Conversations resonate most beautifully when the landscape is a golf course. While that’s a belief that has been accepted within my consciousness for a long time, it recently bobbed to the surface and rekindled my fancy when in the company of a gentleman who shared a round of golf in vintage Irish weather.
Light rain, blustery wind, sunshine, heavy rain, then more sunshine and even heavier wind. That sort of vintage Irish weather.
As this space has stated before, to meet someone for the first time while paired for a round of golf calls for the easiest of introductions. Thus was Jim From Michigan most definitely a “stranger who is just a friend you haven’t met yet” and the banter and warm chatter flowed wonderfully.
What was most appreciated is the way Jim From Michigan, who opted for a golf cart, often drove slowly to chat with yours truly, who pushed his trolley.
So often when golf carts are involved, two golfers go one way, two others fly off in another direction, and so the conversation with a foursome is limited to a few words on the green and tees; honestly, there are warmer moments of engagement with the driver in the car next to you at a red light.
But Jim From Michigan truly loved the conversation and that led to a story that captured my intrigue. Walking around the splendid town of Killarney, Jim From Michigan told me he wanted to take a break so he asked a gentleman who was in his late 70s if he could sit and share a park bench with him.
They talked about the man’s life in Killarney, which he explained had been where he had always lived. Pointing to a pub, to a store, to a tree, to a statue, to a cafe . . . “they’ve always been here,” the man told Jim From Michigan.
“Nothing has changed?” asked Jim From Michigan, and the man shrugged.
“Not the town, not this spot,” he said. “But what has changed is this: People just pick up their phone and look at them. They never want to talk.”
We exchanged comments about that and conceded this obsession we have with cell phones is over the top. It’s also doing a dent on our sense of camaraderie.
Two weeks have passed since that round in Galway with Jim From Michigan but two thoughts still stick with me. The four hours with him on the course – plus the requisite post-round pint, of course – provided wonderful conversation but damn, my heart still aches for the guy on that bench in Killarney.
To long for conversation in a world that is more content to rifle off short-handed text messages (How R U . . . LOL . . . IDK . . . SMO) and let Reels and Threads provide all the social interaction that is needed . . . well, it’s that sort of landscape that makes me love walking a golf course all the more.
No matter the level of play, even when it’s not very good, rounds of golf are where you can spend quality of time with like-mind people. Golf people dominate my world, which is a really good thing, so when the opportunity was extended for me to spend a day of golf and talk with a group called The Fliers Club, pure joy fell upon me.
Having written about this group earlier this year – https://bit.ly/47S389u – it was an honor to be with members of The Fliers Club Monday night and the conversations went as my mind envisioned them; they were dominated by golf, in agreement that our game is a culture that provides much joy and one that is even better when shared with a four-hour walk.
Golf moments that will forever be with me have one thing in common – conversations.
Be it a cherished lunch with Herbert Warren Wind or an impromptu meeting with Jack Burke Jr. in his office at Champions (it was a more appealing choice over playing golf with travel companions) or that day at Pinehurst No. 2 when a retired mailman from Buffalo caddied for me and said what had gotten him through the last two winters of brutally harsh winters was the thought of retiring to Pinehurst to carry golf bags and get the chance for lots of golf conversation.
“You like to talk golf?” he asked me.
“Only before and after the swing,” he was told and on a July day that tipped out at about 96 degrees we were both saddened – at least a little, methinks – that the round lasted less than four hours.
In another time, back when life wasn’t a series of shortcuts like texts, emails, and social media posts, my favorite golf writer, Michael Bamberger, had the distinct honor of meeting John Updike. It involved a round of golf at the Myopia Hunt Club between two brilliant writers who shared an affinity for the written word and also treasured the value of conversation.
As rewarding as it is to savor a Bamberger book (“To The Linksland” is gold, “The Ball in the Air” is terrific, “The Green Road Home” is a lovely memoir), he is a remarkable conversationalist, which is why his magazine profiles on gentleman such as Sam Reeves and Davis Sezna Jr. are works of art.
Similarly, to those who knew him, the late John Updike was also considered poised, warm, and a wonderful conversationist.
In a piece he authored for The New York Times in 2006 – it was headlined The End of Authorship – Updike wrote of the oncoming world of digitalization and was fearful that the internet was a threat to the traditional book culture.
“Yes there is a ton of information on the Web, but much of it is egregiously inaccurate, unedited, unattributed and juvenile,” he wrote.
Well, the world of digitalization dwarfs our society, for good or bad, and so it is that a gentleman who treasures conversation and could regale passersby about the charm of Killarney and the Irish way of warm hospitality if only they weren’t staring into their phones, probably soaking in the “egregiously inaccurate, unedited, unattributed and juvenile” information Updike warned about.
Makes me long for the golf course and those golf groups where conversation is still cherished and a valuable layer of the landscape.
