MY FATHER THE GOLFER

I suppose my dad was like many businessmen in that he picked up the game of golf because so many of his customers played. I never asked him when and why he took up the game. I wish I had. My first memories of playing golf with him date to the mid sixties when I was in my teens. We would play nine holes on a Saturday afternoon and would normally play Pine Grove in Grove City or either Krendale or Stoughton Acres in Butler. (It’s interesting to note that when we played at Stoughton’s the proprietor’s wife kept her baby on the counter. That little girl now has grown children and may even be a grandmother.) We rarely played Ronland in Slippery Rock. I think it was a little too close to home for Dad. He knew too many of the folks he would run into there. We often played with Don “Pryor” Hilgar (the dealership sales manager), Joe Ligo (the local undertaker) or Sam Wible (whose daughter, Linda, was in my class). Dad had a wry sense of humor and I developed my social skills by watching him interact with his friends on the golf course. If Pryor was lining up a three-foot putt Dad would encourage him to “knock it close.” If Joe found a tree against which to relieve himself Dad would say behind his back, “Hello Mary.” Dad would help Sam look for his ball in the woods and if he found one he’d ask Sam what he was playing. To which Sam would ask, “What’d you find.” “A Topflite,” Dad would answer. “That’s it,” Sam would respond. Messing with Sam, Dad would then say, “Oh, sorry, I see now it’s a Titleist.” To which Sam would respond, “That’s close enough.” Dad’s regular group had a favorite game – Bingo, Bango, Bungo. The person who had the longest drive on a hole had Bingo. The first one on the green was Bango, and the first to get the ball in the hole had Bungo. It made for a fun round.

I know my dad enjoyed the game in those years but I think he enjoyed the fellowship that went with it more. He never played by himself. The older I got the more Dad and I played together. It wasn’t long until it was just the two of us, unless my brother happened to be back home. We probably averaged no more than a round per month together but I always looked forward to them.

Dad had two holes-in-one in his life. One was at Green Meadows (pictured above) and the other was at Ogelbay’s Crispin course with a church outing. I didn’t see the first but I did witness the second. Dad had turned around to pick up his tee as the ball rolled in the hole. He never saw it go in but got excited when we all started yelling.

One of the greatest gifts I ever gave my dad was a couple trips to play the famous Oakmont Country Club. A co-worker’s father was a club employee and he was able to get us on the course when it was closed to members on Mondays. Dad was such an Arnold Palmer fan and he had watched Arnie play Oakmont on TV. Being able to play the same course was a dream come true. To play it for free (as frugal as Dad was) was an added bonus.

Quicksilver Country Club hosted a senior tour event one time and I took my dad down to see it. He enjoyed watching all of his favorite golfers but he couldn’t wait for Arnold to tee off. Like it was yesterday I recall the childlike expression of admiration on Dad’s face when Arnie walked past just on the other side of the ropes. “Go get ‘em, Arnie,” Dad yelled. Arnold (the consummate gentleman that he is) turned and waved at Dad. I thought he was going to cry.

I was invited to the grand opening of an Arnold Palmer signature course at Stonewall Jackson Resort in West Virginia. Dad was living in Florida at the time but I bought Arnie’s autobiography for him and had Arnold autograph it during the event. The book became his favorite.

Dad remained an avid golfer well into his eighties. Even when Alzheimer’s disease clouded his decision-making ability he enjoyed going with Johnny, Lynn and I to the golf course or even just the driving range. He maintained a short back swing and easy follow through that enabled him to still hit a straight ball, although not a long one. Sometimes we had to point him in the right direction but when he hit that sweet shot he got the biggest smile on his face and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Nothin’ to it.” As in his earlier years, Dad loved the fellowship on the course much more than the game itself. I have such fond memories of golfing with him. Sharing stories, sharing memories, sharing his life.