 percent of these executives leave work to play during business hours. Is it a no-no? Maybe not. Seventy-seven percent said they play with business associates or clients, 28 percent more than once a week, and 39 percent say that their participation in sports, and its entertainment value, help them generate business. Which sport? Golf, again; 90 percent say golf is the over-riding business "power sport;" tennis only garnered five percent of that vote, and the rest was divided among baseball and squash.
Hot Round
(from Golf Illustrated/July 1988)
Jerry Hagood remembers thinking that the Hangman Valley area of Spokane, Wash., looked like a war zone. Planes swooped low on bombing runs with fire retardant while sirens wailed ceaselessly. Homes incinerated. All this made it tough to line up a putt.
"It was terrifically distracting," said Hagood, one of 126 real-estate agents golfing in a tournament at Hangman Valley GC when a wind-driven fire swept through the area, leaving 22 homes in smouldering rubble.
Course officials advised golfers to clear the course as the fire progressed. Most of them complied readily, helping the scramble tournament live up to its name. Hagood and his group, though, stayed the course.
"Our fivesome was finishing in an area that wasn't really impacted by the fire. And we had only a few more holes to go," he recalled. "We were playing well - several strokes under par. We didn't get any birdies because we were so enticed into watching what was going on. Being good, true golfers, we were going to finish, by God. We had paid to play, after all."
-Dave Boling
Taking It Literally
(from Golf Illustrated/August 1989)
[An old joke. This illustration had only the title to accompany it.}
The Mechanic
(from Golf Illustrated/circa May 1991)
I had a date to play golf with my friend at a small golf course out of town, and we were to meet at the shopping center out at the main highway. She was going to drive, as I had been having trouble with my car for several days. It wasn't a bad problem, since I could fix it, but it was annoying.
Sure enough, after I had put the clubs in the car, and turned the key, it wouldn't start. I reaching in the floor in the back, picked up a small hammer kept there for the purpose, and got out and opened the hood. the problem was the carburator. The float, which was supposed to d just that, was stuck. all I had to do was to tap it gently with the hammer, and it would work again. I got back in the car, and it started immediately.
When I reached the corner where the backroad met the highwya, the light was red, and when I stopped, the motor cut off. I got out of the car and reached in the back seat for the hammer. It was out of reach, so I took a golf club out of the bag, raised the hood of the car, tapped the carburator gently, closed the hood, put the club back in the bag, and got back in the car, all before the light changed. It started in a few seconds. Just as I was about to drive off, an old gentleman who had been watching intently, walked over to the car, and with a puzzled look on his face asked, "Lady, would you mind telling me what club you used?"
-Phyllis Haughton
Just Do It
(from Golf Illustrated/May1989)
Norman Grass, a plumber by trade and father of seven, was known as the strongest man in Gaston County, N.C. He may have been the strongest-willed also.Grass designed and built his own golf course, Grass Valley GC.
Selecting a picturesque valley at the foot of Crowder's Mountain, he began work. Using only a few farm tools and his truck, Grass moved boulders, cut down trees and cleared brush. Working in all kinds of weather, he moved the earth by bagging gunny sacks of dirt and hauling them around the layout.
Grass even built an irrigation system. Surmising that four of the nine greens would require sprinklers, he used only a simple pump in a creek. To this day the course, renamed Crowder's Mountain CC, is still in use, now including a back nine designed by Ellis Maples - still using Grass's irrigation system.
-W. Pete Jones
Outfoxed in the Fairway
(from Golf Illustrated/Sept 1987)
LPGA Tour player Sherri Steinhauer is quite accustomed to fore caddies. But in June, at the McDonald's Championship, she had her first experience with a four-legged caddie.
After driving into the rough on the sixth hole, Steinhauer walked toward her ball and could not find it. Apparently, a fox had run out of the woods, picked up her ball and dropped it in a bunker on the seventh hole.
Unsure of how to proceed, Steinhauer asked for a ruling. An official decided that the fox was an outside agency, and permitted Steinhauer to take a new ball (the old one was damaged by the beast) and drop it into the rough on the sixth hole. She continued playing the hole, outfoxed but unpenalized.
Public Access
(from Golf Illustrated/Oct 1987)
Want to play golf on a public course in Gadsden, Ala.? good luck. According to a National Gold Foundation study of metropolitan areas in the U.S., Gadsden is the most undersupplied area in the country. Here are the 10 metroplolitan areas with the fewest public courses per capita, followed by the 10 areas with the greatest abundance.
1)Gadsden, Ala.
2) Charlottesville, Va.
3)Jersey City, N.J.
4)New York, N.Y.
5)Texarkana, Ark.
6)Albany, Ga.
7)El Paso, Texas
8)Laredo, Texas
9)Houma-Thibodaux, La.
10)Houston, Texas
1)Naples, Fla.
2)Sarasota, Fla.
3)Fort Myers-Cape Coral, Fla.
4)Utica-Rome, N.Y.
5)Kankakee, Ill.
6)Battle Creek, Mich.
7)Fort Pierce, Fla.
8)Fort Walton Beach, Fla.
9)Lorain-Elyria, Ohio
10)Pittsfield, Mass.
A Real Beast
(from Golf Illustrated/Oct 1987)
The world's most hazardous course may be the Konkola Golf Club in Chililabombwe, Zambia, a small copper-mining town known for an idyllic subtropical climate. The mines are among the richest in the world, but the club is the pride of the members, perhaps due to the abundant wildlife hazards.
Wildlife hazards? The scorecard heads like an intro to a Wild Kingdom episode. "A ball resting in a hippo footprint," in reads, "may be lifted and dropped in the nearest possible location providing maximum relief." The rules don't mention clublengths, possibly because 7,000-pound hippos don't tiptoe through the Konkola fairways; an ostrich could nest in a hippo divot.
And while the large lakes swallow a few balls, so do their residents.
The scorecard warns golfers in bold, black lettering,
"NOTE: Beware of crocodiles on 4, 5, 6, 8, 9,. 13, 14, 15, 17 and
18th holes." Sometimes the caddies, generally local schoolkids, go
on ball-hunting expeditions. Four have been attacked to date.
Even players face the crocs. One golfer was confronted on the sixth fairway, rescued only by his partner who "dispatched the reptile with a blow to the head." A nine-iron, say the locals.
And then there are the snakes. Club secretary C.J. MacKay tells visitors to watch for poisonous snakes. He should know - one of his golfing buddies was recently nipped by a cobra.
The Marriage Encounter
(from Golf Illustrated/ca.1987)
Picture a wife (that's me) who knows nothing about the game of golf except that it's played outside with a little dimpled ball and some sticks. Now imagine a golf-playing husband wanting to be buddies with his wife, inviting her out on the course for the day. You now have a couple who may never speak to each other again.
Before our delightful little outing, the game of golf, as far as I could tell, was not much of a challenge. You place the ball on a little peg and hit it as hard as you can. Then you chase it and hit it again and again until it goes into a little hole with a flagpole in it. But I enjoy being with my husband and walking is one of my favorite forms of exercise. So I joined him on the course.
To start the game, my husband put the ball oh so carefully on the tee and assumed his stance. He bent his knees just so. He moved his feet in the cute little dance. He wiggled his fanny a bit. Then he swung for all he was worth. The ball went 20 yards. I thought it was funny. He didn't.
When the ball landed in a hole filled with sand, I jumped in a threw it out for him. I thought this was a very selfless gestures. He didn't.
When my husband nailed me with a flying tackle to keep me from getting clobbered with one of those little balls, he thought it was hilarious. I didn't. "Why do they yell 'Four!?"" I asked. "It's only one ball."
My darling did entrust me with one job, thinking I could handle it. Unfortunately, my scorekeeping cause more tension. As I understood it, you are supposed to count every swing, but he got ver upset when I followed his instructions to a T. If he didn't want me to record it, why didn't he pick up the ball and throw it when it got stuck in the tall grass?
Anyway, I was so proud of him. His golf score was close to his bowling average. My husbanc kept telling me Mulligan was taking the next swing. I never did find the elusive man but wherever he was, he was fuilding up quite an impressive score.
-Carol Ayers
Golf Joke MCLXX
(from Golf Illustrated/ca. 1987)
Bill, an American, was playing St. Andrews, in Scotland. At the first tee, his Scottish caddie gave him a bright red ball and said, "This is a vurra special ball. Ye canna lose it!"
"But what if you hit it into the woods?" asked Bill.
"The lit'l ball has legs on't, and it runs oot on th' fairrway. Ye canna lose it!"
"And if it goes into a sand trap?"
"The lit'l ball has a boonch o' shoovles on't; it digs its way oot of the sand trap and rruns up onta th' fairway. Ye canna lose it!"
"And if it goes into the water?"
"The lit'l ball has fins on't; it swims t'shorre. Ye canna lose it!"
Impressed, Bill asked where the caddie got such a ball. "Ah found it," he replied.
-Submitted by Robert Koch, Arlington, Texas, who received $25.
Love Hurts
(from Golf Illustrated/ca. 1987)
From our Golf Romance Archive: In 1946, U.S. Army Sergeant Herbert Naiditch was playing golf in England when he was struck on the ankle by a ball hit by a young woman in the foursome behind him. the next day, laboring with a painful lower leg, he was again hit by the woman - this time in the head.
Apparently, he was struck in the heart as well, because six months later Naiditch and the young woman were married. Settling in Chicago, the bruise-free couple made plans to play golf together. But from now on, said Mr Naiditch, "she will tee off first."
Golf Joke MCLXXI
(from Golf Illustrated/ca. 1987)
Three men were playing golf on a course with a deep ravine. They teed off. Two balls landed in the hazard, and one managed to make it over. One of the men gave up on the hole, but the second, Bill, decided to play his ball. He disappeared into the crevasse, and a few moments later his ball came bobbing out.
After he emerged, one of his partners asked, "How many strokes?"
"Three" Bill said.
"But I heard six," said the incredulous partnet.
"Yes, but three of them were echos," said Bill.
-Submitted by Sybil Spencer, Kings Beach, Calif., who receives $25.
Hitting Three?
(from Golf Illustrated/April 1989)
As on any number of courses in America, the ninth hole of Sugar Creek GC in Atlanta, Ga., has a large lone tree set off to the right of the fairway.
Andy Moon, playing in a friendly foursome one afternoon, fired a tremendous line drive directly into the exact center of the trunk of the tree. The ball rebounded in a graceful arc, landing relatively softly into the outstretched hands of the dumbfounded Andy, who fielded the ball cleanly without moving from his original stance.
-Hugh D. Bishop
Stroke Play
(from Golf Illustrated/April 1989)
Back in 1949, my spouse and I were graduate students at Ohio State University, and we were having a round of golf on the Gray Course. I was trying out my new Bobby Jones irons, which came from a year's savings from two assistantships and the GI Bill.
At one point in the round, we were crossing a wooden bridge, when my rented pull cart caught a wheel on the edge, the handle pulled off and seven of my precious new clubs dropped into 10 feet of water.
I'm no swimmer, but I went over the side. One dive, however, convinced me that I couldn't retrieve them. But, who should appear at that very moment but the entire OSU swimming team on a conditioning run! One look at the tipped cart and my anguished face told the story, and three of those nice guys were in the drink with me. Seconds later, all seven missing clubs had been deposisted on the bridge.
I scarcely had time to thanks them back then. But there's still time. If any of those guys reads this, how about a note for old time's sake, just to confirm my remembrance of that splendid day on the Gray?
-Howard B. Robinson
Clubs? Who Needs Clubs?
(from Golf Illustrated/Sept 1989)
Don Briscar, a disc-jocky in Rome, Ga., set out one muggy May afternoon on the 6,200 yard General Electric Athletic Association GC to break one of golf's longstanding records. Briscar, a 30-handicap, intended to record a score of less than 82 by throwing the ball for 18 holes.
Even though Briscar carried a 10-pound weight to keep his arm loose between throws and aimed for cart paths, he could not conquer the conditions of the course. A heavy rain the night before had saturated the course with ball-stopping softness. Briscar threw a 119, with only one par and a ruinous deca-bogey.
Drive for Glow
(from Golf Illustrated/ca. 1986)
Playing Winged Foot G.C. in Mamaroneck, N.Y. this past summer, John Collins III took a shot in the dark. It was 11:00 p.m., and the Larchmont, N.Y. resident - with his friend and fellow member Maureen Mara - was playing with a Nitelite glow in the dark ball.
They went out to the 141-yard third hole on the East Course, near the clubhouse. Collins teed it up, scanned the moonlit landscape and struck the ball with his 7-iron. The two friends watched the ball arch, like a meteor, toward the pin, but then lost sight of it. Convinced it was over the green, Collins and Mara were resigned to another recovery shot.
When they reached the putting surface, though, they detected an eerie light emanating from the base of the pin. Had the old Scotsgame been infiltrated by visitors from another planer? Well, not quite. On closer inspection, they realized the ball was very much earthbound. The cup was glowing from an out-of-this-world ace.
Golf Joke MCLXVII
(from Golf Illustrated/ca. 1986)
Jack the golfer is playing poorly and goes to a sports psychologist for help. The psychologist tells Jack to play a round without a ball, just imagine his shots; it will give him a lot of positive images and boost his confidence. Jack figures, why not?
Jack "tees up" his imaginary ball and is ready to play when his friend, Marty, stops him and says, "I see you've been to the psychologist. He also told me to play a round without a ball. So let's have a match."
Jack and Marty play the first 17 holes all even; both hit perfect drives down the fairways, strike fine approaches to the greens, roll beautiful putts at the holes. When they get to the 18th the match is all even, and they both split the middle of the tee, 250. Jack hits and says to Marty, "You lose, I just holed out." Marty says, "Uh-uh, you hit the wrong ball."
Better Golfing Through Chemistry
(from Golf Illustrated/ca. 1986)
From our Eccentric Golfers' Archive: In 1931, golfer/chemist J.E. Priddy put his vocation to work for his avocation. Fed up with looking for his balls when he clunked them off the fairway at St. Andrews G.C., in Girard, Calif., Priddy resolved to fire up a special formula so he'd never lose another sphere.
"You know ants, bees and the like are attracted by certain odors," he said. I experimented until I found a formula which would draw these white butterflies [which proliferated at the course] and saturated my golf balls with it. Now when I drive into the rough I sit down and wait until they find it for me."
Golf Joke MCLXVIII
(from Golf Illustrated/ ca. 1986)
Joe, an avid golfer, dies and goes to hell. When he arrives, the first thing he notices is the most beautiful golf course he's ever seen, and an endless variety of new clubs and bags.
He selects his "dream" set of clubs, and gleefully proceeds to the first tee, where Satan is waiting for him. Joe cautiously approaches Satan, and asks where he can get some golf balls.
Satan smiles and says, "There are no golf balls, and that's the hell of it."
-submitted by Eugene B. McGough, Deltona, Fla.
Law Lament
(from Golf Illustrated/ca.1992)
Today is simply made for golf!
It really is a beauty!
The wind is slight, it's warm and bright - -
Guess who's on jury duty!
6 Reasons Not to Teach Your Children Golf
(from Golf Illustrated/ca.April 1991)
[Couldn't find the issue from which this came (I did find the title of the article on an invoice). But I seem to recall this "reason" to be something like the anxiety of the kids roaming around in the night brandishing golf clubs.]
