MY DAY AT THE MASTERS – Jim Whittemore (Nut #1746)

Hey Nuts, this is without a doubt, one of my all-time favorite stories about one of your peers. Enjoy! – The Head Nut

When I got a last minute call from Dave Lobeck, President & COO of Fuzzy Zoeller Productions, inviting me to the 2000 Masters I shook it off as being too last minute, can’t do it, got too much on my plate and every other excuse I could think of. The guilt pangs lasted for about three minutes. I called him back and said O.K., I’m there. Dave’s response was, “Get your ass to Louisville Sunday and we’ll fly down on Bogie Bird.”

How good was this?  Three days at the Masters with Fuzzy, who I had befriended sixteen years ago as his host at The Fred Meyer Challenge Pro-Am at Astoria Country Club. Dave and I had become good friends since the day he started running Fuzzy’s company.

Since that summer of ’86, suffice it to say that Fuzzy and I have shared a lot of laughs, a few tears, and a gentlemanly amount of barleycorn. He has been there for me throughout Amateur qualifiers, (“Quit lookin’ at the scoreboard, Whittemore.”) and proudly, I for him. A great friendship has endured through it all.

My brother-in-law, Craig Honeyman, and I took the red-eye to Louisville via DFW and checked into a downtown hotel to freshen up and grab a bite to eat. Lobeck picked us up and 10 minutes later we were loading luggage on Bogey Bird.

We were met at the airport and taken to the course to pick up Fuzzy’s courtesy car. Augusta National met us with a larger than normal vehicle to stop by the course (notice how natural this is sounding) and pick up our courtesy car. Fuzzy knows I am in seventh heaven and asks the driver to take us down Magnolia Lane, not the back entrance. I’ve died and gone to heaven. This is it. The Holy Grail.

We pick up the car, get settled in at the house, and then head to T-Bones for dinner. I couldn’t pay the check fast enough. Traveling with Fuzzy, you’ve got to stay a step ahead. His generosity has no limits. I gave my credit card to the hostess when we arrived and I told her in no uncertain terms, I am buying dinner. A twenty-dollar bill sealed the deal.

The next day, Monday, I got my first look at the Shrine. But Fuzzy, as usual, had something up his sleeve. As we were walking toward the front door of the clubhouse, Fuzzy said, “Hey Whitts, come with me. Guys, we’ll see you in a bit”.

I have no idea where we’re going. Then he asked, “Want some breakfast?”  

“Sure,” I said or some other unintelligible acknowledgement. Next thing I know he was leading me upstairs to the Champions locker room. We sat down with Craig Stadler and his brother and had a very relaxing 45-minute breakfast. We didn’t talk golf, but bird hunting. What else do you talk about with two Masters Champions in the most exclusive locker room in the world?  Made sense to me.  Of course, I ordered basted eggs, which according to Brandel Chamblee are the specialty of the house. And that they were.

Magnolia Lane. Champions Locker Room. The inside of the Clubhouse, for God’s sake. And I still hadn’t seen the golf course. We finished breakfast, Fuzzy signed a few flags, changed his shoes and we headed to the practice tee.

How’s my day going?

I was determined to photograph every hole at Augusta. Eighty exposures later, mission accomplished. The galleries – excuse me, the patrons–at Augusta are the kindest, most polite and knowledgeable anywhere. I have managed my share of professional golf tournaments and these are the most gracious people I have ever met. Many times throughout the day I would ask to get a shot, and these people would part the waters, especially when they found out it was my first visit to Augusta.

As we were making the turn, I heard Fuzzy on the 10th tee yell to Lobeck. “Where’s Whittemore? Make sure he goes down the right side of the fairway, not the left”.

The previous night Fuzzy remarked that the 10th at Augusta is the most beautiful hole in golf. And he played it like he loves it. He blew his tee shot past Herron, Huston and Daly. Not bad for an ol’ man.

Television does not do it justice. It is that spectacular.  A huge golf hole.  Honeyman and I made our way down 10, over the hill on 11 and finally to the 12th tee. I could not believe the amount of ground this little par-3 consumed. The expanse of land at Augusta is still hard to fathom, but the 12th  hole is one of the biggest par-3s in the world.

Bleachers and grass seating can accommodate more than 10,000 patrons; on a Par 3 no less. Absolutely breathtaking. As the group leisurely made its way over from the 11th green I was frantically taking pictures of the 12th hole. Long lens, wide angle, the whole thing.

Then I got a shot of Fuzzy walking up to the tee. How he picked me out of 10,000 people, I’ll never know.

I finally heard,  “Hey Whittemore get down here.”

I froze. This isn’t happening. I motion to Fuzzy and sort of wave him off and move back up to my seat on the grass. He calls out again and then the crowd gets into it. They were egging me on. No choice. I moved through the crowd, down the bank and under the ropes.  Fuzzy bent over and teed up a ball. “OK, pardsie, let’s see what you got.”

This is perfect. I’ve been challenged by the “master” to tee it up in front of 10,000 people on the hardest par-3 in all of golf. The shakes begin. And then I don’t know what took over. Was it divine intervention, or Mom and Dad looking down from their celestial balcony? I calmly walked over to his bag, pulled out a 7-iron and started making practice swings. Then I had the gall to pull his glove out of his back pocket and put it on. Why not?

Bernhard Langer was up on the green practicing for what seemed like an eternity. Fuzzy was motioning to the crowd, pointing to the right with a slow waving motion. All the while, a guy in the crowd was capturing everything on video. Yes, this entire slow motion, out of body experience was being permanently recorded.

Finally, Langer finished and Fuzzy stepped back. In his loudest voice announces: “Ladies and gentlemen, from Portland, Oregon, Jim Whittemore”.  Herron, Huston and Daly couldn’t believe their eyes.

I had taken a few practice swings and was now really concerned if I could even get it airborne. Then it started. My hands started shaking. And I mean shaking.  They were shaking so bad I heard Fuzzy’s caddie clearly say, “My God.  Look at that.  He can’t take it back.”

And at that moment, somehow I got the club back, hit it as hard as I could and actually walked through the shot. It got it airborne all right, and I heard a bit of crowd swell behind me. The ball was in the air and actually heading for the green. The crowd was on its feet and starting to cheer as it came down. The ball landed on the green about 20 feet from the hole. And there was no other way to say it. They went wild. They told me later it was the loudest cheer of the day.

Fuzzy clapped, threw his head back and laughed that hearty laugh. Huston came over and gave me a hug. And there was Daly with the high fives and the biggest grin since Crooked Stick. Eric, Fuzzy’s caddy, wrapped his arms around me and had to help me take the glove off; my hands were shaking so bad. Fuzzy gave me a kick in the pants and I headed back to my seat.

The rest of the day was a blur. The congratulations and “attaboys” were non-stop. People being so nice, saying hello, shaking my hand, even taking pictures. And it was all for one swing on the greatest hole in golf.

When the day was over. We headed home and changed for dinner. As we loaded up in the courtesy car, Phil Lobeck, Dave’s brother, came around to the side door and saw me sitting by the window. Even though I was still in a fog, nobody ever wants to sit in the middle seat, right?  He gave me one look and said, “Move over dammit. You’ve had a pretty good day.”  I gladly sat in the middle. I played the 12th hole at Augusta.

Thanks, Fuz.

For my money, that is one of the greatest moments in amateur golf history. And I mean it. I’m not talking about the “professional amateurs”, but real amateurs. Guys like you and me who work for a living and play golf for the love of the game. If you’d like to see the video of this historic moment, CLICK HERE.

The Head Nut

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