Last November, as Barb and I were visiting Ben and Penny, Ben gave me a note. It included a reproduction of Masters tickets and the note said, "Dad, what are you doing 4/7-4/13?" Masters week, 2014. Ben had won Masters tickets through the lottery for Monday, 4/7 for the four of us to go, and had received confirmation for the two Waffle House Corporate tickets for Friday, the 11th. I was already on a high, visiting their new home. Also, Ben had been the impetus, prompting the family to act on the seed that I had planted, "Norway, Summer of 2014." On top of all that, the Masters...Wow. We are on a roll.
Barb and I arrived in Atlanta on Sunday, April 6. We planned for the next day, a practice round, which allowed us to take cameras, but no cell phones, onto the course.
Monday's weather reports were not positive, neither was the
outcome. Ben, Penny, Barb and I made the
2 ½ hour drive from Atlanta and around 9
a.m. we walked through the National’s gates clouded in mist. A few pros were at the practice greens,
driving range, and out on the course. The “April in Seattle” like weather dulled the color and splendor of
the environs.
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| Tom Kite practicing as we entered National. |
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| Crossing One |
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| Mike Weir putting out practice round on 18 |
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| Putting practice green. |
We stopped by the store and purchased two Masters chairs that we
planned to place at strategic places around the course. But, by 10:30 a.m., as we were slowly making
our way down the 10th hole towards Amen Corner, the horn blew and
the following announcements ordered that we all seek shelter. At Augusta, “shelter” is in your car in the
parking lot. We waited in the parking
lot an hour or so but our cell phones indicated that the storm would not let up
in the near future. We drove to downtown
Augusta to wait, walk about, and have lunch.
The course never reopened as rain and lightning continued throughout the
day. By 3 p.m. we were driving back to
Atlanta in, sometimes, a heavy downpour.
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| Fans leaving the course. |
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| Shelter means find your car. Gate to Augusta. |
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| 5 a.m. Leaving Atlanta |
On Friday, Ben and I returned to the course. However, no cameras are allowed during tournament play. A bright orange sun rose above the horizon as
we neared Augusta. This day promised and
delivered on fair skies and bright sunshine.
We walked through the gates at 7:15.
Ben directed me to the 16th hole and we set our two chairs on
the upward slope 4 rows behind the green.
He selected the 16th, a par 3, as the hole sits in amphitheater
style with spectators sitting on the sloped hills on both sides of the fairway
and behind the green. Seating allows for
proximity, especially behind the green.
Also, at approximately 170 yards in length, one can, from behind the
green, follow the course of the ball from tee to the green.
As players were not scheduled to arrive at the 16th
until late morning, Ben and I walked the course. With the aid of my cane and pain meds, I was
delighted at my mobility and energy. The
weather, the beauty of the course, the excitement of the event, and the
proximity to the players all overrode any pain or difficulty I would
experience. Also, the turf that we
walked was a perfect surface for my walking needs. We pretty much walked the whole course, noting
landmarks, and pausing to watch the pros and caddies confer, then deliver. By mid-morning the crowds had arrived and
often you were standing 4 to 15 rows behind the action. Most spectators hovered around the tees or
the greens. Some strategically placed
bleachers offered views of a green and the following tee. Several times, as we were walking mid hole on
a par 4 or 5, a ball would drop near us.
Few spectators lined these areas and we had front row access on the
ropes, standing just a few yards away, watching as the pro and caddie confer
and execute the next shot. In two
occasions the pro interacted with the crowd.
Both times, it turned out, the interaction was with relatives. A lady yelled at Stewart Cink after he teed
off, asking him if he had any Advil. He
stopped and instructed his caddie to open a particular pocket in the bag to
retrieve some and the caddie delivered the container to the lady. It turned out to be Cink’s family. On another occasion Boo Weekly came over and
high fived family/ friends who were standing next to us.
As the first groups arrived at the 16th, Ben and
I returned to our chairs. We only took
lengthy leave of the chairs once in the next 8 hours, walking to nearby 17 to
locate where Ike’s tree once stood.
Restrooms, food and drink were nearby which made quick access. Boredom was not a problem during that long
duration. In fact, time flew and as the
last group came through around 7 p.m., we were not ready for the day to be
over. Anticipation and drama ruled the
day as we sat near the pros as they drove, exited the traps and nearby swells,
and maneuvered their ball over the undulating and sloping green. So many times the pros missed the same
shot. “Stay low”, we would tell
ourselves, as we would see a pro in a similar location that a golfer had been
in a group or two before. And again,
after a careful read, the ball would scoot above the hole, leading the golfer
to drop to a crouch again, wondering why the ball did not break as it should.
On our way out, we stopped to do our Masters shopping and
headed back to Atlanta into the setting sun.
Lasting memories and insights:
Southern Hospitality:
Augusta National exudes that trait.
Cheerful greetings and service rule the course from the ticket checkers
to the course monitors. Hundreds of
volunteers serve the course directing and aiding in crowd control and
security. I asked one on 17 as to the
exact location of the former “Ike’s Tree”.
The 50ish male got up out of his chair and walked us up to an area where
he could point out the exact location, he noting the subtle difference in the
new grass that had been placed to cover the damage from the tree’s extraction.
Southern efficiency:
Restrooms had 3-4 monitors and 1-2 cleaners at all time, directing the
crowds into open urinals, stalls, and sinks.
When one exited a stall, a worker went in to clean it after each use. The snack/food bars were long rows of snacks,
food and drink that you simply grabbed your fare, paid and exited back to the
course. Lines were long but moved
quickly. The souvenir/apparel stores
were of the same design. Long lines
moved quickly through the stores where products were clearly displayed and
easily retrievable. You then moved
quickly to the many check out areas to get you back on the course as quickly as
possible.
The emphasis is GOLF.
This is not a social/business venture:
There are no advertisements or hospitality areas on the course. There are no displays from AT&T, Coke, Budweiser,
Mercedes, Ping, or any other golf related enterprise. There was no preferred seating for the big
spenders. Seating was “first come, first
served.” There were no exclusive bars
or eateries. There were no luxury boxes
that dominate the infrastructure of so many sports venues. There were crowds and you mixed readily with
almost all who entered. The only degree
of separateness was that there were some secure areas near the club house for
tournament officials, club members, players, caddies, and their families. There were also small outhouse type structures
labeled “players and caddies only” near many of the tees.
There is an aura of respect that you are in a special
place: As we entered the course on
Monday, all spoke in hushed tones. Even
though a few pros and caddies were working out on the practice areas and a few
were on the course, everyone spoke in low voices respecting the climate and not
wishing to serve as a distraction. On
Friday, at the beginning of the second day of competition, crowds responded
with polite applause to recognize pros and particular good play. As the spirit of competition increased
throughout the day, the activity of the crowds increased with wild shouts and
applause. Standing and applauding in
recognition was the common greeting to senior players and former champions as
they played each hole. There were few
distractors that had too much beer. I
did not hear one swear word all day. There
were no shouts of “Go in the hole!” or “You be the man.” There were no course monitors that held their
hands or signs up to quiet crowds as the pro approached to hit or putt. Augusta doesn’t need them. Crowds cheered after the drive or putt and
during the walk too and away from the green.
On the tee, fairway and green, one did not need to be reminded to be
quiet and respectful. This is Augusta.
Food and drink are cheap and meant to sustain you through
the day. There is no gourmet fare here
other than golf: The famous Masters
sandwich is pimento cheese spread on white bread. The bread looks like the white slices from
Wonderbread. The pimento cheese spread
resembles the stuff you buy in the small glasses at Safeway. The
sandwich costs $1.50. Others:
Chicken sandwich: A
piece of breaded and grilled chicken on the same Wonderbread . There are mayonnaise, catsup, and mustard
packets if you want to add something to it.
Pulled pork sandwich: Pork on
the Wonderbread.
Club, egg salad, turkey, ham and cheese sandwiches. A chicken wrap. A vegetable wrap.
Tea: Sweetened and
unsweetened although on 2 of the 3 times I went through the drink line, there
were several glasses of sweetened tea sitting there but I had to ask for the
unsweetened. This is the South.
Beer: Two types,
domestic and import, both poured and ready to grab and run.
There are assortments of candy bars, bags of chips, cookies,
Geogia Peach Ice Cream sandwich, and other treats that you again grab from the
shelf on your way to the checkout line.
There is no wine or liquor. All
items range in price from $1.50 to $3.00.
Lastly, and probably most delightful, it was a day with one
of my sons. I deeply love all 3 of my
children, their mates, and their kids.
And we interact often. But seldom
do you get that chance for just the two of us, experiencing a special event in
that most precious of relationships - one to one. Very special.
Augusta.
Our history is deep. Atlanta's is deeper. There is always something to experience in Atlanta and the mass transit system makes it so accessible.
Norm, Barb, Bob (one of Jim's sons) and Jim. Westport, 1974.
