February 13, 1976
Our basketball season ended on a high note, with a victory at home over Monroe. Well, for us guys on the JV, that is. The varsity lost again, putting an end on what had been a very difficult season. As would happen for just about everything in 1976, I was not at my best. I lacked confidence and I didn't have my head on straight. Maybe that's typical for a kid who's about to turn 16.
Meanwhile, people thought we were millionaires. We lived in one of the nicest new homes in Harpland, and Dad was an attorney. I remember a guy telling me he heard our house had an elevator that went from the top floor to the basement. I don't know, maybe we were rich. But it didn't feel like it to me.
July 3, 1976
My first job was as a dishwasher at a truck stop on the outskirts of Franklin. I don't think it's possible to tell you how many different ways and how intensely I hated that job. For starters, have you ever tried to scrape liver and onions out of burnt pan? Yeah, do that three times a week and see if your lungs are still operational. But worse yet was my boss, a white-shoes-wearing, Elvis-glasses-sporting drunk who had no managerial skill other than to yell at people like he was a hotshot.
I hoped I would never have a job this bad again. I theorized it was not possible. I had literally started at the absolute bottom.
...
July 30, 1976
A few days after my 16th birthday, I got my driver's license. To top it off, that gave me the freedom to drive to my orthodontist appointment that afternoon. And then to make the day extra special, Dr. Gallagher said, "I think today's the day those braces are coming off."
Okay, so there was that one shining moment for the summer, I guess.
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September 25, 1976
I started the golf season playing poorly. Then I made things worse by trying harder. And then I made it even worse than that by thinking way too much about what I was doing and how I should make it better.
So I did something I had never done before -- I took a lesson. I had money, of course, because of my absolutely horrible job, so I used $30.00 to take a lesson from an old guy at Brown's Run Country Club, someone who was reputed to be "the best."
So I got there a half-hour early. I was hitting balls when the guy strolled up. He watched for a few minutes without saying anything. I was hoping he would see a little tweak that would help me, then I would be on my way to a better golf game, instantly breaking par because of his one thought.
"Son, I'd like to help you, but you need more than what I can offer in half an hour."
What was happening, most of all, was I was learning to hit a golf ball using the overlap grip, something Tom Bonny had showed me over the summer. As is often the case with a change (as I would come to know years later), things gets worse before they get better, but no one told me that.
Eventually, I came around, and during our last match of the season against Edgewood at Weatherwax, I shot 39 on Meadows with the Bee Gee's tune, "Nights on Broadway," in my head the whole night.
December 3, 1976
