MY LIFE AS A GOLFER #1

As an anecdotal fill in I thought rather than stories about WWII my exploits as a golfer would perhaps be of interest. I must admit that I never reached Tiger’s level even when he had hit bottom. I am talking about golf not social life.

In fact Helen and I found a greater challenge in competitive duplicate bridge at the national level than in the “Country Club” social life. Moreover dancing was not one of my favorite avocations.

However, in our mid 30s we began to play golf. We had taken a few lessons with a group at the JCC, and had a few more from a driving range pro.

There were several public courses available. In the summer before dark after dinner, we often would play nine holes on the nearby “West Nine”.

This very short wide open 9 hole course after dinner is owned by the then “restricted” Plainfield Country Club. It had been part of the club’s original eighteen, but was not up to standards. Also, these 9 holes were on the wrong side of busy Raritan Road.

Although still occasionally used by club members mostly when the main course

was closed, it was open for the use of the proletariat. The greens fee was higher than the county courses.

There were only two shallow sand traps and it was so wide open that only unplayable ball to any hole green  was one out of bounds. Since the present

1^st fairway was parallel on its left to Woodland Ave., for years cars were often an accidental target. In the 90s a high screen was erected along the road for a short distance past the 1^st tee.  Par could not have been more than 33 for the 9 holes. 

A professional could shoot 18 holes in the low 60s without difficulty.

Helen was an excellent putter. She also accomplished something I never did.  One day, while I was working, she had gone alone to the West Nine. Upon her return she informed me that she had gotten a birdie! Apparently she played with two men; one a priest. On one of her drives her ball had hit a bird flying across the course.

I also would play at Ash Brook. This very long county course had been built on swamp land, thus some of the fairways were always spongy. There was one par 5

hole, the 7^th, that had a long fairway from the tee to a sharp dog leg to the right, followed by a short uphill shot to the green. It was possible for long ball hitters to drive over some trees to land just below the green. Unfortunately, for me, I had a love affair with the pond that was at the angle of the dogleg. I was too stubborn to stop trying.

At Ash Brook I had a standing monthly game; a threesome with  Doctors Humphry and Langston, two of the “colored” physicians on the hospital staff. Both were dedicated golfers with low 80 handicaps. One would hook every tee shot the other would slice. Even from the rough or the woods they were always on the green in regulation, and were good putters. I on the other hand never knew where my ball was going. If any hit resulted in the ball going where it was supposed to I wanted to know what I had done right. I would be lucky to break 100. But we enjoyed each other’s company.

Despite being a duffer; I was also invited  by   colleagues with private club affiliations to play on all the area courses including the PCC, in addition to Echo Lake, Twin Brooks and Shackamaxon. Shack had a famous par 4 postage stamp  island green. Shack and PCC were sites of PGA tournaments. I never broke 90.