Dick and Rick on the practice tee.
“We knew that we stood on holy land, and what lay ahead of us was perfection. To walk in the footsteps of giants that had played there since 1919 was more than either of us could grapple with in the moments before we teed off.” We couldn’t play Pebble on my first trip, because they were hosting the 100th U.S. Open just six days later. We walked it instead, slowing down to replay, recount and even recreate certain shots, like two teens on a driveway basketball court. We stood where Watson stood when he chipped in on 17, and walked every inch of the 18th hole — with the grandstands up, rough in its full form and everything. For this trip, my very good college friend, Kappa Sigma brother and former college tennis teammate (my Baker University tennis career lasted exactly a year) Rick Walsh bravely and safely did a turn-and-burn flight into Northern California to join me from Kansas City. This time, I would not leave Pebble Beach without playing it. Rick had never been to Pebble Beach, and his enthusiasm and way with words had me smiling and cracking up the whole time — taking the edge off of the nervousness. When we arrived at the course, our hearts were pounding out of our chests. We knew that we stood on holy land, and what lay ahead of us was perfection. To walk in the footsteps of giants that had played there since 1919 was more than either of us could grapple with in the moments before we teed off. It was right about then that Rick disappeared. No, seriously. We were just about to head to the tee, and he was gone. This stressed me out — not because I thought he’d bail, but because I didn’t want to miss our call to the tee. I went to my bag and pulled out a hybrid, looking around for Rick. Suddenly, there he was — with a double vodka soda and lime in each hand. I would never slug a drink like that before playing the course of my dreams, but before we teed off, we both saw half the cocktail vanish into our bloodstream. It was like knocking back 10 milligrams of Valium; I needed it, as the six I posted on the par-4 first hole was fair assessment of my nerves at the time. For Rick, the Absolut was absolutely what he needed to chill as he parred the first and carded a freak-show 37 on the outward nine. Frankly, it was magic to see him play like that and it made my day that he rose to the occasion. In 1928, our Gearhart friend, H. Chandler Egan, updated the course design that was originally penned by Jack Neville and Douglas Grant. Alistair Mackenzie and Robert Hunter (1927) also worked on the course, while Jack Nicklaus put his touch on the short, par-3 fifth hole in 1998.
Rick’s 106-yard tee shot on 7.
The plaque of Tom Watson’s chip in on 17 and my ball.
The vista and view of the 6th hole.
D ES T I N AT I O N GO LFER 21
