An Amazing Story

The following letter arrived in my email inbox yesterday, June 27, 2022, and was such a heartwarming, emotional story that I wanted to share it with you…

An 18-Hole Love Affair

Why I Love Golf

by Richard Gudzan

If you’re a golfer, have you ever pondered why you spend so much time chasing a little white ball? Perhaps you view it as an unhurried hobby or an unconquerable challenge. Or maybe some days it’s reflected upon as a five-mile-walk spoiled – and that one perfect shot keeps bringing you back.              

No matter the reason, most golfers will tell you it’s time well spent.

The great American philosopher, Henry David Thoreau, once said this about his use of time:

“Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.”

His metaphor of an ever-moving stream as a symbol of time might also be applied to the global pastime of playing golf. To paraphrase, “Time is but the pasture we go a-golfing on” – shot to shot, day to day, season to season … all for the love of the game.

Here’s why I love golf – because my father did. Even though I barely knew him. He died when I was two, at age 27. But his love for the game was handed down through photos taken, articles written, and memories offered by those who did know him. Golf to me became a life-long love shared together through the spirit of the game, intertwined with the desire to continue his legacy.

My dad’s name was Nick Gudzan. Born in Pennsylvania, he had come south as a young man to play semi-pro baseball. Golf soon got his attention. A veteran pro named Orville White in Aiken, SC encouraged him to invest his future in golf. Here’s the rest of the story as told by Furman Bisher, former Atlanta Journal-Constitution Sports Editor, and member of the International Golf Writers Hall of Fame:

This story was first written by Mr. Bisher in 1954, titled “You Can’t Kill a Golfer”, and then followed up 37 years later with added commentary after Michael Jordan in 1989 was named by the Golf Nut Society of America as the official Golf Nut of the Year. Then David Earl of Golf Journal in 1990. Mr. Bisher picks the story up from there …

“I come before you today not to demean Messrs. Jordan and Earl, but compared to the candidate I shall introduce, they rank far back in the pack. In fact, this player would be my all-time champion.

It’s an old story, so old I was still editor of The Constitution at the time. Also, I apply the term “nut” apologetically here, for the memory of Nick Gudzan commands my deepest respect.

He appeared at my desk one day about the middle 50’s, a nice-looking fellow in his twenties. He had the compact conformation and carriage of a golfer, except for one thing — his left arm was missing. Once we dispensed with formalities, he told me his story and why he was here.

After a brief career in baseball, Nick began to apply his athletic abilities toward golf. He eventually became a club professional and was working at Lady’s Island Country Club in Beaufort, SC., when a nagging pain in his left shoulder sent him to see a doctor. At first it was thought to be a tumor that could be removed, but after the surgery, the pain persisted. The next stop was Duke University Hospital.

“That’s where I got the hard news,” he told me. “The doctor had my history and when he took one look at my arm, he said it had to come off. Cancer. I almost cracked up right there. I could see the end of my golf career. I asked him how long I might live if I refused. He told me a few months, not long.”

His last resort was renowned Memorial Hospital in New York, where cancer specialists told him the same thing. His only hope was amputation. But that wouldn’t necessarily mean the end of golf. His hope was to earn a living playing exhibitions and representing sporting goods companies.

It was here that Nick Gudzan earned his credential as the unchallenged Golf Nut of Forever.  The day before his surgery, while lying weak in a hospital bed, he made one heartfelt request of the surgeon who was scheduled to remove his arm. “Doctor”, he said, “will you postpone the surgery one day and let me go out and play one last round of two-armed golf?”

The doctor pondered a moment, parried with his man, then gave permission. The next day, Nick Gudzan went to Long Island and shot 72 on 18 holes he had never seen before – his last round of two-armed golf. There was no Golf Nut Society of America then, but if ever a man qualifies retroactively, Nick Gudzan does.

“It wasn’t as bad as you’d think,” he said. “The arm was removed Monday, I shaved myself Tuesday. Five weeks later I was back on the course and shot a 93. They took my arm, but they didn’t take my heart.”

Nick was in Atlanta hoping to set up a series of clinics and exhibitions for the American Cancer Society. He could have had his old job at Lady’s Island, but he’d have felt like a charity case. He could still play and had shot an 80 just a few days before, hitting a 527-yard green in three.

Unfortunately, he never got his chance. About six months later, the cancer that took his arm took the rest of him. Nick died January 15^th, 1955, at age 27 – leaving behind a young widow and three small children. Only man I ever met who got his doctor’s permission to play one last round of two-armed golf.

Sorry Jordan, Earl, and others, this outscores you all put together. – Furman Bisher

Fast-forward to 2022, and the continuing saga of an 18-Hole Love Affair.

Shortly after my dad’s death in 1955, I was diagnosed with having cerebral palsy and required to wear a leg brace as a youth. It was hard for me to walk. This meant sometimes being picked on at school during the early years. And sometimes being humiliated.

Such an event happened in 4^th grade that forever changed my attitude and subsequently my life. In an ironic twist of fate, it became the catalyst that kindled my love for golf and gave me hope.

I remember coming home from school that afternoon as a 10-year-old. My clothes were dirty, shirt torn, brace in hand — disheartened, mad, and crying. My mom asked, “Have you been in a fight again?” To which I replied angrily, “Yes. And I’m never going back to school. I’m tired of being picked on. After school today, a 5^th grader started making fun of me for wearing a leg brace. I took it off & beat him up. I don’t think he’ll pick on me again, but I’m never going back to school. I’m gonna be a pro golfer like my dad and Arnold Palmer.”

10-years-old, crippled, couldn’t even hit a golf ball … and I was gonna be a pro golfer like my dad.

That’s where my mom stepped in and said, “Young man, you are NOT quitting school. Your dad would not want that, and I’m certain Arnold Palmer would tell you the same thing. Maybe you should write him a letter and see what he says.”

Besides my dad, Arnold Palmer was my hero. With Dad having been from PA and being a club professional, he and Mr. Palmer were acquainted. So much so, that Mr. Palmer had put on golf exhibitions with other noted pros of the day to help my mom with medical & living expenses. Not once, but twice he wired her $5,000 as proceeds from the charity benefits. We still have the telegrams. This was 1954 & 55 – before the PGA played for big purses, before “Arnie’s Army”, before any major championships won – This was Arnold Palmer. And he was my hero. Still is. Here’s why.

You see, on that day way back in ’63, a 10-yr-old little boy who had given up, sat down in despair and wrote a letter to Mr. Palmer. Didn’t intend to mail it. Didn’t know how to mail it. But my mom found the letter and without me knowing, sent it to Mr. Palmer.

In the letter, I asked him if he would help me become a pro golfer like my dad and himself. Among other things, I let him know my plans to quit school and never go back. Arnie answered.

A few weeks later a surprise package arrived addressed to me from Arnold Palmer Enterprises. The unexpected parcel included golf balls, a personalized autographed book “Arnold Palmer’s How to Play Golf”, and a 2-page, handwritten letter from Mr. Palmer himself — to a 10-yr-old kid.

He kindly let me know that my dad would want me to stay in school. Education was more important than golf. Golf could come later. And he made a deal with me: If I would commit to staying in school, he would make a phone call to a nearby teaching pro, Earl Tinsley, in Laurens, SC, and Mr. Tinsley would teach me how to play — all for free.

I remember that first lesson from 59 years ago like it was yesterday. On the appointed day, my mom drove me to Laurens Country Club, 15 miles from home. I’d never been to a “country club”.

We couldn’t afford something like that. Mr. Tinsley was waiting for us in the parking lot. As I got out of the car, he sized me up from top to bottom and without hesitation or judgement said these words I shall never forget,

“Well little man, Mr. Palmer says to teach you how to play golf. So, by dang it, let’s get after it.”

And that began an ongoing, 60-year-plus love affair with golf. Not only did Mr. Tinsley teach me fundamentals in the beginning, and nuances for limited physical ability, he showed me kindness and respect. Something I never forgot. I outgrew my braces and adapted. Eventually I became a 2-handicap player. All because Arnold Palmer wrote a letter, made a phone call, and gave a discouraged little boy something priceless … HOPE.

Yeah, I’ve had challenges in life (don’t we all). But that day “way back when” changed my attitude and my future.

I’ve been blessed to have played great courses from Pebble Beach to St. Andrews. In 2015 while there, got to see Mr. Palmer make his last ceremonial “Champion Golfers” Open appearance. The Scots gave him heartfelt ovations after every shot. And Arnie loved them back. That was special. Also been privileged to play charity rounds with the likes of Neal Armstrong, Jim Valvano, and even an older “Spanky” from the Lil’ Rascals. That was a hoot.

Through the decades, I’ve somehow made my way to the Masters Tournament for 50 consecutive years without fail — and joyfully walked & hobbled every step of those hallowed grounds. Sometimes with my wife, our children, friends, or alone – but never really alone – the spirit of the game and memory of my dad & Mr. Palmer was always there.

Today finds me happily “semi-retired” with my wife of 41 years, abiding in Bay Springs, MS. Almost daily, you can find me playing the terrific 9-hole local course, “Bay Springs Country Club”. Imagine that. The young boy that Arnie encouraged, grew up to be a member of a Country Club. I’m a little older now with a few more aches & pains, but still with the fervor to play. Nothing better than a late afternoon match with similar-aged, knuckleheaded friends “talking smack” and playing for a buck as if it were high stakes.

Yesterday, at 70-years-old, I bought a replica of the original Ping Putter. The one Earl Tinsley taught me to play with in ‘63. Made the 1^st putt tried, heard the unforgettable “ping”, and the memories flooded back. Golf has been good to me. Life has been good to me. Still is.

And that’s why I love golf. It’s been an 18-hole love affair for life.

By God’s grace, I wouldn’t change a thing.

____________

Golf Nuts,

I have been The Head Nut for 36 years and have read and shared many amazing stories during that time, but none that topped this one for how one man’s love of the game had such a powerful, lifelong impact on someone who loved him dearly.

Nick Gudzan and his son, Richard, are now Golf Nut #4070 and #4071. God Bless them both. They are the embodiment of the Golf Nut Society and all that it represents.

The Head Nut

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