A salute to the greats of the (local) game
Yes, the gist of the story was true: He had purposely hit his tee shot a mere inches during a competitive round. He can set the record straight about some of the details and beg forgiveness for forgetting others, but the bottom line is, Fordie Pitts Jr. years ago took exception to the circumstances of a four-ball match at Hatherly Country Club in Scituate and corrected what he viewed as an imbalance to quench his competitive spirit.
It was the Tobin Memorial, one of the many great member-guest events that have enriched our local golf scene for years, and as fate would have it, Pitts on the final day of the tournament found himself in a match against a team that was led by Bill Foley. They were two of the premier amateur players back then, good friends, and fellow members of Wollaston Golf Club, and since they played so often head-to-head, Pitts felt he was in position to judge their talents.
Equal as equal can be, he surmised.
Only the handicap cards said otherwise.
"I think at the time I was a 1 and Bill was scratch," said Pitts, who thus was entitled to a stroke in the match. It would come at Hatherly's No. 1 stroke hole, the par-4 fifth, "and when we got there, my partner naturally wanted me to take it," said Pitts. But Pitts wasn't about to take a stroke, not against Foley. Nowhere in the golf universe was that going to happen.
Nothing against Foley, for Pitts had great respect for his friend and 1960 State Amateur champion; it's just that he also had a great deal of pride in his own ability and, well, he doesn't deny that it might have had something to do with that stubborn streak.
"I guess I was being a wise guy, which I did from time to time back then," said Pitts with a laugh.
But he wasn't laughing at the fifth tee all those many years ago. No, sir. He stood over his tee shot and tapped it just a few inches, as if to say, "There's my stroke." No doubt heads were shaking all around while Pitts quickly hit another, a driver off the deck, no less. He hadn't wanted the shot and he had done something about it.
"Ah, it was only a consolation match," said Pitts. "At the time it didn't seem like a big deal."
Maybe not, but the story always has intrigued me. Not only did it add another layer of flavor to the man, but it represented so much of what is to be loved about the game and the people in our area who play it. This is the best golf area in the country, and until you prove me wrong, it will continue to be in my mind.
We know what it is to go without golf (just look out your window), which is why we appreciate it all the more when finally it arrives in the spring and why we bitterly refuse to let it go late in the fall. We dodge leaves and frost, mud and rain, cold and wind - all for the thrill of playing a game that has no match, one that demands patience, rewards perseverance, instills humility, builds character, and serves as a metaphor for life itself.
Blessed with the privilege of writing about a game that is my passion, my Globe duties have allowed for unforgettable sweeping views, from the aura of St. Andrews and the breathlessness of Pebble Beach, to the timelessness of Augusta National and the majestic dunes of Royal Troon. Historic ports of call, each and every one, and never has a walk there been spoiled, nor taken lightly. But also, never have those visits made me forget where golf is the most special.
Right here in my own backyard.
The game may ultimately be boiled down to numbers, but the great Dick Haskell, in explaining what he learned in all his years as executive director of the Massachusetts Golf Association, was right: It is about people. That is why as my tenure here at the Globe comes to a close, my mind is left racing with thoughts of those who provided so much definition and made this experience less of a job and more of an adventure.
There was the dignity of the late Dick Stimets, who remains a source of inspiration, and never could you have met a finer gentleman than the late Dick Crosby. Jeff Julian embodied a golfer's spirit like no other, Paul Harney forever will be the consummate champion, and if you have a match that requires a partner with a bottomless will, his name is Joe Monahan, whose feel for the game thankfully has been inherited by sons Jay, Brendan, and Justin.
Amateur golf well played is still a wonderful thing to behold, so a round of applause for Frank Vana Jr., the Fasicks Jon and Carter, the Drohens Andy and Billy, Steve Tasho and Ray Richard, Rick Cunha and Eric MacPhail, Brendan Hester and Cy Kilgore, Jim Ruschioni and Paul Murphy. Of course, no tournament is molded to a player's demeanor quite like the cold, wet, windy Seagulls is for Kevin Carey, whose talent is matched only by his good cheer, even in 35-mile-per-hour wind.
Then again, you could say the same for Jim Horvath.
Bill Flynn gave back in countless ways, and the same holds true for Walter Lankau and Anne Marie Tobin. But if ever they create a position of goodwill ambassador through the power of golf, only one man need apply: Richard Connolly, simply a giant of a man.
Bob Crowley was a precious link to the past, Don Callahan is a wealth of knowledge, Bill Safrin can be held up as the model club professional, Eddie Barry personifies honor and integrity, and when it comes to being a people person, Eddie Carbone is a PhD. Every golf course operator should embrace his or her facility the way Brian Lynch does the International in Bolton.
The tireless efforts of Bob Donovan help make the Francis Ouimet Scholarship Fund an unheralded local institution while keeping alive the memory of an American icon. Ouimet won the 1913 US Open, of course, but if Harry McCracken tells you he helped put on that championship, don't believe him. He did, however, have something to do with just about every other USGA and MGA event in our area.
Herbert Warren Wind packaged golf in brilliant prose that will be with us for eternity, and bless the memories of Roger Barry and Bob Labbance, men who appreciated flavors of the game that too many of us take for granted. Pippy O'Connor could play, yes, but more than that, she wanted scores of young women to do so, too, and it's impossible to find two people who've given more to the local tournament scene than Jim and Lois Gaguin.
We should all strive to play the game and carry ourselves with the distinction that has been Charlie Volpone, and no one in my view treats the game with more respect than a former Globe editor, Tom Mulvoy, who worked with two of my heroes and biggest supporters, Will McDonough and Robin Romano, both of them gone but never forgotten.
Nor can a day pass without heartfelt thoughts about the grandest golfer I had the good fortune of meeting, the late John Mineck. He was a prince of a man, saturated in good taste, devoid of outrageous ego, and intuitive beyond belief. He sensed my love of the game and encouraged me at every step, a friend in life, a comrade in golf.
And with that, let us remember to play it as it lies.
