[Jason Thurman]

I recently joined the site after lurking for many years. In lieu of a standard new member introduction, I thought I’d start a thread telling my golf and architecture “testimony.” While I won’t be as windy as Tom Paul’s interview, I hope to share a bit of my background and also hear from others on theirs. I’ll tell the story over several posts, beginning with childhood and eventually working to where I stand today.

Childhood:
I was born to a family of hacks in Central Kentucky. Both my parents played the game, taking it up in adulthood and spurred for a while by each other. My mother often tells the story of her first time on a golf course, when my father let her tag along on one of his rounds. He was no seasoned player himself, but told her she should come watch him play and, perhaps, someday would be able to play as well. After adamantly explaining to her that she lacked the skill to play with him, he promptly hit his first tee shot into a maintenance shed in a pasture OB right.

My mother eventually took one golf lesson, during which the instructor hardly allowed her to hit a shot. At that point she gave up on instruction from others, built a solid homemade swing, and took up the game on her own. She’s abysmal from inside 50 yards, but strikes the ball like a 10 handicap, working it both ways with ease and hitting her driver about 200 yards.

My earliest golf memories also involve tagging along with my father. Much like my mother, I didn’t get to hit many shots. But I remember with great nostalgia that now extinct sound of metal spikes on the cart path, and hanging out in the clubhouse of the semi-private tiny-town club where my father played most of his golf, and remember swallowing a bee on the 14th tee with less nostalgia. I eventually got to start hitting a few shots of my own after my father realized that I liked to raid his bag and throw his balls in the water when I got bored.

I actually spent several years living less than ¼ mile from Valhalla in Louisville. Our home had a large enough front yard that I could take my set of Hogan Jr. clubs and make it my personal driving range. I, too, built my own swing. The only advice I remember receiving was someone teaching me a baseball grip and my grandfather telling me around the age of 7 that I shouldn’t step into a golf swing like David Justice hitting a baseball. It’s fair to say I wasn’t an accomplished junior player, and I never did take that homemade swing inside the gates of Nicklaus’ course just down the hill.

A few years later, my parents would divorce in late spring. That summer, my mother took me to walk an executive course. I was unaccustomed to failure as a child, and may never have played a full 9 holes with my own ball until that day. It was a bad recipe. I couldn’t believe how difficult the game was (I had my homemade swing, but I may never have hit a chip or pitch shot until that day, and certainly had no idea how to putt on anything that wasn’t a mini-golf course), and already a little moodier than usual following my parents’ split, I grew very frustrated; with golf, life, myself, my mother, and everything else.

On the tee at a 300 yard par 4, my mother asked if I was angry with her. I replied with an emphatic and angry “YES!”

“Good,” she said. “Pretend the ball is my head if you want to, but hit it hard.”

I did. Three straight times to the fringe. With the pin in, it didn’t matter that my putt would’ve run 30 feet past. It rattled in. My first par.

I’ve often called my mother the greatest parent that’s ever lived. She raised three successful children, largely by herself. She worked as a nurse in the ED and ICU and took extra 12 hour shifts a few times a week to make sure we stayed comfortable. As a result, no crisis ever seemed too big for her. And her motivational tactics were sometimes… unorthodox. But they worked. That day and many others.

I was 9 years old.

[John Kavanaugh]

A few years later, my parents would divorce in late spring.

That is a beautiful image.  Did your Mom remarry and if she did was he a golfer?

[George Pazin]

Welcome to the site, Jason, that's a very well-told story. Don't be shy about sharing your opinions.

[Jason Thurman]

A few years later, my parents would divorce in late spring.

That is a beautiful image.  Did your Mom remarry and if she did was he a golfer?

She did remarry briefly and very happily, to a good golfer. He had been a very good baseball player, preparing to go pro, when an injury ended his career. He moved to golf and had about 6 sets of pure blades produced over four decades. I still have his 1957 MacGregor copper-faced 2-iron that I use when I feel like a masochist at the driving range.

Unfortunately, he was killed two weeks before their first anniversary in an accident likely caused by the baseball injury, not to bum everybody out or anything. I'm afraid my story sounds a bit too much like a country song so far. I didn't play much golf in my teen years aside from acting like an idiot with my buddies in the summer at our local 9 holer in Madison, Indiana. But I started playing again freshman year of college, after a weird meeting at 2 AM with a security guard. I'll tell the story soon.

[John Kavanaugh]

Unfortunately, he was killed two weeks before their first anniversary in an accident likely caused by the baseball injury,

If it is not too painful could you please elaborate.  I have a fantastic imagination and can not come up with a scenario fitting your description.

[Jason Thurman]

It's been a long time. I don't mind sharing.

From what I've been told, he was hit on the side of the head pretty violently by a bat. I'm not really sure the circumstances, but it knocked out the feeling on the right side of his body. He still had full range of motion, but just no sensation. I remember he once cut his hand cleaning gutters and had no idea he was bleeding everywhere until one of us told him. He probably should've gotten tetanus.

He was a firefighter and and did contracting work as well. Our house needed a new roof, so he took a few days off to do it. I worked with him stripping the shingles off. It was slicker than snot on a glass doorknob up there, and I spent most of the day quietly terrified. He worked in cowboy boots. How he didn't slide off, I have no idea.

A few days later, he was nailing down new shingles and fell. One of my sisters saw him, and said that he never moved on the way down. He landed flat on his face and had to be airlifted. You already know the ending.

Firefighters, of course, are trained to break their fall. Instinct would make any of us put our hands out before landing. He never moved, so we believe he was unconscious before he fell. He also had a small wound to the back of his head. The guess is that he must have hit himself in the back of the head with the hammer while nailing, since he couldn't feel where his hand was. We'll never know whether it's really what happened or not, but it's the hypothesis that makes the most sense.

[John Kavanaugh]

Thanks, do you have any pictures of him and your mom together.  I bet they were a handsome couple.  You can't do much better than ex-baseball player turned firefighter scratch golfer.

Please note that you referencing the red headed step child in another thread peaked my interest.  btw.  Please tell me you had red hair.

[Jason Thurman]

Sadly, John, I have neither a picture handy nor red hair.

Continuing my golf story with my college years:

I didn't play a whole lot of golf during my teens aside from an occasional summer round with my hooligan buddies. When I went to college just down the road at the University of Kentucky, I brought fishing equipment, tennis racquets, a basketball, a football, and a baseball glove, but the golf clubs didn't make the cut.

I've always been competitive, perhaps to a fault, after getting inspired by stories of John Elway and Michael Jordan ruthlessly pursuing victories in games as simple as tic tac toe as a child. Early in my freshman year, I decided I needed an outlet. Kentucky had a club ice hockey team, and while I had never played on ice before, I had really gotten a kick out of playing street hockey growing up. I decided to start working on my shot and stickhandling again, figuring I might be able to serve as an offensive gunner in a limited capacity.

I started working out every day and, late at night, finding places on campus to skate and shoot without interruption. At about 1:30 AM on a cold Thursday night, I wandered over to the "blue courts," a basketball complex near Commonwealth Stadium. They were wet, and the surface was perfect... smooth and the street puck really glided. A plethora of stair rails around the court gave plenty of targets, and I put in about 30 minutes of work before a security guard came by. He began by telling me I couldn't skate on the courts, because they get marked up too easily. I don't remember how he ended, but it took him two hours to get there. He was extremely windy. I believe his name might've been Kmetz  (joked the guy writing the 6000 word self-serving post).

Among other things, he told me about how he had given John Schnatter, the founder of Papa John's pizza, a business model by explaining to him that he should open his restaurants near college campuses because "that was back when college kids were just getting into eating pizza." He never saw a penny in return, despite occasionally calling company headquarters. He also helped Bill Gates start Microsoft somehow or another, but never saw a penny out of that either.

He eventually told an insane story about how his AA buddy once showed him a computer program in the mid-late 70s during their first meeting with each other. He swore it would revolutionize computers, but insisted that everything was top secret. "Don't tell my partner I let you see this," the AA buddy told my rambling security guard. "He'll kill me."

On the way out of the building, my rambling security ran into his AA buddy's partner. The partner asked if he had seen anything, and the security guard said "Well, I saw some computer stuff but nothing important."

"Damn," said the partner. "Now I have to kill him." He winked.

The security guard replied "Well, if you want to run him over with a car, my buddy down the street is selling an old junker for cheap. Have a nice day."

According to the rambling security guard, two days later the car was sold and the AA buddy had been run over. The murder went unsolved, but the security guard insists it must've been the partner he met on the way out of the building. That partner's name? Steve Jobs. I don't believe a word of this, but I remember most of the story. He was a colorful, delusional character.

After that night, I decided the cost of joining a club hockey team didn't make much sense for someone who hadn't played in years and hates getting hit. A few weeks later, I played my first round of golf in years and found that all my practice on my hockey shot had made hitting a golf ball much easier. I also couldn't believe, after not playing for five years, how much fun it was to hit the ball far. I took my clubs back with me to the dorm, and started playing once a week before class on local cheap munis. It was during this time that I learned to love the walking game out of necessity: as a college kid, I couldn't afford to take a cart and the munis I frequented had a very strong walking culture.

It hadn't yet occurred to me that some courses were better than others, but I fell in love with the game. I took lots of mulligans and still couldn't putt, but I'd never go more than a few months of cold weather without playing again. I had found my competitive outlet, even if I wasn't good enough to compete. Just playing against the game itself seemed challenging enough.

[John Kavanaugh]

Does this read anything like Colton's book? 

[Ben Sims]

Does this read anything like Colton's book? 

No.  But I am in the beginnings of a fascination with your fascination of Jim Colton.  When did it start?

[Tom Yost]

I'm pretty sure I've met that guy (the security guard).

[Mike Hendren]

Barney, I nominate Jason for membership in the defunct Hillbilly Tour. 

Bogey

[Howard Riefs]

Does this read anything like Colton's book? 

Seems like more of a Michael Chabon coming-of-age story.

[Tim Martin]

Jason-Welcome to GCA. I love your honesty and how you came to the game. Tell Kavanaugh if he wants any more questions answered he will need to have you deposed.

[Kalen Braley]

Jason,

You're pretty new to the site, but I think its best to consider this going forward...

[John Kavanaugh]

I thought it was interesting until the security guard story. A friend of mine was roommates with the founder of Papa John's at Ball State. The Kentucky angle doesn't work.

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