I finished reading Hewitt’s Blog the day after I got it, and have looked through it again several times since. I also finished Ben Hogan, and have picked up two replacements. I have read much of Theodore Rex before, but need to start again at the beginning. I set it aside a while back for some other things I needed to read first. I also will go through Golf, As it was in the Beginning, which I’ve only perused on Christmas Day when I received it from Bogey and his lovely bride.
Hewitt’s book is well worth reading for a good overview of the blog medium and its past and future impact. The book on Hogan, however, I wouldn’t recommend to anyone who isn’t a golf or Hogan fan.
It isn’t well-written. It seems to jump around far too much, and I had difficulty following all the names. The chronology left me confused far too often. Having said that, if you are interested in Ben Hogan and his accomplishments, this book is the most detailed I’ve seen.
But the thing that kept me going was something that would mean little to most. The descriptions of Fort Worth, and many of the places I know. Last year I played Glen Garden, the course where both Hogan and Byron Nelson began their golf careers as caddies. When I was younger, I couldn’t play it because the course was still a closed club. I was fortunate the day I went out because it was windy and cool, and I played eighteen all alone just enjoying the atmosphere and history.
In high school I spent much of my free time at Shady Oaks Country Club which Hogan and Marvin Leonard built as a refuge even from Colonial. I caddied, waited and bussed tables, parked cars, and did janitorial work when school was out. All of the club’s menus were handwritten rather than sent to a printer. I know because I did all the scribing. I did about 500 of the same one once when there was a reception for Pearl Mesta, “The Hostess with the Mostest”. I did a lot of them during home room, and my home room teacher was the Home Ec teacher and asked for one as a souvenir. I didn’t even know who Pearl Mesta was.
I spent many hours at the club, and many of those memories floated back into my consciousness as I read of Hogan’s last years. I still remember Art Hall, the club Pro, and many other people who worked there and are mentioned in the book. Marvin Leonard, a Fort Worth legend, was getting old then, and usually came with his daughter Marty and her husband. Marty Griffith was an excellent golfer, and I sometimes caddied for someone in their group.
I only saw Mr. Hogan hit balls once while I was there. He usually walked the course alone with his regular caddie. I remember distinctly him hitting two tee shots on the tenth hole. The two balls finished in the fairway no more than two feet apart. No accident.
I also remember his table in the men’s grill. Yes, it was his table, and nobody ever sat there unless he was at the table and invited them to join him. Most of the time the table was vacant, even when the others were all occupied. As I said, it was his table.
The mind is an amazing thing in how such long-ago visions can return. The book made me almost homesick.
