“Well, I don’t think you’ll ever beat me unless you improve your putting.” Bruce knew that last dig would convince him.
“Sign me up,” Josh said.
Chapter 15: Amen Corner
Max and his father, Arthur, slowly inched forward in their car as they approached the Augusta National Golf Club, site of the Masters. It had taken Max a couple of days to drive down from Canada because his father didn’t like to fly anymore. Max had been worried about his father’s health before the trip began, but he’d actually been doing pretty well so far. Arthur had constantly nagged him about his driving habits – you’re driving too fast – you’re driving too slow – you’re in the wrong lane – so Max breathed a sigh of relief each day when his father drifted off to sleep. It allowed Max to drive in peace and much faster than he normally would.
“We’ll never find a place to park,” Arthur said.
“We’ll be fine,” Max said. Max could see the line of cars in front of him was over half a mile long. Although they were moving slowly, he was encouraged by the number of policemen directing traffic. “They do this every year. I’m sure they’ve got it down to a science by now.”
Sure enough, once they turned onto the property, there were volunteers stationed about every twenty yards or so, each directing the fans to exactly where they should park. Max was surprised that parking was free.
It was barely after seven on Wednesday morning and they had lucked out on the weather. Although it was a little cool right now, it was supposed to be sunny all day with the temperature rising to the high seventies in the afternoon.
The main tournament didn’t start until Thursday, but all of the golfers were out this morning for their last practice round. As Max and his father walked from the parking lot through the main gates, they could see the practice range was already full of players.
“Do you think Tiger will be out this morning?” Arthur asked.
“I’ve heard he’s going off in one of the first groups,” Max said. “That’s him warming up on the far right.”
Although they were still over two hundred yards from the golfers and couldn’t see their faces clearly, Max could identify each of the golfers just by their swings. It was amazing to see how distinctive each one was.
“That’s Mark O’Meara beside him. I think they’re playing together this morning.” Max checked the tee sheet they’d been handed when they came through the gate. “Yes, they’re teeing off in just a few minutes, along with Jim Furyk.”
Max wanted to hurry along to see them tee off, but his father’s pace was already starting to slow, even though they’d hardly covered any distance at all. They arrived at the practice tee just as Tiger finished his warmup. As he headed off to the first tee, several hundred people followed. Max knew his father would never be able to keep up with the horde of people following Tiger.
“Do you want me to see if they have any wheelchairs available?” Max asked.
His father scowled. “I’m not a cripple. Don’t need a goddam wheelchair!”
Max sighed because he knew his father would not be able to walk the course. “How about we just find a place to camp out and watch each of the golfers as they go by?”
Arthur nodded his agreement.
“Any particular hole you want to see?” Max asked.
“Amen Corner.”
“Perfect.” It was a part of the course that was also on Max’s bucket list to see in person.
Amen Corner consisted of the second shot on the par four 11th hole, the par three 12th hole, and the first two shots on the par five 13th hole. The tricky winds in that corner of the golf course had destroyed the dreams of many a golfer hoping to win the Masters.
It took them almost an hour for Max and his father to walk to Amen Corner, as Arthur had to stop several times to rest. Max wished he had purchased one of the green Masters chairs. When they reached the 12th tee, Max looked for a place on the grass for them to sit, but his father headed directly over to one of the chairs already set up.
“I think those chairs are reserved,” Max said, but his father ignored him.
It was common practice for patrons to place their chairs in some of the most popular spots on the course, staking out their claim to the spot even though they might not sit there the entire time. Arthur just plopped himself down in the first seat he saw. The lady in the next seat looked like she was about to tell them the seats were already taken, but held her tongue when she saw the sweat beading on his forehead.
She smiled at Max. “It’s okay,” she said in a southern drawl. “The people sittin’ there won’t be back for a while. I don’t think they’ll mind you usin’ ‘em til they get back.”
Max returned the smile. “Dad, you rest here for a bit. I’m going to get you a drink.”
Max headed off to the concession stand. He bought two bottles of water and two pimento cheese sandwiches, handed the girl a ten-dollar bill and was surprised to get change back. At most big events, customers get gouged at the concession stands, but the Masters prided itself on charging low prices for food and drink. After all, the fans were their guests and they were treated like royalty.
When he got back to the 12th tee, the lady sitting beside Max invited him to sit down. The patrons who owned the chairs still hadn’t returned to reclaim their seats. Max handed the water and sandwich to his father and encouraged him to drink. He hoped the long walk wouldn’t prove to be too much for him.
Max looked at the pinks, purples and fuchsias of the azaleas and the white dogwoods that surrounded the warm greens of the golf course. He didn’t see a weed anywhere and assumed they just died of embarrassment on such a beautiful property. Whenever the wind blew, the pollen from the trees and flowers hovered in the air before slowly settling, as if placing a protective blanket over everything. Although he was glued to the TV every year to watch the Masters and thought he knew everything about the golf course, Max found it was much hillier than he expected.
Max noticed the fans all look to the left to see the golfers approaching the 11th green and recognized the familiar profile of Mike Weir, the winner of the 2003 Masters. Mike was the first left-hander and only Canadian to ever win the Masters. Since then, a combination of injuries and poor play had dropped him well down the world rankings, but he was still invited back every year as a former champion. When he hit his second shot, the crowd followed the flight of the ball and saw it land short and bounce up onto the right fringe of the green.
“Missed the green,” Arthur said. “He’s not as good as he used to be. Maybe he should give up the tour and just go and be a club pro somewhere.”
Max encouraged him to lower his voice and ignored the shot against club pros. “He’s okay there. It’s a pretty easy up-and-down from the fringe.”
Max checked his tee sheet and saw that Weir was playing with Graham DeLaet and David Hearn, two up and coming Canadians. They had both out-driven Weir by thirty yards. Hearn hit first and they saw his approach shot land on the left side of the green. The crowd started to applaud, but then groaned as they watched the ball circle to the left and trickle down the bank into the pond. DeLaet hit next. His approach was just a little long and right, but the slope carried it even further to the right so he ended up almost twenty yards from the green in a valley, leaving a very difficult pitch shot. When they walked off the 11th green, Weir had made par and both DeLaet and Hearn had made bogies. It takes a lot of years of experience to learn how to play the 11th hole and sometimes the conservative play is the right play. Par is always a good score on that hole.
The crowd applauded as all three golfers walked the short distance from the 11th green to the 12th tee. They were now only about thirty feet from where Max and his father were sitting. They watched as Weir threw up some grass and watched the wind carry it. Then he pointed to the tops of the trees and the flags on the 11th and 12th greens.
“What’s he doing?” Arthur asked. “Why doesn’t he just hit the damn ball?”
Arthur didn’t
realize his voice was carrying farther than he expected. Max noticed several fans look at them with raised eyebrows and encouraged his father to lower his voice.
“He’s teaching them about the wind on this hole,” Max whispered.
One thing that was great to see was how the veterans of golf were willing to pass on the knowledge they had gained over the years. The 12th hole was only 155 yards long and would normally be a relatively easy shot for world-class pros. But the winds in Amen Corner made it one of the most treacherous shots in golf. If you were short or right, your ball would end up in Rae’s Creek. If you were long, it was easy to make bogey or worse from the bunker or pine needles behind the green. Some golfers based their club selection on what the wind was doing at the top of the trees rather than down at ground level. Others would look at the flags on the 11th and 12th holes and base their shot selection on that.
Max noticed that the flag on the 11th green was blowing in the opposite direction as the one on the 12th, even though they were only about a hundred yards apart. Weir stood on the tee watching and waiting. Suddenly, the wind shifted and both flags were blowing in the same direction. Weir quickly stepped up to the ball, hit his shot onto the middle of the green and then gave out a deep sigh of relief.
“You know, if you’d worked a little harder, that could be you out there playing in the Masters,” Arthur whispered to him.
Here we go. Max knew it was just a matter of time until his father reminded him of his shortcomings.
“I’m not good enough, Dad.”
“Not now, but when you were younger, you could have made it.”
Max thought back to his younger days. He was good, very good. But he still remembered the day he realized he was not a tour caliber player. No one had to tell him, he just knew it in his bones. That was the day he decided to take a job as a club pro, start paying off some of his accumulated debt, and get on with his life. He still thought he had made the right decision. Back in the early days, it was tough to make a living playing golf. Now, the winner of a single PGA tournament can win almost as much as a legend like Arnold Palmer won in his whole career.
“No I couldn’t, Dad. Even when I was younger, I just wasn’t good enough. I’m happy being a club pro.”
“Selling golf clubs and balls? You’re just a glorified golf shirt salesman.”
Max could feel his anger rising, but this wasn’t the time or place to have this argument.
“I’m going to follow these guys down the next hole,” Max said as he got out of his chair. “I’ll be back in about half an hour.”
Max followed the Canadians as they played the par-five 13th hole. Both DeLaet and Hearn hit the green in two shots and made easy birdies. Weir laid up on his second shot, but hit a good third onto the green and also made birdie.
Max thought about following them for a few more holes, but realized he should probably head back to check on his father. When he arrived back at the 12th tee, he saw the people who owned the seats had returned, but there was no sign of his father. He scanned the crowd, but didn’t see him anywhere.
The lady who had been sitting beside him, waved to catch Max’s attention. “I told him to wait ‘til you got back, but he said he wanted to head over to find a good spot to watch the par-3 contest.”
“Do you know which way he went?” Max asked.
The lady turned and pointed back up the hill. “Sorry, but he seemed pretty sure he could find it on his own.”
Max knew there was nothing this lady could have done to stop him once his father made up his mind. I shouldn’t have left him. Max climbed the hill behind the 12th tee. Given how slow his father walked, he couldn’t have gone far.
The par-3 contest was held on probably the world’s most beautiful nine hole course, located just north of the tenth hole of the main course. Most of the top players played in it because the main course was closed on Wednesday afternoon to allow the staff time to prepare the fairways and greens for tournament play beginning the next day.
Max walked quickly back along the 10th fairway, hoping he would soon catch up to his father, but there was no sign of him. There was no way he could have made it any further than that, so Max started to re-trace his path. Maybe he had walked back along the 18th fairway instead of the 10th. Max quickly walked along that hole, but there was no sign of his father there either.
Suddenly Max saw a small group of people behind the 17th green, all huddling around a man who was lying on the ground. Oh, my God!!! Max was sure it was his father and he raced over. He got there just in time to hear his father cursing a blue streak at the two paramedics who were trying to help him.
“Dad, are you okay?”
“I just lost my balance, that’s all,” his father yelled. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are,” one of the paramedics said. “But we have to take you into the medical centre just to make sure.” She smiled at Arthur. “You wouldn’t want me to lose my job, would you?”
Max could see that she was using all of her charms to try to get his father to cooperate.
“I suppose not,” Arthur said.
The two paramedics helped him into the back of a specially designed golf cart. They signaled for Max to ride up in the front seat. When they got him to the medical centre, they put electrodes on Arthur’s chest to do an electrocardiogram, but everything looked okay.
“Can we go now?” he asked. “We want to watch the par-3 contest.”
The female paramedic looked at Max. “Is he always this crusty?” she whispered.
“Always,” Max said. “Welcome to my world.”
“Well, he taught us all a few more curse words today.”
She pasted on a fake smile and turned to his father. “Maybe it’s best if you just stay here with us for a bit longer.” She helped him into a wheelchair and then pushed him into a very small adjoining room that had a television hanging in the corner. “I think they’re showing the par-3 contest on TV.”
* * *
The next day, Arthur slept almost the entire way while Max started the drive north to Canada. They were just on the outskirts of Lexington, Kentucky, when Max started getting tired and decided to look for a hotel. Because his father had slept in the car for most of the day, he wasn’t tired at all. After they grabbed something to eat, they turned on the TV in their room to watch the highlights of the first round of the tournament.
“I’m sorry I messed up our day at the Masters,” Arthur said.
“It wasn’t your fault. We probably tried to do too much walking.”
“I used to be able to walk for miles,” Arthur said. “Now I can’t seem to do anything by myself. I hate always having someone around to take care of me.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dad. You’re eighty-six. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it.”
They both turned to watch the TV. Eventually, Max’s eyes started to close.
“I wanted to prove to you that I could still do some things on my own,” Arthur said. “But I couldn’t.”
Max heard the crack in his father’s voice and opened his eyes.
“I got turned all around and couldn’t figure out which way to go,” Arthur continued. “And then I started feeling dizzy and sick. I started calling for your mother, which is stupid, because I know she’s dead, but I needed help and I didn’t know where you were.” He was trying not to cry. “I thought I was going to die.”
Max saw the tears welling up in his father’s eyes and hurried over to hug him. “I’m sorry Dad. I shouldn’t have left you alone. The paramedics said you’re fine. You’re not going to die.” Max smiled at him. “You’re probably going to out-live us all.”
* * *
The next morning they were up early to continue their drive back to Canada. Max had heard his father get up several times during the night to go to the bathroom. Since he had hardly slept overnight, Arthur fell asleep shortly after they started driving again. It was funny. On the trip down, Max was glad when his father fell asl
eep so he wasn’t constantly nagging him about his driving. But this time, he missed it.
They were just outside of Toledo, Ohio, when Max noticed the sweat on his father’s face and forehead. He gently pushed on his father’s shoulder to wake him up.
“Dad, are you okay?”
Arthur opened his eyes and looked at him. The look on his face told him that he wasn’t. He grabbed his chest. “I – can’t – breathe,” he gasped.
Max knew he had to find a hospital and fortunately, the road sign showed there was one at the next exit. He took it and then raced through a few intersections trying to figure out which way to go. When he saw a sign indicating the hospital was left at the next corner, he crossed several lanes of traffic to make the turn, ignoring the blaring horns and screeching brakes of the cars he cut off. He drove up to the emergency doors and leapt out of the driver’s seat.
“Help! My father’s having a heart attack!!!”
A couple of nurses who were leaving the hospital after their shift immediately came over to help. Within seconds, Arthur was on a stretcher and wheeled into emergency.
Max paced back and forth in the waiting room. Was this going to be how it ended? Although his relationship with his father had been strained for decades and his health had been getting worse over the last few years, Max still felt woefully unprepared. He thought he was going to throw up.
A middle-aged nurse came into the waiting room. “Are you the son of Mr. Wakelam?”
“Yes,” Max replied. “How’s he doing? Did he have a heart attack?”
“He’s stable. His heart is fine, but he seems to be having trouble breathing. We’d like to run some tests. Do you have insurance?”
Max remembered that his sister had taken out a medical insurance policy for him just a few weeks before they started their vacation. He hadn’t thought it was necessary because they were only going to be out of Canada for a few days, but Karen had insisted. He was now glad she had.
The Back Nine: A Novel About Life After Fifty Page 9