By Travis Clement  

GolfWRX Contributor

Some people have these great memories of holidays and special events like family vacations or first kiss or first car etc., etc.  However, my best childhood memories are the sound a flushed two iron hit by Lee Trevino at the far end of the practice range at Augusta. You see, back in the golden days of the 1970’s we could get into the Masters on practice round days for less than $20 (not a misprint) and there was no lottery or web address to go to bid at online auction for the chance to get tickets.  As Dylan sang, “The Times they are a Changing,” and boy how they have changed.  But I digress, the reason I bring this up is of course its Masters Week and with that brings back the memories of my youth and the giddy excitement of an event that rivals Christmas morning in my mind.

It all started every spring for me, the grass started to green up, the smells in the air and the official start of Golf for each year was and still is the Masters.  I remember fondly arriving at the event and the walk up to the clubhouse and my Dad pointing out the sights as we went along.  We went thru the gate and proceeded to the driving range where my Dad would make me watch the golfers he liked best.  We would watch intently at what clubs they used, how far they hit it, and how exact they seemed to be with each shot.  He would say to me to just close my eyes and listen to the sound of the balls being struck and I would.  We would watch Palmer and Nicklaus, in awe of the greatness in front of us.  I remember once seeing Tom Watson, who was sponsored by “Ram Golf” at the time, hitting children’s clubs on the range that were presented to him by the company for his young child and to see him hit those clubs that were made for a child just as good as most mortals could hit regular clubs was something else.  But the pinnacle of our time at the driving range was always waiting for my Dad’s favorite golfer to come to the range, Lee (The Merry Mex) Trevino.  He was always smiling and talking as he made his way to his designated spot on the range. He looked larger than life to me.  He would just swagger up to his bag, his caddy handed him a club, and he would start to hit balls, and as I did with all the other golfers on the range, I would close my eyes to listen for that sound of his club when it made impact on the ball and it was very distinct.  In my mind’s eye I would imagine the ball compressing against the clubface as it rolled up the clubface and then spring out forward on a rocket trajectory towards the target. Really I can’t explain it in words but I can still hear it today.  It was what my Dad called “pure” and that sound has ever since been burned into my mind as my litmus test for what a good golf shot should sound like.

After we were done at the range we would walk to the first hole down along the left side of fairway and watch a few groups tee off and see their second shots.  After that we would walk down to the 16^th green and sit there for a long time watching the players come thru and hit multiple balls at different locations on the green for future pin placement and club selection.  The magnolias were usually in bloom and that hole has a great “echo effect” for golf shots.  It was truly a spectacle.  We would then go and watch on the 17^th tee for a while and my Dad would critique the players as they came thru and tee off.  He, my Dad, had a theory about the 17^th.  He said in his mind that this tee shot was the toughest on the course on Sunday and he wanted to gage how the pros handled it on practice rounds to see if it would hold up under the pressure of Sunday.  We would then head to the 17^th green for a while and then watch the players tee off on the 18^th.

I remember lots of things about those visits to Augusta like autographs, egg salad sandwiches, my Dad’s love for the game, cigarettes and cigar smells in the crowd, white hats, the flowers and just how green it all seemed to be.  You know, my Dad is gone now and I have my two boys who I have never been able to take because the tickets are so hard to get. But every year the sense of melancholy that I get at this time of year is strong and intoxicating.  It is, in my mind, the greatest memories of my childhood.  It represents who I am, where I came from and what my life was about.  So as I struggle to share these memories with my kids I am sad because I think they will never hear a ball strike like Trevino’s on HDTV and I am sure the tree on the left side of the 17^th fairway really does not come into play anymore on a Sunday.  As we sit and watch it all on the TV and enjoy every second of it, my enjoyment of it is always somehow bitter sweet because I think that they are missing out.  So this year I want to change that, therefore, I think I am going to try to have them close their eyes and turn the volume up on the TV and try and capture the sound of ball that is struck “pure” and even though it is not like being there maybe the memories will stick and after I am gone maybe they will get giddy every spring in anticipation of the great Masters Tournament and the memories it will bring to their minds. Thanks, Dad.

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