Peter,
Great question and the answer is sure, plenty of times.
Like Ed, the one that first comes to mind happened at Merion.
Merion is the one course I developed an unnatural affinity for from the time I sat in the ramshackle shed of a clubhouse at Scott View Golf Course in Montdale, PA in July of 1971, the month I started playing the game. Between nines we'd stop in for Stewart Sandwiches and sodas and in their stack of magazines was the 1971 Sports Illustrated with Cannonero II on the cover having just lost the Triple Crown at the Belmont and inside was the preview of the US Open at Merion. The associated story was titled "The Ghosts of Merion" with superimposed black and white photos of historical players and events ghosted over color pictures of the holes in question. Given my love for history and my emerging love for golf I was captivated.
Merion to me became a magical place. When I first moved to the Philadelphia area to park cars at a fancy Main Line restaurant during the holiday season after college graduation in 1981 I didn't have a vehicle of my own and would solace myself with knowing that Ardmore Avenue was just a mile or so away. That winter I contented myself with playing Hugh Wilson's other course for the first time, Cobb's Creek, which was just almost across the street from where I was staying with my former college roommate in Upper Darby. Again, captivation and magic and some kismet, probably.
When I finally moved to the Philadelphia area in 1985 I would drive by Merion, sometimes venturing up Golf House Road to view the quarry hole from the tee. My first real time on the grounds was during the 1989 US Amateur following the match where a very unorthodox Danny Green defeated local favorite Jay Sigel in the semi-finals. My admiration and respect for the golf course only grew with greater familiarity.
It wasn't until around 2001 that I finally was able to play Merion. Through the generosity of former and current members of this Discussion Group, a lurker dropped out and I met the Emperor for the first time in the parking lot where both of our eyes were already glassy just taking our clubs out of the trunk.
It was a Monday, so the course wasn't officially open, and it was hot. Hot and Humid. Probably upper 90s with almost as high a wetness factor. Carrying our bags, four of us teed off.
In some respects, I was fortunate we played the course on an empty day. If not, had I been right-handed, a doppelganger of my heeled opening tee short would have killed a tea-drinking member on the patio. Instead, it skirted across an empty practice putting green to exactly the worst place on the planet anyone would want to play that hole behind giant evergreens and at the worst possible angle.
Thus it continued through the first five holes, where it seemed my thigh-high backswing in a flash of nerves and pulsing temples would only permit shots that were chunked or skirted along the ground. Thankfully, none of my playing partners were exactly hitting shots of Hogansian perfection.
Finally, after another rolled tee shot on the 6th hole, I scudzed a ball somewhere up in the middle of the fairway about 180 yards from the green. Standing there, sun high in the sky, I took out a five-iron and somehow, finally, made something approximating an actual golf swing and the center of the clubface ended up being in play for the first time that day and my ball soared, high and far, carrying the large false front and settling in the middle of the green.
Immediately, goosebumps chilled my body and involuntary tears began streaming down my cheeks. Instantly, I was about as happy as I ever remember being, and from that point on during the round I played enough decent shots to leave the course elated.
Later that day, The Emperor was visited by Ghosts of Merion while in the shower. That's his story to tell, though.