Commentary: Living on a golf course once again, and happy as heck to be there

By BEN OLSON/For The Herald — Sarah Norcliffe Cleghorn’s most famous poem was about golf.

“The golf links lie so near the mill

that almost every day

the laboring children can look out

and see the men at play”

She wrote that in 1914, when children indeed did work in the mills and only the well-to-do had the time and money to play a leisurely game of golf.

I grew up on a golf course. Our house was on a hill to the left of the 4th fairway, about even with the green. The hole was a par 4, but only measured out at 260 yards. Left-handed slicers and right-handed pullers routinely pelted our place with errant drives, breaking a window or 2 every year.

My earliest and fondest memories are about that 40 acres that they mowed and maintained just for me and my brothers. When the course wasn’t busy, which was most of the time, my brother Paul and I would play a quick 27- 3 laps around the par 33 course. I do mean quick. If there were no other golfers impeding our way, we could get around 9 holes in about 45 minutes. Needless to say, we didn’t waste much time deliberating over strategy or lining up putts- we knew those greens like the back of our hands.  We supplemented our meager incomes by selling lemonade to golfers on warm summer days and did quite well selling golf balls that we found in the woods on the black market, getting up to 50 cents for a ball that had only been hit once.

I maintained my love of the game all these years. I played on my high school golf team for four years and did pretty good with my consistent, yet bad swing. Wisconsin is scattered with numerous and inexpensive courses and my cronies and I loved to take road trips to some of the more scenic and challenging tracks. I could write a book about the antics that took place on those outings. Over the years I’ve worked in different aspects of the golf business, doing everything from working as a starter and ranger to setting the pins and mowing everything that needed to be mowed. I ran a driving range for a summer and spent 5 seasons as a rep for Wilson Staff doing golf club demos around the state.

Nine years ago I had some health issues and, following surgery, my wife and I moved to Florida, a place with lots of golf courses. I have not played a round of golf since. The few public courses that I could get on there were ridiculously expensive and generally took 6 hours to play. That was not my idea of a good time. I took to walking on the beach in the mornings and never had to get a tee time or wait interminably for the foursome in front of me to get off the green. I hadn’t really quit golfing — I was just on hiatus.

This summer my wife and I found a little home just outside of Oakridge that seemed like everything we were looking for, and it just so happens to be on the only golf course in a 40-mile radius. I couldn’t be happier about, once again, looking out my window at all this greenery. From what I can see, most of these golfers are the salt of the earth, the kind of guys that used to work in the mill. I’ve still got my old set of Wilsons and I’m looking forward to being a golfer again.

Oakridge musician Ben Olson, entertainment editor and columnist for The Herald, can be reached by email at [email protected]