simple life
Among his many tributes, Augusta National presented him a lifetime achievement award for the sixty-two years he manned the tower on the 15th hole and covered golf’s greatest boutique gathering in print or on radio and TV. As the years passed and John’s health faltered, his spirit never did. On the last night I drove him home to the Tennis Club, he remarked, “James my boy, it’s been a grand and sweeping journey! But I fear I’m about to turn in my press credentials for good and head into the Great Unknown! I have some things I wish to give you.” “That’s nonsense, John,” I told him. “You can’t go anywhere soon. My wife adores you.” He smiled. “And I adore her. By the way, if you happen to predecease me, I have a plan to begin courting Wendy if she’ll have me. Thought I’d just get that out of the way.” “No problem,” I assured him. That evening he gave me a batch of letters from his old colleagues and told me a hilarious joke about a dying man and chocolate chip cookies I now tell on the dinner speech circuit. “I miss writing letters,” he confessed. “Very few things give you as much pleasure as writing and reading a genuine letter, you know.” A few weeks later, John was moved to write one last letter to all of us. It seems one of the positives of life — from the beginning to the end — is that we embark on a journey into the Unknown On that morning of October in 1917, while the world was still rumbling from the cannons and howitzers of the Great War, World War I, that was to bring serenity and peace to the divergent men of different backgrounds, different views of life and different plans for humanity, I was about to descend from the sanctity and peacefulness of my mother’s womb. I was about to go into the Unknown. That was 1917, a long time ago. Each day is another opportunity to grow. Each day [is] an experience new to me but old to the world. I welcomed the adventures of walking, of talking, of being happy and
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living. I went into the Unknown. Always something new. Learning life was a major goal — uncertain but anxiously awaited. Then, with the confidence and bravado acquired in youth, curious of the world around me, I knew it was a big world and I was but a small part of it. Life took on a new meaning and I enjoyed telling others what I saw, how I felt, what I knew and sharing this new role. Everything fascinated me and I enjoyed sharing with others who were also going along into the Unknown. There was a reason I was not athletic and an avid participant in sports. My Unknown was observing and reporting what I saw. My stage grew larger but the mystery remained. Then I learned I could describe events for others, those not able to be with me at each stop I spirited from those who preceded me. They, too, gave me the curiosity and ability to do my job and move on, the strength and desire to move on into the Unknown. One day I was called by my government to serve our military forces. It was a major change of life but an adventure I had not planned. Who could? There was pride in that uniform. Not bravery so much as pride. But when the bugle sounded I was in a new scenario, uncertain but eager again to head into the Unknown. India. CBS. PGA. Broadcasting. The snow on Mt. Everest. The Crown of Taj Mahal. The float down the Nile River. Lost in the Pyramids. Olympics. Masters. Life. Into the Great Unknown. The great One-Derr jotted these grateful words on a scrap of paper as he sat outside waiting for a ride from a friend taking him to a radio interview, his final reporter’s entry — two days before he passed away. PS Contact editor Jim Dodson at jim@pinestrawmag.com.
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November 2015 P����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills