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Masters Report, Part 2 of 2

April 15, 2010 · 4 Comments

My parents, George and Connie, are bit of a  shall we say, unusual story.

George wasn’t a child of the depression, he was already an adult.  Born in 1904,   Theodore Roosevelt was to be reelected that fall after the assassination of William McKinley and would go on to to win 32 states with over 7 million votes.

By comparison Barack Obama won 28 states and just shy of 70 million popular votes..it was a different time.

George was a Golf Pro…check that, he was an Old Pro.

Connie had an  interesting childhood to say the least…which over a Grey Goose I would be more than happy to take you through…for the sake of time and privacy though suffice it to say she grew up in trying circumstances to become one of the people in life you just gravitate to, a person you might want to be like…she lacked the ability to judge people by their appearance, religion, or any other differentiation we force on each other…a beach girl with all the moves…she was 22 years younger than George.

I tell you all this for a reason…it’s Masters Report Part 2.

We left home at the reasonable hour of 4:00 PM  Wednesday, making our way to Aiken,  SC.

The next day Michael, 17, David, 14, and Audrey, timeless,  would experience their first Masters,  As I may have mentioned in a previous post, my old friend Fred Warren put it best.  ”I only want to go if I can take someone for the first time.”

Brilliant, that described our adventure.

We took Old Hwy 78 through the country to Aiken.  The Dogwoods, Plums, and Forsythia were in all their glory…stop here for a little tip.  When you  can stay off the interstate in the South in the Spring, do it…it’s more than worth the hour you lose.

We had dinner in downtown Aiken.  It was just a pleasant coincidence that 62 years earlier to the day, George and Connie were married a block from where we had Jalapeño Poppers and Patty Melts…they were married during The Masters on April 7, 1948…Bobby Locke, the South African golfer, was the Best Man. That same year he would win  The Chicago Victory Open by 16 and in the next 10 years three British Opens…the boy could golf his ball.

Never really heard the whole story but who cares?  Just try to  imagine the suits everyone wore.

Then not so early to bed thanks to friends Meg, Laura, Joe, and Patty.

Next day broke bright and warm as it should be in Jaw-Ja in April.  We made our way to the course at the un-Godly hour of 10.  I was teaching my boys that it’s not quantity at The Big One but quality…they had no trouble staying in bed.

The rest of our magic day:

10:00 – 11:30 Amen Corner in the bleachers behind 12 tee, several pre-lunch pimento cheese sandwiches consumed

11:45-12:30- a tour of the Press building by friend Geoff Russell.  Several celebrity spottings but no more important than the young and intrepid reporter from The Fort Worth Press,  Dan Jenkins.  He was enjoying a late  morning Marlboro when I approached him.  All I wanted was for Mike and Dave to remember they met him at The Masters (his 53rd) when they were young.  He was gracious and friendly, mission accomplished and  dead solid perfect.

12:30-3:00- more food, a little sweet tea, and some wandering around the course by the boys.  Audrey and I had worn ourselves out from the hills so we sat under the big tree.  His Tigerness teed off at 1:47, a sight to see and a sound to hear…all was forgiven by the reaction of the patrons that day. During their travels the boys witnessed Phil’s first eagle of the week at 13 … they delivered a stellar report of the event.

A few hundred bucks in the concession “tent”  and out of there… home fishing on the dock at 7:20…martini at my right hand.

For the first time ever we all watched the broadcast together all day Sunday… coincidence?

What a day.

Categories: Dads · Masters · Moms

Where Did You Learn The Ancient Game?

September 27, 2009 · 3 Comments

cornell3 Something strange  and wonderful happpened to me last weekend and I’d like to share it with you.

A wedding in the family, my beautiful and talented niece Rosie was wed…my oldest brother George was the father of the bride.

It was a lovely affair in the countryside of upstate New York…Ithaca to be specific.

Ithaca in many ways is the land that time forgot…at least since the 60′s that is.   No interstates, lots of  old – fashioned dairy stores, and enough ponytails, Birkenstocks,  and Subarus to start your own commune.

It’s also the home of Cornell University and  where I grew up…kind of.

My Dad, George Sr., was an Old Pro (definition here), the Golf Coach and Golf Professional for the “Big Red” from 1937-1972 when he retired.  He was the personification of the club pro of that era.  You see we traveled as a family between Florida and New York loosely on the schedule of the Eastern Goose…that’s how it was done.

When the leaves turned we headed south and when the flowers started blooming it was time to get back to work. My parents would probably be reported to Family Services these days for a lifestyle like that but I’m here to tell you that a little travel and diversity can be a great education for a kid.

Back to my story.  My niece’s wedding was the perfect opportunity to take Michael and David to the place I grew up in the summer…a boy’s road trip. At 14 and 17 they had never been there…I hadn’t been there since college.

When George suggested a game  it was an instant yes.

cornell1I could see the pull carts in the corner and smell the grass.  The little tractor we used to pick  the range with…range balls that were Top Flites, Blue Dots, and smiley Titleists painted with a red stripe.

Cornell University Golf Club, as it was called in my childhood, was Robert Trent Jones’ (Cornell ’30) very first effort.  It has 10 holes (#1-#6, #10-#12, #18) that would stand up anywhere,  just superb.  That’s 18 from the fairway to the right.

September is track time, and while we were playing the cross-country team was training along the perimeter of the golf course…just one of the many quirky things that make college towns so cool.

The highlights were Michael’s drive on number one…none of us could remember seeing a ball that close to the green…and David’s lipout chip for birdie on six.

The chance to walk the fairways where I learned the game  with my boys and a few clubs was pure magic, at least for me.  They on the other hand liked the cheeseburgers at The Moakley House afterward…but that’s OK,  so did I.

So what’s your story?  Where were you when you first learned of the passion and the grief of golf?

Categories: Dads

My Kid’s Fish

January 10, 2009 · 5 Comments

david-hall-redfish2OK, you can watch Ernie, Vijay, and Boo play at Kapalua on The Golf Channel if you want  (I won’t make fun of you much)  but me I’m going to tell you about my kid’s fish. 

The only way to be in Maui is to be in Maui, which I’ve been lucky enough to cross off the list…trust me when I tell you the HDTV doesn’t get it , no matter how big.

I live in a place where we catch a lot of fish.  We’re lucky that way.  If  it’s one of your passions, come and stay with us and I’ll show you.  But David, a.k.a. El Stupendo, a.k.a. Stupendous D had a problem. 

He was about to turn 13 and , according to him, had never caught a “real” fish.  That is to say he never baited the hook, held the rod, hooked up, and landed a really good fish…until now.

What’s this have to do with golf?  Nothing…and everything.

Here are a couple life rules I try to adhere to…one, never wear velvet after February 1st, and second stick to the rule the golf season is over from December 1 to April 1 depending on where you live.  Put the golf clubs on a nail these months, everybody wins! 

Back to S.D.

He tells me  I catch all the fish, I have all the the luck.  Truth is he doesn’t “wait ‘em out” as we used to say down in my hometown, Indian Rocks Beach (IRB) Florida…the fish will come, you just have to wait and, most important of all you have to use the ancient fish call, ” Culla Culla.”  What does it mean?  Who really knows but to us it means C’mon fish.

Say it with me …don’t  be emabarrased…Culla Culla…c’mon fish!  Pretty good, but not loud enough…if you’re not smiling you need to go put on some velvet and try again.  Feel better already don’t you?

Golf at my level,  I won’t speak for you, is about small victories.  A crisp 7-iron, a wedge from the fringe that stops an inch short, a high draw back to the middle makes the game fun and in a weird way serious.

But want to have a real old-time-balata smile?  Take your kid fishing. I’ts magic, I promise.

Categories: Dads · Fishing

Early Father’s Day

June 13, 2008 · 1 Comment

In every year but this one, Father’s Day means playing golf unencumbered by church or brunch afterward.

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It means an afternoon on the couch in front of the HD watching the Open unfold, missing maybe three swings and a putt over seven hours.
This year though it turned out much better. My wife and her three sisters take a family reunion vacation together every summer.
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Over the last 20 years or so it has usually revolved around the beach, but this year it came early and high in the Rocky Mountains.

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So while it’s 95 degrees across most of the east, I find myself back in winter (at least southern winter) for a few days of nature, family time, and best of all, fly-fishing.
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I know this isn’t about golf but in a way it is. My dad and I were bonded by golf and baseball. As Kevin Costner put it so well in Field of Dreams, and I paraphrase, “baseball was the only thing my dad and I could talk about without killing each other”.
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It’s not like that with my kids…in fact I don’t think teenagers are anywhere near as difficult or prone to bad or dangerous behavior than my generation.
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Maybe I’m naive, but I don’t think so.
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We hiked a mile and a half uphill that felt more like 36 lugging your own to a true mountain stream. Our trusty Sherpas Joe, Ben, and Connor were nice enough to wait for the old man as he huffed his way up the hill.
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Joe, a school teacher in real life, said the trail was a little steep for the first half and then leveled out. What this meant is the trail was straight up for the first half and then only up for the second…of course Joe and his boys were in the kind of shape that makes this easy…I claim the altitude got me…but it was the extra rings around my trunk to be truthful.

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We were chasing the Greenback Cutthroat Trout, a species thought to be extinct just a few years ago.
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This fish runs between 6 and 10 inches long so, needless to say, you aren’t here for the fight or the food. It would take 20 of these little buggers to make a decent sandwich…Rodney Dangerfield might say “I’ve seen Anchovies bigger than that.”
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No you are here to look at a sky so blue it doesn’t seem real and to wade in water just slightly warmer than a good martini.
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But, most importantly, you’re here to watch your kids experience something new and unique, and just maybe life altering…before they get away from you forever.
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Yes this was the best Father’s Day ever…and it’s not even here yet.

Categories: Dads · Fishing

Things I Miss In Golf Part II

April 27, 2008 · Leave a Comment

I miss the mornings in the summer when my dad would wake me up at O-dark-thirty to take me to the golf course. He was an Old Pro and the golf coach at Cornell University as many know, and his day started the same for as long as I can remember.
Wake up at 5:30 and be in the shop by 6. Do your paperwork, and it was really paper then…leave the shop at roughly 8:00 for downtown to deposit yesterdays receipts..then the payoff.
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Breakfast at The Home Dairy in Ithaca, New York consisted of a hard roll, made on the premises of course, and coffee for him…a cinnamon roll (unbranded) and the coldest whole milk in the land for me.
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He walked so fast I had to run to keep up.

Categories: Dads

Road Trips

July 5, 2007 · Leave a Comment

Occasionally life will throw you a little bone…you and I just miss it most of the time…here’s one I didn’t.

About three months ago my pals Leon and Andy and I were sitting around talking about Pinehurst, golf, and whatever else when an idea was hatched.
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I was telling them about my idea of getting an RV and staying there for the 2005 US Open at Pinehurst #2.
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I sent my money in as directed for the lottery by a woman who runs the park who could only be described as “exact”…but alas, even though I followed all of her rules, I didn’t win…you have to believe the only time you could lose the lottery for a spot in an RV park would be around the US Open…oh well.

On to the idea…the U.S. Women’s Open was to be played at Pine Needles in neighboring Southern Pines at the end of June…why not give this idea another shot? We’ll get a spot at the park, cook a few steaks, play a little golf, and watch the women play one of the best courses in America…this was either brilliant or stupid as hell, only time would tell.
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Leon asked if his Dad could come. He loves golf, had never played in Pinehurst, and, best of all, he owns an RV.

So off we went…Andy, Leon, Leon Sr., and me. Leon Sr. is a delight…the kind of guy who’s every tool is in it’s place in his garage…the American flag rippling in his yard 365. His nickname is “The Frog” because the worse the weather, the better he plays.
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The RV wasn’t quite big enough for all of us…it was one bed short. The campsite was a little cramped…but we made due.
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That was the worst of it though…we woke up Thursday, had a big breakfast at Mac’s Anytime and then mosied #2 in the afternoon with caddies….from there we retreated to the park for some big ribeyes and a good sleep.
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Friday it was #8…no breakfast this time because the tadpole (Leon Jr ) needed an hour or so to Zen his way into the round…no worries, there are very few places I’d rather hang out than the range at The Ocho.
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We were cruising along just fine (meaning I was 8 over) when I hit my drive on # 11 into a grove of trees and directly behind a birdhouse.
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“Back up biggin‘, this could come back at us” was my warning to Andy.
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The next two sounds I heard I’ll never forget…first that high pitched noise a cart makes in reverse, then a mighty crash as it hit a pine tree at about 80 mph.

After we put the windshield that flew off back on and picked up the sunscreen, coke cans, tees, balls, headcovers, towels, and the Skycaddie that went flying we were on our way.
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You’ve been on a roadtrip and one thing never fails…you WILL come out of it with a nickname, or several.
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So Andy “Big Pine” was born on the 11th fairway that day.

Over to the tournament for a few minutes until the weather horn blew. Grace Park was eyeballin‘ Big Pine…at least that’s what he claims.
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Of course we had dinner at the Pine Crest Inn , superb, and home the next morning.
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Road trips are necessary, one of the very best things in the ancient game…plus I got to see Leon and his Dad spend a few special moments together…and a thousand laughs with my buds.
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What’s better than that? Nothing that’s what.
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Yes, life throws you a bone now and again…we all just need to slow down a little so we can catch it.

Categories: Dads · Pinehurst · Travel

What Does It Mean To Be A Father?

June 17, 2007 · 1 Comment

Today we celebrate Fathers. I had a great one and I hope you did too. But I wanted to talk a little about the role.

So what do Dads do? They cajole, encourage, discipline, get up at 4:00 to take their offspring to some activity, sleep in the dirt on camp outs…all to spend a little precious time with the ones they love.
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This past week reminded me of just exactly what a Father is for .
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My partner Ed Butler is a man of many talents. Businessman, athlete, outdoorsman, and this one will surprise a few…a very fine watercolor artist…but most importantly, he’s a Father.
His “little girl” Kendall is an impressive person in her own right. She earned a scholarship to UCLA with her profound gift as a swimmer.

A chip-ette off the old block, so to speak, as Ed was a standout tight end at Auburn in the ’70s.

She graduated a couple years ago and started working in LA. But the tug of her hometown must have been strong because this week she decided to move back to Atlanta…a decision supported by her parents.

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Are you kidding? The high fives, dancing, and heel-clicking didn’t stop at the Butler house for several hours after Jan and Ed heard of this new development.
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Their baby was coming home.
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Here’s what else Fathers do…they fly out to California and drive 2,181 miles in a 10-year old Jeep back to Atlanta…they go get their kid and bring her home.

The Grand Canyon, the great plains, Oklahoma City, Memphis, Alabama, and after a week on the road, they palmed it into Atlanta Friday night.
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Kendall and her Dad must have a thousand stories from their recently completed cross-country journey.
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Inside jokes that just a look or a word will cause laughter and tears for the rest of time…and only for them…can’t wait to see the pictures.

Happy Fathers Day Eddie…you’re one of the greats…right Kendall?

Categories: Dads · Mentors · Travel

The List

October 22, 2006 · 1 Comment

Bob Carney, Creative Director and overall Heart & Soul of Golf Digest, and I have talked many times about how guys like us choose the places we play golf.

There exists in the golf universe a list…those places that we go to or return to year after year. Who’s on the list?

In the category of Have Some Room On Your American Express Card there is Pinehurst, Bandon Dunes, and Kiawah.

For the priveledged few the list grows to St. Andrews, Royal Troon, Doonbeg, and Lahinch.

Some of the reasons we go or return to a golf course or resort are:

1. The golf course
2. The service
3. My personal favorite, the food
4. Reputation
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While #1 should be enough for a course to succeed and stay on “the list” it’s not. How do I know? Because I just played a place that used to be on everybody’s Top 10  List but has recently fallen off the golf-dar.
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I’m speaking of the recently renovated Pine Needles in Southern Pines.
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While # 2 over at Pinehurst Resort, our version of “The Home of Golf”, is rightly thought of as Donald Ross’ masterpiece, as well as my personal favorite, the second best Ross is three drivers and a 4-wood down Midland Road. I know that’s big talk, believe me.
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Seminole, Oak Hill, Oakland Hills, all great…been there…and so was The Great One.
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Why?
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Here’s my theory…he was on site…you see it’s not possible that he was at any course, other than #2, more or for longer periods of time than at Pine Needles.
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Pinehurst, the town, was his home. If you have ever had the Thursday night special at The Pine Crest Inn (turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, the works) before chipping balls into the fireplace, you were eating at Ross’ house. He never planned on Scotty or Carl, the Pine Crest’s long time bartenders, but they are part of the, shall we say, “fabric” of the place
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Back to Pine Needles. It’s a place run by a family and it feels like it. Some times your little brother forgot to take out the trash or tell you that your girlfriend called but in the end it’s all OK.
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Pine Needles, you see, is in my DNA. My Dad was an Old Pro…see definition here. He worked in New York state in the summer and spent the winter on the west coast of Florida…those were the days when his profession was honored and irritating a rich guy or two didn’t mean you were down the road…you, your family, the dog, and your dreams.
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On his way south in the fall, he would often stop in Southern Pines to see his friends Peggy Kirk and “Bullet” Bell. Mrs Bell is not only alive and well, but still giving lessons at 80 something.
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In November of 1976 Dad and my brother Ned were heading to Florida from Chicago where Ned was at Onwentsia Club…but first a stop at Pine Needles. Retired by this point, Dad would fly up to Chicago and drive with Ned…It always made Dad feel good to be back on the road headed south for the winter…a few days of golf and a few beers after a long summer of fixing weak fades and looking for lost headcovers.
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So it was November, it was Election Night 1976…and a peanut farmer from Jaw-ja was running for president of the United States.
To say my dad was a Republican is akin to saying Pine Valley has some pretty decent par 4s on it.
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Here’s how Ned tells the story…
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“It’s 12:00 at night, we’re in our room. I am fast asleep when I feel a sharp pain in my back. I wake up and there’s Dad poking me from the other bed with his golf umbrella…I say Dad, what the hell!??? What time is it???
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He looks at me, dead serious, and says ‘Neddy, go down to the bar and get your old man a double Dewars’
What? I ask.
With a look on his face both deadpan and desperate Dad says “Holy Shit, Jimmy Carter’s going to be our next President, now go get me  the Scotch”
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Pine Needles belongs back on the list…I’m just telling you. It’s not the Best In Golf…but it’s one of ‘em.

Categories: Courses · Dads · Travel

Father’s Day

June 17, 2006 · 3 Comments

My friend and partner, Blair Leburn, has one of the truly great dad’s in golf…his mom and the rest of the family are two-under also but it is Father’s Day after all.
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Blair, Dad, and brother Kevin are pictured here, credit to Mark Burris.
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In 1960 “Lord” Leburn began a group at his home club, Royal Troon, that he dubbed the Pink Elephants.
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He described it to me once as “You know the guy who finally gets into the club after years on the waiting list and is somewhat of a dolt? He can’t ever find a game because he’s just not very smart, pleasant, funny, or a good golfer?”
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“Yes”, I replied, I know what you mean.
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“Well”, Mr. Leburn continued, “we make him a Pink Elephant”. Ah, I get it.
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I also had one of the great dads in golf, and I’ve missed him every day in the 20 years he’s been gone. I don’t always behave correctly as my friends will attest but when a big life decision needs to be made I simply think of what my dad would do…he was a man who never intentionally hurt anyone and treated people the same no matter who they were…superb guy.
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Back to John Leburn. He has a silly way about him…boylike in so many ways. The way he pretends to hide from the press at the British Open because he’s afraid he’ll be recognized, to the way he says after every driver swing (with ball still in mid-air) “Oh No! Oh No!, Oh, it’s perfect!!”
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He will “shush” you if you describe a match you’ve won…he says gentlemen never talk about the opponents they’ve beaten…he has a sheepish smile on his face when he says this but if you pay attention, you just might learn something important.
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Blair knows how lucky he is to have the family he does, we talk about it often…so as a representative dad on Father’s Day, let’s agree that Mr. Leburn is a Best In Golf.

Categories: Dads · Mentors · Rules

Father’s Day

June 17, 2006 · Leave a Comment

My friend and partner, Blair Leburn, has one of the truly great dad’s in golf…his mom and the rest of the family are two-under also but it is Father’s Day after all.
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Blair, Dad, and brother Kevin are pictured here, credit to Mark Burris.
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In 1960 “Lord” Leburn began a group at his home club, Royal Troon, that he dubbed the Pink Elephants.
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He described it to me once as “You know the guy who finally gets into the club after years on the waiting list and is somewhat of a dolt? He can’t ever find a game because he’s just not very smart, pleasant, funny, or a good golfer?”
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“Yes”, I replied, I know what you mean.
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“Well”, Mr. Leburn continued, “we make him a Pink Elephant”. Ah, I get it.
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I also had one of the great dads in golf, and I’ve missed him every day in the 20 years he’s been gone. I don’t always behave correctly as my friends will attest but when a big life decision needs to be made I simply think of what my dad would do…he was a man who never intentionally hurt anyone and treated people the same no matter who they were…superb guy.
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Back to John Leburn. He has a silly way about him…boylike in so many ways. The way he pretends to hide from the press at the British Open because he’s afraid he’ll be recognized, to the way he says after every driver swing (with ball still in mid-air) “Oh No! Oh No!, Oh, it’s perfect!!”
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He will “shush” you if you describe a match you’ve won…he says gentlemen never talk about the opponents they’ve beaten…he has a sheepish smile on his face when he says this but if you pay attention, you just might learn something important.
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Blair knows how lucky he is to have the family he does, we talk about it often…so as a representative dad on Father’s Day, let’s agree that Mr. Leburn is a Best In Golf.

Categories: Dads · Mentors · Rules