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Aeschylus would have been proud

It’s been three weeks since the jolt came about my golf club closing.  Enough time for some of the film to develop.  Enough time for some prospecting for a new course.  Enough time to get really, really mad and then cool down.  And, enough time to realize I had witnessed a Greek tragedy up close and personal.

On Monday, December 1′st the course was open and running when the CPA for the course entered the Pro Shop at nine in the morning and declared that it was closing immediately.  The Assistant Pro looked up to see a locksmith changing the locks on the front door.  People on the course were allowed to finish their rounds.  Staff members not at the course were called at home and told not to report to work.  The Head Pro was told to e-mail the members that the course was closing and told to leave with two-weeks of severance.

By Friday, the course was stripped.  All the markers, driving range dividers, everything…gone.  There was a four-hour period to buy out the pro shop.  70% off of everything.  No special consideration for members.  There were 50 people there.  I recognized, maybe, five or six.  Seagulls swooping in for cheap gear.  It was a sad chore to stay there and witness it.  I waited in line for an hour and a half to buy a few things…mostly logo items.  The whole time, this gorgeous course, in pristine shape, and full of memories was right outside the window.  On the porch was the maintenance crew.  The Superintendent was being retained to mow the grass at turf height through June so that it didn’t turn back into a field.  He was hugging his folks one-by-one.  I remember the smile on the face of his Assistant.  They had done a great job over the years.  And, they had just finished a tough chore in stripping the course.  It was the last time I’d ever see the Assistant.  He passed away four days later from a heart attack.

Since then, they’ve sold off all the equipment, carts, tables…you name it.   A General Manager at one club told me that if I joined, I’d recognize the yardage plates.  He had bought them from my old course.  Nothing left behind.  Not even the lights in the parking lot.

The great Greek Tragedy playwrights would have nodded in appreciation.  Sophocles, Euripides, and Aeschylus would have been hard-pressed to do better.

Life moves on, however.  The search for a new course continues…

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