So with every year the passion for this intoxicating game has increased exponentially, though inexplicably. When blessed to have moments where only solitude and a pulsating sunshine covered me, it was easy to ask myself, “Why such a strong love for this game called golf?”
After all, the scores have never been very good, the swing sometimes has rhythm and occasionally tempo but never are they in harmony, there is a serious absence of power, bunker shots are still the chef’s surprise, my short game is OK for a few holes at a time, there aren’t a lot of competitive bones in my body, and it only took about 50 years to discover that my grip was hopelessly weak and needed repair.
Yet in the face of all that, my world is consumed by the game and within seconds of another mediocre score my attention always turns to the next day’s tee time and the hours in between that will be devoted to reading and writing about golf. Again, why?
The answer forever is the same. It’s the people.
My life, my world, my work . . . all of it brings me in constant contact with people who share my love of golf. Now, whether the specific connection between us “golf people” revolves around the game’s history, the years of travel to write about the professionals, the rounds that bring us together, or discussions about burning issues of the day (LIV, where to leave bunker rakes, hidden gems we must play, the glory of ready golf), the priceless glue to my love of this game is the people.
Which brings me to one of the brightest stars in my golf universe, a gentleman named Carl Klumpp. When he passed Monday at the age of 92 ½ there was a unanimous sentiment among a large group of us who adored him that Klumppy had lived a long and beautiful life and that all of us were blessed to have shared so many priceless moments with him.
True as true can be, all of that.
Now in a world where so many of our cherished friendships are tied to hometowns, elementary and high school, college, or perhaps work, Carl Klumpp entered my world in a most serendipitous manner. Klumppy, some 22 years my senior, was a dear friend to John Mineck who in so many ways was a mentor and guiding force in my golf-writing career. To be in their presence was equal parts comedic, educational, and enlightening and when John’s dream to build what is now Boston Golf Club started to take shape, it was utterly magical to be alongside Klumppy for treks through the woods.
Where John and Gil Hanse and Jim Wagner and Rodney Hine and a band of brilliant minds saw sweeping vistas of wide, rolling fairways and majestic architecture, Klumppy saw trees and shrubs and my head nodded in agreement.
The story still guts me, how Boston Golf Club had barely been opened when John tragically died on May 24, 2007 while working on his golf course. He was just 54 and for many of us, the pain was excruciating.
There is a saying attributed to an unknown source that goes like this: “There is a huge difference between having your pain inside and sharing it with someone else.” It perhaps explains why many of us who loved John Mineck remained close; it indisputably has everything to do with all those many days when Carl Klumpp would join me to hit balls in the solitude of BGC’s short-game area and just talk about our friend, our families, our passion for all things Boston Golf Club and the game of golf.
He might have been the funniest man ever, Carl was, and he insisted on helping me hit wedges off tight lies. As a lefty, Carl would face me, there was enough room to swing soft wedges and he’d tell me, “It’s easy, one (short backswing), two (follow through).”
We would hit in harmony, Carl with a pitching wedge, me with a gap wedge and the first four or five would be ok. Crisp strikes. “One, two.” Then, a chili-dip, followed by a bladed skull across the green, but when the dreaded sod-laid-over shot arrived Carl would scowl.
“Maybe,” he said, “you should take two weeks off, then quit.”
It was an oldie but goodie and always got me laughing.
For years we played on the anniversary of John’s death (May 24) and on his birthday (Aug. 25). We also played in October in a memorial tournament for John, usually in different foursomes, though in 2024 we were together. At 90, Carl played his first hole, the 10th, well, though he grumbled all the way to 11th tee about the 20-foot putt he left short.
At 11, a par 3, Klumppy hit his tee shot to about 15 feet. He was 90, folks. After stroking his putt, Klumppy wobbled, but he was helped to the ground by two of the players. The other player in the group, yours truly, was in shock and could only whisper to Carl: “Not on this day, Carl. Not on this hole.”
Once settled in a hospital, Carl was seen by doctors, and told they suspected dehydration. When finally it was deemed OK to sneak in, Carl looked at me and said, “Jeesh, Jimmy, I was playing so good, too.”
He had been strong and active throughout his 70s and 80s, always walking when we played golf at Boston Golf Club. The most fun foursome always included Klumppy, who had a quick wit and dished out zingers with the best of them. As a perfumer at Gillette (which is where he met John Mineck, a chemist), Carl knew how fragrances were produced and he explained to us one day, caddies included, that certain body parts of a certain animal were prized possessions. Getting at them just took a little work.
On his 80th birthday, Carl Klumpp was treated to a surprise party at Boston Golf Club accompanied by his beautiful wife, Alice.
To produce a bad shot and play poorly meant you were “a broom” in Klumppy’s world, and in those first years that BGC was opened, John Mineck loved when Carl would take prospective members out. “Who doesn’t love Carl?” John opined.
We all did, of course, and for a multitude of reasons. Selfishly, my world revolved around hitting golf balls and playing BGC and challenging ourselves with putts on greens that he knew better than anyone.
But our golf visits always provided down time, so enveloped by solitude you came to truly discover the warmth to this man’s heart. A childhood friend of his was in a memory care facility – “my oldest friend; we were in each other’s weddings,” he said – and that broke his heart. So Carl visited often and got the OK to bring Joe over to BGC and roll some putts at the practice area.
The joy in Joe’s face was priceless. The tears in my eyes were unstoppable.
Golf unified us, yes, and those times will forever warm my heart. But what was a byproduct of the “one, two” drills and the chipping and putting and all those holes we played was the education he provided on how to live your life.
It’s possible that no man ever loved his wife as much as Carl did Alice, who passed away in 2016 after 58 years of marriage.
He gushed with pride when the oldest of his five daughters, Barbara, started hitting golf balls with us and playing some holes at BGC. Klumppy would talk about his grandchildren, their educational successes and athletic prowess, and as he grew older and slowed down a little, reminiscing about Alice, about John Mineck, about BGC, and all that golf had provided often took up more time than hitting balls – and how beautiful that was.
When John Mineck died, these words from Elton Mayo about friendship and listening were used for a card at his memorial service and it remains close by my desk all these years later:
“One friend, one person who is truly understanding, who takes the trouble to listen to us as we consider our problem, can change our whole outlook on the world.”
The words were read again last night, only to myself I changed them to “Two friends, two people . . . ”
Golf. Greatest game, greatest people.
