I was fortunate to have one last encounter with Neil at Winged Foot East on October 16. With typical generosity he invited me to arrive early and get some lunch without him. He showed up with a one-legged golf bag and a wide smile. I played the first few holes in one under, stumbled badly on the last six, and it was hard to tell whether he was rooting for me or hoping that Winged Foot would repeatedly kick me in the nuts. Did he talk the whole way round and ask me to hit an assortment of impossible sixty-footers? Of course he did, but he talked about many more things than the history of Winged Foot, and the putts were at times as interesting as the conversation.
On the fourteenth hole, facing a difficult pin, I finally agreed to putt from 110 yards. His face lit up and he told me aim it at the edge of the right bunker and to swing as hard as I would with a wedge. When it just rolled over the corner to fifteen feet, he reacted as though I had made an ace.
After the round he held court in the grill room. I try to keep a level head when it comes to golf course architecture and history, but it was hard to after seeing those magnificent greens. As Neil got more and more into his explanation of what he and Gil Hanse had accomplished, the research they had conducted, and the details they had insisted upon, my eyes grew wide. The next time you are admiring an enormous and perfect green at Winged Foot, think of our friend.
The next day at Sunningdale I was handed Neil’s Ping on the first green. After the round I called him, told him that his caddie had given away his putter, and that I would return it in exchange for a round on Winged Foot West. He was not amused, and you could tell that for him this was like missing a limb or a child. I brought it back to the locker room, gave it to the attendant, and watched as he threw it to another attendant on the second floor. It was a funny image that I will always remember - his beloved putter flying through his beloved club.
Get into the habit of mailing a handwritten thank-you note to your host. I sent one to Neil and he was so delighted that he called me from the road a few days later. We talked about golf courses and about how much he wanted to come to Maine and play Prouts Neck. When the topic turned to Sleepy Hollow, I was astonished at the level of his involvement and understanding, and his deep relationships with all of the principals. We talked about mountain climbing and how I was almost done with the tallest in New Hampshire. He countered with a harrowing tale of a very cold night on Mount Washington. Then he told me that he had watched his mentor perish in the Himalayas in 1980! Tonight, I wish in vain for just one more dinner, to see how many stories he could spin off of that one.