A GOLFER'S TALE

      It was love at first swing for me, and it lasted a lifetime. 

      Smitten at age 8 as soon as I held clubs, I've played "the gentleman's game" of golf as much as possible for 85 years.

      I’ve logged at least 5,000 rounds at all kinds of courses -- joyfully swinging from faint light of dawn to fading light of dusk, undeterred by any weather conditions including rain​storms, scorching summer sun and winter frost​.​

      Sure, it's been frustrating at times. That's golf. People have been known to give up on it. Even some top athletes have been disgusted. The legendary home run king Hank Aaron, for instance, once finished a round declaring: “It took me 17 years to get 3,000 hits in baseball. It took me one afternoon on this course.”

      But I could never think of quitting. Whenever I had an off day with only a few good shots, I focused on those and they were enough to bring me back.

      These days, as you might imagine, I play less often and with less skill. But I'm still passionate about the sport and I frequently recall some of my experiences on the links -- ranging from competition in thrilling tournaments to outings where I just wanted to have fun with friends.

      Among my favorite memories is what happened some 65 years ago at a historic private course considered to be one of the 100 best in the nation. It was well known for one hole that had an elevated green with water on all sides and was called "Gibraltar," reminiscent of "The Rock" symbolizing British naval strength in the Mediterranean.

      The course was about 50 miles east of New York City, in a small seaside town on the south shore of Long Island. Most of the club members lived nearby and were wealthy.

      At that time, I took golf seriously enough to practice diligently and always tried to play with confidence so that I could score well. That kind of mentality was necessary to compete at the club and I liked doing that while my wife, Lee, and our kids enjoyed the clubhouse and pool.

      But no matter how hard I tried, I was unable to "break par" there. For one reason or another, I repeatedly failed to get through the 18-hole circuit in less than 72 strokes,  which was the standard set for the best players.

      And that really bothered me. I'd had sub-par scores at so many other places. I was used to success.

      Before going further, let me briefly describe this place. 

      Both the course and the clubhouse were magnificent holdovers from another era -- designed and built in "the Roaring Twenties" as an exclusive project with prominent estates nearby. The entire 216-acre complex was near the Atlantic Ocean where the Great South Bay meets the Connetquot River.

       At some points, the course jutted out into the bay and a writer said the whole picturesque area was "the most gorgeous and inspiring scenery" for miles around. 

      The course was about as difficult as it was beautiful. It had an abundance of trees with sand bunkers and water hazards, especially near ultra-fast, frequently undulating putting greens.

      And there was another huge threat -- wind.

      Everybody worried about it. Wind could help or hinder you on every shot. Strong gusts blowing from the bay or toward it could be crucial in deciding which clubs to use. 

      Maybe I was unrealistic with my hopes of breaking par there.  Yet, I had them whenever I started a new round.

      One morning, playing with three buddies, I got off to a solid start on "the front nine," the first half of the course. Those holes drifted away from the clubhouse and close to the bay, then back with open fairways on sandy terrain.

      I was usually cautious there. ​The fairways tended to be narrow on longer holes. A minor mistake could put ​a​ ball in an unplayable spot or out of bounds, with penalties.

      When we got to the halfway point, I was feeling strong -- striking the ball well and even par on the scorecard.

      Could this be the day that I'd finally break par?

      I felt ​tension growing as we walked to the start of the "back nine," knowing it was  tougher overall than the first half.​ ​As usual, it was windy, but not as bad as it could be. 

      At the 10th hole, a ​lengthy ​par-4 and slightly uphill, I hit my ball more than halfway to the green and the next shot landed only 5 feet from the cup.  My easy putt rolled in for a ​"birdie" 3 that took me ​to ​one under par.

      The 11th hole also was a par-4, but longer and downhill. I had a perfect drive down the middle and then put my next shot about 20 feet from the pin. I took time to study the angle carefully, then knocked the  ball into the cup for another birdie.

      At the 12th hole, I well aware that the short par-3 was a test of my touch as well as my skill. I played it safe, using a long iron to get over the water and lower the risk of going past the green. My shot landed close enough to finish the hole in two putts. Another par!

      With my confidence building, I got more aggressive on the 13th hole, more than 500 yards long. I wanted to shave one more stroke off my score for a little “insurance” in case I faltered later.

      I managed to hit a long tee shot far without going into one of several large, rough-covered bunkers, but muffed my next two shots before sinking a long putt for a par-5. That was huge. It kept me 2 under for the round.

      My next goal was to survive at 14 and 15 , a pair of true seaside holes. Both were relatively long for par-4 and had fairways bordered by water, providing spectacular views.

      I got defensive again. I couldn't afford any "splash landings" and needed good positions on the greens, which sloped from back to front. ​With a couple of lucky breaks, I ​escaped those risky holes with par in each case. 

      I was fearful at the 16th hole, too -- a short par-4, shaped like a small peninsula with water on three sides. I​ was hesitant to try to go over the water, but there was no real alternative. That was the only way to score here, especially with wind blowing off the ocean. ​My shot was not great, but good enough to hit the green and I gladly walked away with a par.

      Now there were only two holes left. Both menacing.

      On the 17th, with little room to hit off the tee, I took extra care to steer clear of sloping bunkers​. I did it on my approach shot, too,. so that I didn't get marooned in ​a sand trap​ and have to execute a hard blast out. I was in "the zone" -- playing like a pro and still holding a two-under par score as I headed for the final hole. 

      As you might guess, the 18th was "Gibraltar" -- the dreaded par-3 of almost 200 yards with a fairway going uphill at a 45 degree angle and a green about 10 feet above water. It was similar to a famous hole in Great Britain,  demanding accuracy as well as brute strength even if the wind was not too troublesome. 

      I nervously hit what can only be described as a poor tee shot. I watched it come down in the water and then hurried to the crash scene. With a mix of relief and dismay, I saw that the ball wasn't  totally submerged because it landed on a sandy bump.

      I decided to hit it. That was my only chance to avoid a par-killing penalty for going into the drink.

      Taking off shoes and socks, I waded into the water, wondering if I even had a prayer. Then, while holding my breath, I took a heroic swing and watched the ball go up and towards the green.

      As I scrambled to get a look at the outcome, I heard my buddies yelling excitedly. The ball went into the cup.

      Absolutely incredible. It was another birdie. I couldn't believe it. 

      I had done it, a score of 69 -- three under par.

      That round turned out to be the best I would ever have there and  I still have the day's scorecard, even though I broke par again on other occasions afterward. 

      Years later, after our family had moved away, I had to return to the area for a couple of days. The community had grown into "a suburban hamlet" and the country club had been shut down for various reasons, like many private golf operations.

      But the county had taken ownership of the historic property and opened a public golf facility there, with three short courses of 9 holes each replacing the old 18-hole setup. I had to try it.

      When I got there, I saw that the classic wooden clubhouse was still in use. So, as I bought tickets from a man in the "pro shop," I asked him what had happened to the old course. He said he had never heard of it.

      I ​played only nine holes, but it was enough to recall how great it was to be out on a golf course in that delightful area on a beautiful summer day -- even if so many things had changed. 

Frank Lerner, a retired businessman, amazed golf competitors by "shooting his age" into his 90s.