I would like to apologize in advance if this post comes off as overly sentimental. It's just that we talk a lot of theory in here and sometimes such discourse is generally divorced from real-world application.
A week ago today, I made the two hour drive to meet my dad at a generally well-regarded modern course. Given the time of year, carts were not allowed, and we were happy to set off on foot, as we both prefer.
The private course was built on over 400 acres, and despite the fact that housing was not a consideration in the design, it is rather spread out and seemingly more concerned with being a collection of holes than a contiguous golf course. At the end of the day, my 43 year old legs were feeling the strain, and I could only imagine how my 74 year old dad and his 69 year old partner felt.
The course itself was clearly designed to be dramatic and challenging. For a low-handicap golfer, there is more than adequate challenge, and the holes themselves seemed to run mostly uphill, often required considerable carries to reach preferred landing areas (or even just the fairway), and everything is meant to be designed on a huge scale. Shots missing the preferred areas were often dealt with severely, with large mounds and stark falloffs creating abruptly uphill, sidehill, downhill, shots, and the facing of the bunkers and other features similiarly steep and daunting.
The course is a private members club, designed by a famous architect, and I left there thinking that it was a serious test of golf, if not particularly "fun" or naturally utilzing the land in a thoughtful way. A great deal of earth seemed to have been moved for little purpose other than visual histrionics and dramatics.
This past Friday, I called home in the early afternoon to hear that an ambulance was at the house and my dad was suffering chest and arm pains. Later, we were to find that he had suffered a heart attack.
As he was taken into the ambulance, his first words to my mom were, "well, I guess that's the end of my golf." For a man who considers golf his lifestyle, this was a particularly painful admission at a time when his very existence on this planet seemed to be in serious question.
A little background; my dad had always been a serious sporting enthusiast, but had never played golf, due largely to his lower-middle-income lifestyle, until his children began to play the game in their early teens at a fun little, ramshackle, farmland public nine-holer called Scott View GC, where we would often play from sunrise to sunset. He immediately became enamored with this wonderful game, and over the years, our conversations inevitably started with "how you hitting them?", whenever we spoke.
Although we had a tenuous, and sometimes contentious relationship during my "wild years", we could always both count on the fact that we had golf to share between us. Many were the time when he would give me a "shot by shot" recounting of his latest round, or share our thoughts on a course we had recently played. My long-suffering mom would understandingly give wide clearance to the rest of her golf-crazed family once the conversation inevitably turned towards our latest adventures on the links.
In my life, golf created the bond where our disparate generations where linked and shared. Differences in political views, lifestyles, financial options, personalities, and other mundane, menial details of everyday life just dissipated whenever the topic turned to our shared passion for golf, and more importantly, to the fields of play we mutually enjoyed. He absolutely loved and was so proud of the fact that his son had the opportunity to play so many of the golf courses that populated our land, be they great, mediocre, or poor. He has always shared my belief that every course, and every round of golf, is an adventure, another chapter of an open ended book, both a place to enjoy and discover nature, as well as to continue to never-ending process of self-discovery and improvement within a new and challenging context.
After hanging up the phone in shocked silence, and given the news of his health, I rushed upstate to offer my support, love, and assistance.
As we sat in the hospital room, with various life-sustaining tubes attached to my dad, once we were past the talk of cholestrol levels, balloon angioplasty (which is the procedure which will be done tomorrow), and other immediate concerns, I could see that something was still bothering my dad.
I tried to reassure him...."Dad...the docs say they think the damage was minimal..you were lucky that you were home when it happened....their going to want you to get back on your feet and active again as soon as possible."
He said, "I guess this means our trip to Pinehurst in January is out, huh?
Reluctantly, I answered..."yes, but we'll reschedule it for as soon as you're able." I didn't want to offer false encouragement, but knowing how much being able to play means to him, I also wanted to give him hope that he'd be back on the links, because I knew how much it means to him.
We talked through the evening, the conversation inevitably turning to golf. We talked about the course we had played last week. My dad has always been one to give any course the benefit of the doubt....like Jim Finegan, I think he could enjoy himself on any course, anywhere. I started by telling him that I thought the course was very challenging, on a beautiful piece of property, but that I thought the place was overshaped in the interest of creating artificial drama, but still a fine test.
He surprisingly stopped me short, by offering the following;
"You know...if I ever built a golf course...I'd try to make it challenging for the best players. But...I think that any course should really be playable for any golfer and not just by where they set the tees. I like a good challenge as much as the next guy, but I don't know who some of these guys think are going to play their courses. I don't get to play many private courses, but I can't imagine that the guys who play there all the time have as much fun as I do on courses that are a lot less well-maintained and not nearly as ambitious."
I thought about Pinehurst, and said a silent prayer that I'd have the opportunity to someday show him a golf course that I'm sure he'd be happy to stroll along.
I also thought about his faith, and told him that someday, hopefully far in the future, he'd be playing golf courses that would make Pine Valley look like Scott View.
I'd also bet that they'd be walkable, and accommodating to all levels of play.