Loose Impediments

John Updike Remembered

I was saddened to hear about the passing of John Updike today of lung cancer. Golf comprised a small part of his body of work—including a collection of stories in Golf Dreams and a lesser-known volume called In Love with a Wanton—and one of the highlights of my editing career was getting Updike to write an essay about Tiger Woods.

The essay, which appeared in the April 2007 issue, was quite possibly the last words he wrote about the game that he so enjoyed playing. (He was a longtime member of the Myopia Hunt Club outside Boston.) I was impressed by how much Updike knew about golf and about Woods, despite his protests to the contrary when I first approached him about the piece.

Communicating with Updike strictly via the mail. I would write a letter, and he would respond with a postcard on which he typed his reply. For someone used to communicating with writers via e-mail, I found this old-school approach charming and entirely appropriate, since Updike was a timeless writer whose works would transcend his time.

Updike's draft was remarkably clean. (You'd be amazed by how sloppy—grammatical mistakes and misspellings—the drafts of some famous writer can be.) We talked on the phone once, to go over the manuscript, and it was the most nervous I have ever been in the business, and Tiger Woods once challenged me to hit a ball during a photo shoot—with his driver. I felt the way Ved Mehta did when he described talking on the phone with New Yorker editor William Shawn as they went over Mehta's writing, line by line.

Updike went over the changes he wanted to make clearly and crisply—no indecision or uncertainty of purpose. At one point he wanted to add the word "epochal" to the text, and I just flat out choked.

"Do you mean apocryphal?" I asked.

"No," was his chopped reply.

"Apocalyptic?"

"Not even close."

Finally, he just sighed (and no doubt rolled his eyes while regretting taking the assignment in the first place) and spelled it out, in the manner of a kindergarten teacher: "E-P-O-C-H-A-L."

But he remained gracious and even thanked me for the assignment, all the while I was considering joining the French Legion.

Later, after months of therapy, I summoned the courage to invite Updike to join me for a round of golf near his home, hoping that he remembered the assignment as a whole and not my bumbling at the end. He declined, but with this note. Even on a postcard, John Updike's prose shines.

The King and His Court

OK, now we know that Pat Perez can get just as hot with his golf clubs as with his temper. At the 50th Bob Hope Classic hosted by Arnold Palmer*, his rounds of 61 and 63, which set a new PGA Tour record for the first 36 holes, were downright rude to the tournament host, especially considering the 61 came at the PGA West Palmer course.

At any other event, shooting 124 in the first two rounds would give a player a huge lead. But at the Hope, Perez was just two shots ahead and there were NINE players within five shots. Low scoring has always been a tradition at the Hope, where the courses are relatively easy (the Palmer course measures just 6,950 yards), greens are soft and the weather is as perfect as inside a dome.

Waialae Country Club

I was introduced to Seth Raynor in high school, although I had no idea who he was at the time. The occasion was a match at the Creek Club on Long Island. It was a great course, and I enjoyed playing it, but I didn't really appreciate the experience.

Now that I've learned a bit about Raynor and his work, I wish I had paid more attention to the course instead of trying to win my match. (I didn't, but here's my excuse: My opponent, Louis Body, against whom I wound up playing in college as well, was a Creek member so he had a significant advantage.)

Similarly, I imagine players in contention on Sunday will give little thought to the architect as they play Waialae, the only course on tour designed by Raynor, one of the leading lights of the Golden Age. Raynor was an engineer hired by C.B. Macdonald to help build the National Golf Links of America, the country's first great course. They worked together so well that they collaborated on other great courses like Mid Ocean in Bermuda and Long Island's Lido, widely considered to be the best course that no longer exists.

Just 403 Votes Short

The Baseball Hall of Fame announced their latest inductees, and scanning the list of names following the newly immortalized Rickey Henderson and Jim Rice, I saw that Jay Bell, a middle infielder who played for five teams, received two votes—403 shy of the 75 percent needed to make it to Cooperstown. (Actually, what's incredible is that he got two votes at all.) His lack of support means his name comes off the ballot, but based on a single day, May 5, 1997, I'll include his name as a write-in candidate for another Hall—the World Golf Hall of Fame—when I make my selections later this year.*

Overlooked Genius

I have found that there is a pretty significant range of knowledge among golfers when it comes to golf courses and architects. While Bill Coore is highly regarded by aficionados, the name usually draws a blank stare from the average golf fan, who may offer a glint of recognition only after the mention of Coore's famous design partner, Ben Crenshaw. (And chances are, they know Crenshaw the player, not as an architect.)

For these casual observers, much of their knowledge of golf course architecture is determined by what they see on TV. American golfers expect to see wall-to-wall green at their courses largely because of the standard set by Augusta National during the Masters, the most widely viewed tournament of the year. There are other examples:

• Pete Dye had built some pretty good courses, but he didn't become famous until Jerry Pate threw him into the lake beside TPC Sawgrass' 18th green after winning the 1982 Players Championship.
• Very few people can name an original course built by Rees Jones, but everybody knows that he is the "Open Doctor" who has renovated numerous U.S. Open (and PGA Championship) courses.
• Gil Hanse is poised to be an A-Lister, but his star didn't begin to rise until he received praise for his renovation of TPC Boston during the telecast of the 2007 Deutsche Bank Championship.
• Even with the 0.7 rating of the made-for-TV Kiwi Challenge, far more people were exposed to Tom Doak being interviewed about his New Zealand course Cape Kidnappers than have played his masterpiece, Oregon's Pacific Dunes.