Changing Your Grip

Yes, I’ve been to The Masters. Twice.

Let me qualify that. I’ve been to Augusta National and actually walked the course and followed TJ once. That was his first Masters in 1975.  The second time, in 1977, I was there the week before the Masters started. TJ was playing for the second time — but I left just before the start.

If you read my post Why I Missed Hazeltine, you’ll know that my experiences of majors were sometimes wholly off the course itself.

So you should know I don’t write about the play-by-play. I’m all about the life beyond and around the actual Tour event. But still, I have plenty of memories of the Masters experience. No matter what, if you’ve been there, you never forget it for a lot of reasons. Here are mine:

The Masters 1975. A Cinderella Story.

The invitation actually comes (came? maybe they changed it) as an actual engraved invitation. Like a wedding invitation. I knew when TJ received his in the mail that I would have it framed for him to hang on our wall. He earned it by winning the very last tournament of 1974, his rookie year — The Texas Open in San Antonio. He ate the course up to win and save his Tour Card.

Of course, with an event like that, a small entourage from home went down to Augusta to see him compete. Among them were his parents, his first sponsor Billy, and two “regulars” of TJ’s Oak Hill pals, Buzzy and Hozzy. And me, of course. There may have been a few more guys from Rochester who had tickets.

As a rabbit’s wife, I was still feeling on the outside of the golf insiders. So when I rode down the tree-lined avenue of Augusta National, I didn’t get a chill. In fact, I felt cynical.

People were practically prostrate with worship at this old-time southern golf club.

I remember a veranda with white-coated waiters serving drinks. I remember TJ being assigned a weathered veteran black caddy. I remember everyone talking in much quieter, more polite voices than they did at other Tour events and clubhouses.

The course was pretty. I liked the azaleas and magnolias and rhododendrons. The fairy-like dogwoods peeking out of pine stands. The greens surrounded by these flowers, looking like a venue for a bridal shower.

But the You-should-be-so-grateful-to-be-here insinuations floated around me like a mist, and I, unsure, not out of my 20’s, non-golfer, member of a women’s consciousness raising group (It  was the ’70’s after all), female persona-non-grata that I was –  I felt false if I put on that I was delirious with the idea that I was privledged to be there.

I was there to support my husband — to share in his happiness at achieving a pinnacle in any golfer’s life.

I remember walking the course during his practice round. I got blisters from the free golf shoes I got from Foot Joy. Luckily, I brought a paperback. While we were waiting in between shots, I read. This scandalized my MIL. (See, again, the Hazeltine post).

So I went back to the clubhouse. I think I was only allowed inside to use the ladies room. Male bastion and all that. As I came on the screened door, it flew open and the man coming out and I bashed into each other. This is how I met Arnold Palmer.

I remember Arnie grabbing me by both arms and apologizing. Are you okay!? — I remember how fit and strong he was. His smile. That he looked me in the eyes, didn’t brush by with a cursory “sorry.”

Ha! That certainly impressed  the MIL and everyone else we were with.

I also remember  a riotous dinner with TJ, Billy, Hozzy, Buzzy and I at some very well-known local resaturant, where half the tournament went to eat. It was the first time I felt accepted into the “guys” circle. The first of many, many dinners on Tour where I was the only female at the table and — for better or worse — gained entrance into the world of men.

I don’t remember if TJ made the cut that year. I don’t think so. I think we stayed for Saturday and Sunday and followed a couple of player friends. I don’t remember which ones.

I don’t remember who won that year.  Oh. Gary Player. (I looked it up.)

The 1977 Masters was unforgettable for me — and for TJ — however.  Even if I didn’t get to the course.

But that’s for Part II. Stay tuned.