From my earliest days in Augusta (that would be my birth), I remember the Augusta National and the annual Masters Tournament. My dad told me he remembered when tickets were free, and the Augusta National Golf Club begged people to come.
The early days
Dad settled here in the early 1950s. Lived in a place named Olmstead Homes for the lake down below. He said the city back then would drop off a lawn mower in your yard as a hint you needed to cut your grass. It really was no hint, and to not cut your grass turned you squarely towards a rapid exit of Olmstead Homes!
Dad went to work for a man who just so happened to be a member of this Augusta National Golf Club. Whether that was the reason, or dad just asked I don’t know. He was on the list for two four-day tickets every year as long as I could remember. Till he up and died in 2009, and then mom got them. I think we had to do a little finagling to make that happen. Then mom up and died in 2018. Then we got a letter from the Augusta National saying ”See ya, don’t needya.”
Mom and dad were real sports and shared the tickets, back when you could. If I tried, I couldn’t begin to count the local friends and relatives who were honored to spend a day, some even a half day on what I still considered the most hallowed grounds in the history of golf. My brothers and sisters, my children, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles benefited from mom and dad’s tickets. Many others have been fortunate enough to have set foot on the sacred ground of azaleas through mom and dad’s generosity. They never asked for a dime in return, understanding the privilege of attending and wanting to share. Mom and dad were that way.
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In the early days, late 60s through mid 70s, I never really grasped the significance of going to the National during the Masters. Fact is, on Sunday of the Masters (let that sink in a moment) me and my brother would ride bikes from our church (Lake Park Baptist) to National Hills Texaco and park them. Then we would walk into those now hallowed grounds as if we were walking into Gibson’s Discount Center or Southgate’s K-Mart with Dads tickets. They were maybe $15 each at the time.
We happened on so many chance meetings (maybe sightings is a better word) of famous people I can’t even relay. Many we had no idea. Arnie, Jack, Chi Chi, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Larry Gatlin, John Daly, Seve, Gary Player, Andy Williams, and on and on. Within touching distance.
My genius brother Russell, the smartest man I ever knew, would devise different strategies for each trip to make it interesting. One year, the objective was to see and assess every hole regardless of who was on the tee. Another year we picked a golfer and followed him through the course. Then we would set up those green chairs on the 18th, wander until the first pairing came through and sit waiting on the winner to sink that final putt to win. It just seemed to me as a little kid my big brother had a plan for every year. And I didn’t care. I loved it as long as I got a ham and cheese or an egg salad sammich.
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A tournament comes to life
Later in life, I would work at National Hills Texaco while in high school. That same station we parked our bicycles at, owned by family friend Chuck Hoskins. It happened to be the gas station for ANGC members and staff. I met Phil Wahl when he was trying to quit smoking. Yeah, as a 16 year old, I gave him a cigarette when he asked. He was trying to quit. He died in a head-on crash on Berkman’s road in September 1978. Not his fault, but the results are the same. But like a bartender, I had chatted with him and many caddies while gas poured into their cars.
I met Clifford Roberts the same way, filling his gas tank, washing his windows after checking his oil. Maybe once, might have been twice. He was a quiet, introspective person. Only way I knew who he was was from the signature. But I did know who he was from local news and such. When he passed away, it made me reflect on the weight of the responsibility he bore.
So now, this loyal descendant of a first-generation supporter of the “Little Ole Tunamint” down in Augusta (that’s me) can enroll in a lottery. And I might be selected, treated the same as someone from a foreign country (wait–on that, I might be wrong).
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So what’s your point?
You may ask. The old saying goes, “Don’t forget who brought you to the dance,” and is a reminder to be grateful to and acknowledge the people who have helped you succeed or reach a certain point in your life. It emphasizes the importance of loyalty and appreciation for those who have supported you. In my opinion, that principle applies to individuals, organizations, businesses and perhaps even golf clubs. Often the ladder to the top is filled with rungs of people who helped your climb.
It doesn’t mean your future success relies on recognizing them or grandfathering them in. You’ve grown too big for them to have any impact. But maybe, and this is an unusual concept, IT IS THE RIGHT THING TO DO. I hear so many celebrities talk about wanting to “Give back” to the community that supported them when no one else would.
I was once blessed to be the chairman of the Augusta Aviation Commission during my 21-year tenure there. In that capacity, I sent a request to the chairman of the ANGC to let Aviation Commission members (10 of us) purchase tickets at the face value. Maybe it was simply multiple phone calls to accurately reflect my sketchy memory. Either way, REQUEST DENIED! An entity that moves heaven and earth to make room for private jets to manage and land celebrities, golfers, and corporate executives from around the globe, etc. REQUEST DENIED!
To respect Augusta families who have supported you through thick and thin by offering them tickets at face value. Even if only one tournament day, would that really be a big financial deal? Would it even be a big crowd size deal? I can promise it would be a monumental opportunity to an average Joe or Jane living in Augusta, the host city.
We all know it wouldn’t. We all know with conquest of Berkman Road, it ain’t a parking issue. We all know the gallery over 18 holes could easily withstand an additional 200,000 patrons daily without a blip in the radar, especially given the improvements made over the years.
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Persona non gratis
So, thank you ANGC for the charitable local donations. I don’t know the magnitude of their donations, but I am sure it is significant. I sure see the press releases when the donations flow. Seems like a sorta, “I don’t want you eating at my table, but here are some takeout plates” way of them tossing a bone to the Augusta peasants. And it gives local talk-show hosts fodder to fire back at critics. I get it. Actually, it is a pretty effective strategy. Let them eat cake kind of mentality. On that thought, us lowly Augustans and others are now able to purchase a package called “Taste of the Masters.” The advertisement says “Elevate your watch party with Taste of the Masters, delivering Augusta National Golf Club’s timeless concessions to your door. Order now, so you can enjoy and serve your guests the ultimate Tournament viewing experience for the 2025 Masters, April 10-13.” The large hosting kit goes for $184.95. The smaller classics kit is “sold out” although all of its ingredients are in the large hosting kit. Hmmmm.
Writing this article probably means I will be put on some list to never receive tickets again. What is ironic is I would never really know as I have only received tickets once, I think. Maybe never, I just can’t remember. I can promise you it hasn’t been every year, not every five years. A lottery is a lottery.
Just remember, it is never a good idea to rise above your raising. What goes up can come down, although there is this “too big to fail” concept the ANGC may fall into. Just think about a strategy that has alienated the Augusta National Golf Club from almost every tax paying citizen of Richmond County. Dad used to say, “Don’t forget who you are.”
Go forth and prosper
Make no mistake. I wish them no harm and the greatest of continued success. I also am not bitter. But like the little boy who sees how the house gets cleaned, the best food cooked before guests arrive for dinner, we here see what’s happening.
If that is a sustainable business model…… God bless you. My wife’s grandma, Edith, referring to thieves who robbed her said, “If they can live with it, I can live without it.” I guess that’s where this old man finds himself.
Nevertheless, me and my bride will watch every moment we can on the television. And if the win comes down to a Sunday afternoon shootout, we will be watching remembering the thrill of sitting in folding green chairs on #18 green since 1977, until we couldn’t.
