As an aging golfer with a handicap of around a hundred and a garage full of slightly used clubs, I always failed to comprehend that in golf it’s the Indian and not the arrows.
So, it is painfully obvious that my golfing prowess is not what brings me back to this extraordinary game.
What brings me back are the things that have happened to me on and around the golf course.
Three stories come to mind. Each one of these stories has its own unique serendipity that if it had not happened to me, I would not believe it.
The first story happened at the 1998 PGA championship at Sahalee Country Club in Washington State. This was the first time there had been a major golf championship in Washington State since a PGA match play event in Spokane in 1944. At the time I was the owner of a company that manufactured aerospace components for Boeing and two of their subcontractors, Mitsubishi and Kawasaki. This was a great opportunity to use this once in a lifetime event to host a couple of tables in the championship club tent set up next to the first tee, I knew our Japanese customers would be eager participants together with a number of people from Boeing.
Two weeks prior to the tournament, all the sponsors were invited to lunch at the Sahalee Club to preview all the events that were about to take place. The club house dining room was set up with tables of four for lunch with unassigned seating. I quickly found a seat and sat down. Almost immediately a voice next to me asked if the seat next to me was available. I said it was and to my pleasant surprise the person behind me was a very attractive lady who exuded southern charm.
During the lunch she spent time asking about my companies and my background; I barely had a chance to reciprocate. Like all pleasant lunches it came to an end too quickly. My table partner looked at her watch and apologized for having to leave early. As she stood up, she said she enjoyed chatting with me and casually asked if I would I like to go to the Masters in Augusta. I can never remember being completely speechless, but I was. “I can let you have two tickets for Saturday and Sunday and provide a house, but you will have to take care of your flights.” Again, almost speechless I mumbled that it would be wonderful. “Just give me your business card and I will send you the tickets and the address of the house”. In a flash my new best friend disappeared, and I was thinking, did I just dream that someone I had just met offered me tickets to the Masters. As everyone knows, tickets to the Masters on Saturday and Sunday are probably the most difficult tickets to get in all of sports, so the likelihood of having someone just give you two tickets was highly unlikely. My first task was to decide who I was going to take. I had a wonderful General Manager who ran one of my facilities in Portland, Oregon whose number one passion in life was golf.
Alex lived for golf, so I called him immediately. “Alex” I said “I have two tickets to the Masters on Saturday and Sunday. There was silence at the other end of the phone. I repeated myself and added “would you like to come with me to the Masters?” It was obvious that Alex thought I had been conned and asked how much I had paid for the tickets. I told him nothing, they were a gift. At this point my credibility had gone out the window and Alex was convinced there would be no visit to the Masters. He would still have to leave it on his lifetime bucket list. Four days later a nondescript package arrived in my office with very little to identify who it was from. Inside were two medallions and a short note with the address of the house in Augusta. The only other clue was an invitation for lunch at the RV’s set up in the parking lot, our host was the major investment company Invesco.
I immediately called Alex. I told him I had received a package, and it did not have tickets but medallions. Alex, who was a connoisseur of the nuances of golf let out a gasp and said the longer version of OMG. “These must be real; I can’t believe it.”
I quickly arranged tickets to Atlanta from Seattle and a rental car to take us to Augusta.
Both of us were in a dream-like state as we headed for Augusta. The house was fairly easy to find but, as we got closer, we both had a sinking feeling that this was not going to end well. The house was enormous with a very impressive driveway and entrance. We gingerly went up to the house and by the front door found an envelope with my name on it. It was a simple note that welcomed us to the house “please enjoy the house and feel free to enjoy food in the refrigerator and wine from the wine cellar and I will see you tomorrow at the Invesco RV.”
Alex and I were getting a little more confident, this was not a dream, and we were eagerly looking forward to meeting our benefactor in the parking lot for lunch the next day.
The Saturday morning of the Masters came quickly; the skies were a deep blue with the promise of perfect weather for the next two days. We got to the gate and proudly showed our priceless medallions to get in. We then quickly headed for the merchandise tent to buy one of almost everything to prove we had actually been to the Masters. After walking the course, which had a lot steeper hills than the television camera shows, we headed for our rendezvous lunch in the parking lot.
As we approached the designated RV with all the lunch tables neatly laid out in front, our beautiful benefactor spotted us and greeted us with a hug. As we sat down for lunch with her, I plucked up the courage to ask her what she did for Invesco. She told us that she was in charge of all sports events where Invesco was a sponsor and decided who would be invited to the various events around the world. The follow up question was obvious “Why did you pick me for this once in a lifetime gift?” She then explained that the Masters had fallen on Easter weekend that year and one of their regular guests had rather disappointingly sent back their medallions. It was at that point she decided she would find someone who would really appreciate how special the invitation was. So, at lunch at Sahalee Golf Club she was on the lookout for a lucky recipient. I was lucky enough to be her chosen target. She then informed us there was more to come, would Alex and I like to join her at the Invesco reception at the Chairmans house who she said would be delighted to meet us. Still in awe at what was happening, Alex and I giddily accepted the invitation. The reception at the Chairmans house was stunning and opulent and we were soon escorted to meet the chairman by our charming host. The chairman also exuded southern charm and asked if this was our first visit to the Masters. Yes, I said trying to think of anyone who would have this as a regular item on their spring calendar. There is a special tradition at the Masters he told us in almost conspiratorial tones, he wanted Alex and I to get to the entrance gates at 6.00 am on Sunday morning. From there he told us to go straight to the concessions tent and buy three green foldable chairs each and a sharpie. We were further instructed to put our initials on the back of the chair and place the first one at Amen corner, the second at the 16th on the hill and the last one next to the sand trap on 18. I was a little surprised by the recommendation but before I even asked the question, the Chairman informed me, no one will touch your chair, sit in it or move it. When you get to your chair it will be exactly where you left it. It is a master’s tradition that your chair is yours and is sacrosanct.
I thanked the Chairman for his wonderful hospitality and reconfirmed his advice on the chairs. Next morning, at sunrise on the final Sunday, Alex and I arrived at the concession tent, bought our chairs and the sharpie and set out to place our chairs at the strategic places the Chairman had recommended. Alex and I were convinced that the chairs would be gone when we headed back later on in the morning. Arriving at Amen corner the crowds were 20 people deep, Alex and I decided it was time to test the Chairmans thesis. After many polite excuse me’s we worked our way to the front and to our delight our two chairs were untouched, unmoved, and empty. The chairman was right, no one had touched them, what an incredible example of southern tradition and integrity. After Jack Nicolas had played through Amen corner, we headed to the 16th to see two lonely chairs in the middle of the hillside the equivalent of having seats on the fifty-yard line at a super bowl. After a while Alex and I headed for the 18th hole. Surely this time someone would have taken our chairs but after working our way through the dense crowd we found our chairs just above the left-hand side bunker. Firmly seated in our chairs next to the green we were about to see something that was very rare at the Masters and a player putting to win the championship on the 18th. Mark O’Meara was the golfer and at 41 he was being labeled the best golfer never to have won a major. This accolade was about to become history as Mark O’Meara birdied the 15th and 17th holes. Now on the 18th, a few yards away from us, he was on the green in two after a strong drive and a great second shot. We could see him lining up the downhill putt of 20ft it had a small break to the left of about one cup. If he made the putt, he would win the Masters if he failed, he would be in a playoff with Freddie Couples and David Duval. Slowly the putt came down the hill and turned left and into the hole Mark O’Meara was the masters’ champion and we were his serendipitous witnesses. Even now more than 25 years later, I marvel at the strange circumstances that allowed me to witness firsthand the magic of the Masters. As a postscript 15 years later, I was playing in the Boeing Championship Tour Pro am and Mark O’Meara was my pro. I introduced myself told him that I was seated in the front row and watched his winning putt go in. “Wow” he said, “How did you manage to get tickets?” I told him that was a story for another day.
