From my earliest days I was a fortunate son with a father who had tickets to that “Little Golf Tunamint” in Augusta.
Let me say it is possible to be both critical and complimentary of the same event. Today I want to share positive and pleasant memories made at an impressionable time in my life, etched deep into my recollection, and the type which make me smile as they play across the minds eye.
I will speak in the plural, saying “we” in many cases on account of I never went to the Augusta National by myself. In the early days, me and my brother Russell were inseparable. Three years apart in age, he, the elder, took me under his wing, and we shared so many experiences together growing up. Then after he followed love to north Georgia and I got married, the “we” refers to me and my wife of 45 years. In each case, my partner in attendance to The Masters complimented my visit.
Russ and I were so young early on (late 60s, early 70s), we actually rode bicycles to the tournament. Dad had a friend who operated National Hills Texaco. There we would park our bikes and pick up the tickets, usually in a plain mailing envelope. We knew never to lose them as even back then they were a prime possession, and mom and dad collected them. There were years before when we could stand outside the gates as people left and they would give you their tickets as they left early (almost exclusively on practice or Par 3 tournament days). In the later years we would use the standard parking ticket that came with the tickets to enter the Washington Road parking lot and walk through the gates where all you did was show you had a ticket attached to you somewhere.
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My brother used to map out a strategy for each year, or so it seemed. He always had the little green book with each hole described, its name, the par, difficulty level, the detail of yardage and ideal play. Russ also always had a pairing sheet, so no matter where we were, we would know who was on the hole and who was next.
One year, our objective was to walk the course in the order any player would. Another year, the plan was to follow a specific golfer as he played the course. It may have been Arnie, Jack, and sometimes an unknown making a splash and being atop the Leader board on the final day. I wish my memory was clearer. One year we sat at the 16th tee where we could see the shot to the green and putt out on 15th while watching the 16th played from tee to green.
Sometimes later, as the field played out, we would move to the 18th hole, the hole where it all gets decided. This is really where the “we” is shared with my brother Russ in the early days and my beautiful wife of 45 years after 1979.
In this “we,” she would park two chairs on the left hill of the 18th. Even if no pairings had played through, she was perfectly content to sit and people watch. You see, many people had/have a practice of placing chairs on the 18th, then roaming the course until play starts to squeeze down to the final holes. She has many stories of famous folks she met, friends from far away she made. One time, Tennessee Ernie Ford walked from the clubhouse to the 18th green where Donna was sitting and started chatting up the gallery. Another time, an older gentleman’s chair broke, and she offered up my vacant chair to him. He accepted, then asked for her address. Two weeks later she received a pair of gold earrings from him with a thank you note for her kindness. It was how she enjoyed the day while I roamed and rambled around those hallowed acres. Then as the play throttled down, I would meander back, find her, then sit in the chair she had guarded so closely.
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From the 18th hole, the view was spectacular. To the left was, and I guess still is, a gigantic leader board. On the 18th hole, we saw groups play out and knew where the individuals final score posted. Seeing that play out was amazing in and of itself
The 18th, among many, had difficulty with the different levels of green and a few inches difference on your approach shot could mean 2 strokes on the hole if you were short.
From that elevated vantage point on 18, sound traveled from the entire course, and roars could be heard from the rest of the holes indicating some fantastic birdie or eagle. The huge groans could also be heard when a putt was missed. As pairings played through and holes were closed late in the day, throngs of patrons trudged up the hills between hole 1, hole 9 and hole 18. Eventually, everyone who chose not to leave early would wind up at hole 18.
Back then, and may still be so, the leaderboard had the top 10 contenders listed, hole by hole. Then, every patron waited for the leaderboard to tell the story and the roar or groan to be repeated on a smaller scale. A giant placard would be placed by the name and under the hole when a score was posted. What was cool is the locals running the leaderboard had fun with it. They would pull open a hole board, then leave it open for a while before posting the new over/under score to roars or groans from the crowd on 18. It was worth the price of admission.
The rest of the story
The sounds, smells and visual images recorded from those years are forever etched in my mind ,and this is as close as I can come to relaying them to those who may never experience them. The smell of trampled grass, the image of a team of mowers at the end of day. The low murmur of spectators as they walked through crosswalks. The taste of the famed ham and cheese, barbecue and egg salad sandwich. The sounds of golf cleats in the old days, the smack of a professional hitting a drive from a tee. The rapid clicks of old film cameras when a putt was stroked. The official announcer on tee No. 1 calling the names of the next grouping. Cigar smoke wafting across the way.
To summarize, The Masters has been a part of my life as a resident of Augusta. As a young man, I made tons of money working to get local gas stations clean and painted before the tournament. I enjoyed the opportunity dad and mom gave me and mine to attend the tournament. For all the reasons I may have previously complained, if I place the good and the bad on a set of scales…the good wins out.
So, to my fellow Augustans . . . grin and bear it. If you can profit, as many do, go for all you can. To our visitors, enjoy the greatest golf tournament in the world. And enjoy the best Augusta has to offer, ’cause she has a lot more than the restaurants and parties you attend.
