The Test
It was an era. A time of honor, respect and chivalry. We long for the return of members of the Greatest Generation to help us straighten up the mess we are in. We look for things that will return us to ideals and principles. Family. And fortify Judeo-Christian values. We desire activity that will bring the goodness of others into our lives. Luckily, the generation I speak of also gave us the game of golf.
Uncle Sam and Aunt Jewell. Their love story began in the days of Frank Sinatra, but their glory days screamed big band. Uncle Sam was formerly a vice president of U.S. Steel, and Aunt Jewell had been a buyer and model for Saks Fifth Avenue. Sounds glamorous doesn’t it? But none of those things represented who they were as people. Although their union hadn’t begun this way, their common interest of communication centered around golf.
Sam bore a respective reputation within social circles both in business and on the course. He was Sam Parks, Jr. winner of the 1935 U.S. Open and one of the minority of college educated golfers back in the day. Jewell wasn’t a golfer when she met Sam, but the deeply instilled qualities that made him a man of integrity, were profoundly developed on the golf course. Jewell, a woman of strong Christian faith, saw a connection of which she could trust.
He called her Jewellie, and told her he wouldn’t play golf with her until she had lessons. She obliged. Her Kansas upbringing, athletic ability and work ethic, escalated her from not knowing anything about the game, to rising to a position of ‘years on end’ winner of the second best amateur female golfer in the state of Pennsylvania. After all, she was trained at their home course - Oakmont. She considered the opportunity as an expectation.
In the late ‘80s when I told Jewell I wanted to try golf, Jewell gave me the same advice. “Don’t you dare try to play until you take at least a few lessons. Of course I listened. Why wouldn’t I? Jewell and Sam were part of the elite. Dearest friends of Ben and Valerie Hogan, wisdom oozed from her opinions.
Quickly I realized why Sam had not volunteered to teach Jewell. The mechanics of golf are just one element. Golf also represents a combination of etiquette and choices. It is a smart man that doesn’t attempt to take the person he shares a pillow with to any amount of skill without the risk of personal insult.
Sam passed away in 1997 and Jewell brought him home to be buried in Hesston, Kansas. Living in Florida and me in Kansas, the phone calls, stories and updates continued even past the years Jewell was no longer able to travel.
When I told Jewell I had met Frank, she said, “Don’t you date him until you’ve played golf with him. Everything you will ever want to know about a man’s character is revealed in his game.”
I laughed, “But Jewell, I’m awful. I couldn’t possibly judge him or anyone else while I’m out there flubbing shots.”
She replied, “Perfect. That will show you about his patience. If he lets you try to redeem yourself with bad shots without getting overly frustrated and acting as if you’re ruining his game, he will have time for you. He will care about allowing you to become better. You’re not in his way.”
On a roll, she went on, “For instance, if his ball has a bad lie, does he play it properly? If he thinks nothing about rolling it up and giving it a little help, rules are suggestions. He might be the type that overlooks his own small indiscretions. Then again, if his ball is behind a tree and he gives it a foot wedge without acknowledging the violation, that’s a huge red flag. A good man understands he has to deal with adversity. If he legitimately pops the ball out to get it back into play and takes the stroke, chances are he can be trusted to share his challenges of life with you.”
I had to keep listening because the information she was reeling out was good enough for any situation. “And not to be forgotten, the most important club in the bag – the pencil. A man that seems to frequently mark his card with a number that doesn’t reflect all of his strokes, is the man to be most feared. He will fail to disclose things that are important in relationships, both personal and in business. He is one who thinks these issues are not noticed, but his sense of truth doesn’t always reflect reality.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell my Aunt Jewell it was too late. I was already falling in love. After all, I didn’t have any room to judge the character of a man like Frank Carney, but revelations of these truths in our course play only seemed to escalate the process. Every detail of which she spoke, were the meticulous behaviors reflecting Frank’s game. He was everything I thought him to be.
It wasn’t long before I told Frank about the conversation with my aunt. He said, “I never really thought about that, but it’s true. The details of how we handle ourselves is so much more apparent than any degree of skill.”
Golf may be a social game, but it is also a litmus test. Indicative of character, there is a difference between those who call themselves golfers and true golfers. A true golfer knows that the game lies independently between one’s self and the course and a person’s disposition is the only matter on display. That is why there are handicap ratings.
With the amount of time we spent side by side, we both improved our scores individually. But nothing was in comparison to the respect and bond we developed. Honesty trumps all.
The most important takeaway from years spent with Frank on the course is this - Temperament is a lifelong training in process. Golf is an education of living in the present moment. Every hole is a new beginning. Everyone has bad holes, even the professionals. Your triple bogey will never be remembered, so why ruin the day thinking about it. More so, why let your aggravation ruin someone else’s day?
Golf is meant to be fun, so put ego and frustration away and seek your own improvement. Enjoy it, you’ll become a better partner.
“Temperament is a lifelong training in process.” - Frank Carney
