Links love lost — the pass­ing of a golf paramour

Times Chronicle & Public Spirit - - NEWS -

To the Ed­i­tor:

A golfer’s love af­fair with a golf course is a very per­sonal thing, and decades of dal­liances take on even greater mean­ing when the end is near. Soon, an­other course will dis­ap­pear in fa­vor of so-called de­vel­op­ment. The par­tic­u­lar paramour of which I speak is Limekiln Golf Club in Hor­sham Town­ship.

“What forms such a ro­mance?’”a non-golfer might ask. Mem­o­rable shots? Mem­o­rable holes? Mem­o­rable rounds? Yes, yes and yes. But also mem­o­rable ex­pe­ri­ences such as the one at dusk in Au­gust 1981. It oc­curred on the erst­while eighth hole, where a lake bor­ders the left side of the medium-length dog­leg-left par 4. I hit a de­cent drive, but it bounded left off the slanted fair­way into the wa­ter. Un­fair, I thought, es­pe­cially since it was my last ball. Off came the shoes and socks; in I went. The arches of both feet found trea­sure with vir­tu­ally ev­ery other step be­neath the brown­ish sed­i­ment of the lakebed.

About an hour later, I la­bo­ri­ously dragged my golf bag to the park­ing lot where moon­light re­vealed mine was the only car left. Pre­vi­ously sub­merged golf balls oc­cu­pied ev­ery pocket of my pants and golf bag. My tucked-in shirt con­tained dozens, form­ing a tem­po­rary saggy beer gut. I even jammed balls in­side the club com­part­ment of my golf bag, wedged around 14 steel shafts.

If you meet my dad in heaven some­day, he’ll ver­ify my ball haul, which num­bered over 400 and in­cluded, among prized Titleists and Top Flites, brands that have since gone the way of the di­nosaur: Dot, KroFlite, Tom Cat, et al.

Limekiln was also the scene of my two best scores: 73 and 75. Rounds with my dad, rounds with friends, pickup rounds with strangers and sneak-out-of-work twi­light solo rounds all form the tapestry of my ro­man­tic rec­ol­lec­tions with this course.

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