The Feathery (7 page)

The phone call to Al Ingalls at eight in the morning brought sad news."Sandy dead?"
"Yeah, Scott. He passed away last evening, sometime around six, after he got a call from the head- pro at Poppy Hills telling him you’d made it."
Scott’s thoughts began in a spiral.
Sandy was ninety-three and sick, but still
…"What about arrangements?"
"None." Al said. "You know, he doesn’t have any relatives. It’ll probably be a quick burial."
"No way, Al. You know he saved me from trouble and helped to get me here. He got Matt on tour as a caddie and has helped many others, like you. We need to celebrate Sandy’s life. I’ll be in San Diego to make the arrangements this afternoon. Book the function room at El Camino for Monday evening." Scott paused. He recalled Sandy’s love for bagpipe music. "I’ll call the Clan Campbell bagpipers to play and contact the newspaper to announce the celebration at El Camino in Sandy’s obituary."
"Who’s gonna pay for all this, Scott? Sandy was broke."
"I am. I just won twenty-five large at Q-School, and Sandy had a lot to do with it."
"Okay, Scott, and by the way, congratulations."

M
ore than 300 came to El Camino Country Club for the celebration of Sandy’s life. Many who’d benefited from his instruction were there, including some who’d gone on to the Champions, PGA, Nationwide and LPGA tours. On Tuesday morning, The Clan Campbell bagpipers dressed in their plaid kilts led a procession to the practice range where Sandy’s ashes were lowered in a grave marked by a simple epigraph etched on a small marble stone:

SANDY MCNAIR 1920—2013

 "Could you come to my office tomorrow at nine?"

It was Frank Dyer, an El Camino member and local attorney, who caught up to Scott as he walked slowly from the grave-site blinking back tears. He stopped walking. "What’s up, Frank?"

"I’m executor of Sandy’s estate, and he left everything to you."

Scott glanced back at the marble stone for a moment without responding to Dyer.
The lawyer broke into Scott’s silence. "Sandy didn’t leave much behind. He was generous to a fault and got taken in by a crooked investment counselor. But there are some books and old golf things he brought with him when he left Saint Andrews. They’re all yours."

Scott was at the law office the next day with Matt. Attorney Dyer filled his conference table with all of Sandy’s worldly possessions. There were a few antique golf clubs, oil paintings of St. Andrews, old golf books and a bronze,
Oscar
-sized statuette of a nude woman swinging a golf club. A journal compiled by Hugh McNair was also in the mix. It included newspaper articles dated from the nineteenth century telling of Hugh’s various feats in golf and feathery ball making business at St. Andrews. The author of one article had spent a day with Hugh during his record round.

Scott signed some papers the lawyer put before him. Afterwards, with Matt’s help, he started packing the items he had inherited in a carton supplied by Dyer. Scott hesitated before placing a five by five inch wooden box in with the other things. He was curious about it, and studied the box for a moment before sliding the cover back along some grooves to expose the contents.

Matt looked over Scott’s shoulder and down into the box. He said, "hey, you’ve got yourself an old feathery golf ball."
Scott stared down at the almost round tan object and saw the name
HUGH
and the numbers
26
and
78
inscribed in black ink on the leather. Inside the box, next to the feathery, were two slips of paper. One was a note to Scott from Sandy and the other, on stiffer stock, yellowed with age, was Hugh McNair’s record score card with a few words written at the bottom.
The note from Sandy:

Dear Scott,
I wanted you to have this feathery used by my great-grandfather, Hugh McNair, when he set a record at the old course at St. Andrews in 1849.

Sandy.
The aged parchment contained the hole-by-hole scores of Hugh McNair’s record round. The note scribbled at the bottom read:

Played a match with Willie Dunn of Musselburgh, backed by Mr. Brown of Balgarvie, winning it, and scored a record 78. My 26 pennyweight feathery ball worked well in the calm air.

The scorecard was signed and dated July 8, 1849 by Hugh McNair, and attested by The Society of St. Andrews Golfers.
Matt examined the scorecard and the note from Sandy. "You might be able to sell this feathery golf ball for a good price."
Scott slowly slid the cover back on the box. "I’d like to keep it. I think it’s what Sandy would want me to do."
Matt gave him a look of concern and said, "hope that works out for you."

W
hile still in the San Diego area before starting out on tour, Scott wanted to evaluate his present set of golf clubs and make any necessary changes. Sandy had bought him a set from Linksking Golf before he entered Pepperdine, and at that time he’d introduced him to Mark Breen, CEO of that club-making company. Mark had attended the celebration of Sandy’s life at El Camino, and Scott set up an appointment with Mark to have a Linksking technician make sure his clubs still matched his swing.

Scott met Linksking’s club-fitting expert, Charlie Davis. Charlie was a thin man in his fifties with John Lennon-type glasses whose hands stayed put in his leather apron pockets until they were needed. Charlie recorded Scott’s physical measurements and swing characteristics on the range. If necessary, a set of new customized Linksking clubs would be made from these data.

A golf swing analyzer called the
Swing Groover
was part of the test equipment used at the range. Scott swung a driver and a five iron as the
Swing Groover
monitored his swing path, swing speed, golf ball launch speed and ball spin revolutions per minute. (SRPM). These data would be used to select a shaft with the right kick point and flex. The contact of the golf ball at impact, relative to the perfect sweet spot, was recorded by Charlie with impact tape to determine the best loft and lie angles for Scott’s irons.

Through this testing, Charlie determined that Scott’s swing parameters would be better served with a new set of clubs. His present set didn’t perfectly match his golf swing according to the
Swing Groover
print-out, and Scott agreed, knowing a player on tour must strive for equipment perfection. He ordered a new set built to the test specifications measured by Charlie and his machine. He kept only two clubs from his old set—his putter and the 60-degree lob wedge Sandy had given him.

He picked up his new set of clubs from Charlie two days later. They worked out fine on the range. He attempted to pay for them, but Mark Breen had left directions with Charlie that the clubs were to be complimentary.

Scott entered Mark’s office. "Hey, Mark, thanks for the donation."

"No problem. I’d do anything to help one of Sandy’s kids." He got up from his desk to shake Scott’s hand. "Good luck on tour. If you score well using our clubs and like them, we’ll hire you to endorse them."

Scott left Linksking and went out to Torrey Pines to play a round of golf with his new clubs on the North Course there. The clubs passed his on-course trial, and he was ready to test them in the real world of golf…at the PGA Tour in Kapalua, Hawaii.

NEW YORK

S
cott missed the cut at Kapalua by two strokes. Then he missed five more cuts after that. Finally, the Buick Invitational at Torrey Pines, a familiar track, earned him a check for $8,225. Out of the next twelve tournaments his earnings totaled only $22,000, and there wasn’t any other income coming in from golf product endorsements for the fledgling Q-School qualifier. He had just missed a cut at Westchester Country Club in New York, and it was another Friday evening of disappointment and was with Matt in their motel room trying to figure out what had gone wrong with his game.

"The competition out here is more than I thought. I’ve been missing cuts by only a few strokes. What can I do, Matt?"
"Make more putts."
"Sure, just like that."
Matt took the putter out of Scott’s golf bag and ran his hand down the shaft to the head, then took a sheet of paper from his wallet that had Scott’s playing statistics on it. He scanned down the playing categories before fixing his eyes on three of them. "You’re on most greens in regulation or better, but weak in birdies and eagles after you get there. The clubs you got from Linksking are working out fine. It’s your putting that’s doing you in. That old caddie saying holds true: ‘A player
w
ho putts for pars is like a dog that chases cars…he doesn’t survive.’ You need to drop more putts in for birdies and even a few eagles."
Scott took his putter from Matt and started making short strokes at an imaginary ball. "It’s the same putting stroke and putter I’ve used since Pepperdine. It got me through Q-School."
"I know, but I’ve seen a change in putters make good things happen." Matt’s eyes narrowed and he looked straight at Scott. "A player’s confidence will improve after that." Matt took the putter from Scott and put it back in the golf bag. He picked up a box with a dozen golf balls in it. "Let’s go, there’s a course with a practice green near here."

They selected five putters from a rack in the pro shop. The putter heads were of different configurations. They had shafts of varying lengths and off-sets. Matt stationed himself near a cup on the putting green and rolled the balls back while Scott stroked putts from fifteen feet with each of the putters. His stroke with one of the putters was rolling the golf ball in the cup consistently.

They bought the putter, and stayed on the practice green for two hours trying putts from various distances and contours. Most dropped in the cup, and Scott’s confidence started back up the road to restoration.

Back at the motel, they ordered submarine sandwiches and tackled another problem.
Scott was putting into a drinking glass set down on the carpet ten feet away with his new putter when he said, "I’m almost broke. Just enough to get us to San Diego and regroup. I can’t make expenses for the next tour stop."
"Whoa." Matt took a bite from his sub and chewed it slowly while he mind-counted his assets. "I’ve got enough dough to get us through the tournament at the TPC in Maryland week after next and a little more if we need it. We’re off next week, anyway, since we’re out of the US Open."
Scott sat down on the bed and reached for his sandwich. "Thanks. I’ll pay you back with interest soon as I can. Any suggestions on where we go next week before Maryland?"
Matt took a long swig from a Pepsi can. "Bray and his caddie, Claudio Spencer, are out of the Open because Bray’s wife is due to have a baby and he wants to be with her. Claudio invited me to stay at his place on Long Island, and it has room for you. You can practice at a course nearby."
"That’ll work. I’ve got to win something in Maryland."
When Scott said that, Matt noticed the expression on his friend’s face. It showed his desperation over finances. Matt stood up to face Scott sitting on his bed. "You can’t stay under the financial gun any longer, like needing to make a check in Maryland to stay on tour. The pressure of earning enough for our expenses is screwing up your concentration. You need a good checking account balance to ease that worry."
"How do I get that kind of dough?"
Matt gave his friend a hard look. "If you don’t want any sponsors, you’ve got to sell the golf antiques Sandy left you."
Scott was quiet for a few seconds before slowly nodding his head in reluctant agreement.

The next day they were on Long Island, New York, when Matt asked Claudio Spencer, "Do you know anyone around here who can tell us about selling golf antiques?"

They’d just finished playing a round at a course on Long Island, and Matt and Claudio were having a beer in the clubhouse. Scott went straight to the practice green from the course even though he’d made seven birdies and shot a 66 using his new putter.

Matt looked across the table at Claudio while waiting for an answer. He saw his friend with swarthy skin and large dark eyes run his fingers through his curly jet-black hair as he thought about someone to help with the antique golf stuff. Finally, he touched his Roman nose with an index finger and his face brightened with an idea.

"Yeah, my Uncle Anthony has all kinds of connections in the New York area."

"In golf antiques, Claudio?"

"In all things. He’s my mother’s brother, and they came here from Sicily before I was born. I’ll give him a call." Claudio reached for his cell phone and touched some numbers, hesitating before entering the last one. "Where are these antiques?"

"On the way to your apartment from San Diego by UPS. They’ll be here tomorrow morning."
Claudio greeted his uncle and made small phone talk before mentioning the antiques. "Matt, my uncle wants a friend to see them."
Matt thought it would be okay with Scott and said, "sure, when?"
Claudio asked his uncle. "He said tomorrow evening at seven…my place."