My next exposure to Augusta is an interesting story – at least in my opinion – and deserves telling.  In 1972, I returned to college at Mississippi State University after working for 5 years as an assistant golf pro at Bel-Air Country Club, Los Angeles, CA, and Winged Foot Golf Club, Mamaroneck, NY.  The purpose was to obtain a degree in turf management in order to be a pro-superintendent in the South.  That next spring, my turf professor, Coleman Ward, was invited to be the featured speaker at the Georgia Golf Course Superintendents education conference in South Georgia.  He invited me and another senior turf student, Ken Jones, to come with him to get some practical experience as he consulted with a couple of clubs on the way to the conference.  We readily agreed as it was a great chance to miss a few days of school and maybe an opportunity to get to play a couple of new golf courses.  

 

Shortly before the scheduled trip, Coleman called me into his office and suggested that since we were going to be in Georgia we might as well go up and play Augusta National and that he would write them a letter and ask. Being the young, but experienced golf pro that I was sure I was, I assured him that there was no way he could just write them a letter and get on the course.  You had to have a member to play with you, even then.  

 

The time for the trip rolls around, and we set out for Warner Robbins, Georgia, where the conference is being held.  With stops on the way in Birmingham and Callaway Gardens, where Coleman is the turf consultant, we arrive on a Sunday evening before the conference to be held on Monday and Tuesday morning.  As Coleman is really the only speaker, Ken and I are busy setting up and operating projectors and running errands.  At the end of the conference, Coleman sends us to load the car while he visits with some people who have questions.   Shortly afterwards, he shows up and says let’s go to Augusta.  At this point, I am still a major skeptic but now hopeful.  

 

As I did most of the driving on the trip, when we arrived on the outskirts of August, just before dark, I kept inquiring about where we were going to stay since did we have reservations at a hotel.  Coleman just kept saying “follow my directions”.  As we turned down Washington Avenue, things started coming back from my trip in 1964, and I knew we were close to the club.  When Coleman said to turn into Magnolia Lane, I’m sure you could have audibly heard my jaw drop.  

 

Greeted by a security officer who was obviously bored after a day of denying entry to a variety of well-intentioned golfers hoping to get a glimpse of the hallowed ground.  His greeting was an indifferent, “Can I help you”.  There is no way to describe my reaction or feeling when Coleman responded with his name, and the officer, after consulting his notes, said “Go right in”.  All I can remember is the view of the magnolias and the storied clubhouse growing closer by the second.  We pulled up to the circle and waited in the car while Coleman went inside.  There was no conversation between two young, avid golfers, just awe at being there.  Shortly Coleman reappeared with another gentlemen in a suit and tie.  This man was at the turf conference, in fact, he was the man that Coleman went to visit with at the end of the conference.

 

The next moment of astonishment came when they both came to the car and told us to follow them in their golf cart.    After a minute, which seemed much longer, we pull up in front of a cottage by the tenth tee and were instructed to take the bags inside.  We were staying in Bobby Jones’ cottage for the night.  (I’ll describe the cottage in a later installment).  We were introduced to Phil Wahl, the General Manager of the club, and he invited us to go to dinner with him at a local restaurant since the club was not serving dinner that night.

 

It turns out that Coleman was being considered to be the turf consultant for Augusta National and was asked to come over for an interview.  He had asked months ago if he could bring a couple of students with him (by the way, they hired him).

 

Awaking the next morning to find a note that told us to go have breakfast in the locker room and to be on the first tee at 10:00 a.m., we hurried to the clubhouse, which is the old manor house of the Berckmans nursery (Fruitlands).  When we reached the locker room, we were startled to find that we were the only two people there (with the exception of about three waiters).  Dining on scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and orange juice in that environment is something I will remember forever (by the way, they were the best tasting eggs I have had before or since).

 

The trip to the practice area and to the first tee was much like any golf course that is if you can ignore the magnolia trees lining the side, the history of your surroundings, and the beauty on all sides.  Arriving at the tee, we find we are playing with the golf course superintendent, Bubba Luke, and we each have a caddy.  While I am sure this is not an original thought or reaction, the simple act of putting the ball on a tee for the first shot took a great deal of effort.  It is truly amazing how much that tee could move, all on its own.  Besides that, you had to face the thought of getting the ball down the fairway, even though no one was watching.  I won’t bore you with a description of the round, but suffice it to say, it was one of the all time great experiences of my life.

 

More Later