In 1958 I was a sportswriter with the St. Petersburg Times with golf a beat, sort of. I ghosted a golf column for a gentleman of the sport, Bill Cody, who reported for us through young, yes, young writers, like me. That winter-spring Arnold Palmer was a bright young pro who came to play in the $12,500 St. Pete Open, a tour stop.

I covered the Open and got to know Palmer and wife Winnie wife pretty good, since the event was lightly covered, beyond the Associated Press, United Press and those writers left over from spring training, and Tampa Bay newsfolk, of whom there weren’t that many back then.

Palmer won the St. Pete tournament.

With The Masters just ahead. I got the Times to send me to cover it, saying I had a free room with syndicated strip cartoonist Wally Bishop, and a ride up and back with Ted LeCompte, a guru for golfers, and I had credentials. I did.

I did not add that the Temple Terrace guru of the time, Ted LeCompte, said I should ride up and back with him, and I knew I could put a mattress in the room of Bishop, who lived in fancy digs on Snell Isle, and drew Muggs and Skeeter. Wouldn’t cost the paper much, and well, well, okay, boss Tom Harris, said, but cautioned, “Eat cheap.” I said I could eat at the Masters two meals in the press room - free donuts, then egg salad and pimento cheese sandwiches to capacity. I was going to cover The Masters. It was a big deal. Meet people. Make a place at Augusta. Set a precedent. 

Now, my first biggie lay ahead. Mick Elliott’s future lay ahead, though I did not know him at the time. I was going to The Masters and I would never stop going, until I retired, but then others could go, and they did, and provide the personal reports our readers deserved.

Drove up with LeCompte. Found cartoonist Bishop. Sure, came on to the place I am staying. I knew it, but I wanted him to say it, “The Vanderbilt Bonaire, the big white hotel on the hill in downtown Augusta.” It was where the lead players and bigshots stayed.

I would sleep on the floor, but on a mattress. Who cared? Bishop treated me great. The Bonaire? Well, it was old. It is older and, I believe, a rest home now.  Not then. It was lively and the center for Masters social affairs. I made friends and got rooms there for a time later, until it began to go down. The last time I stayed there, my room door was always ajar, broken.  But, I slept in a bed that tournament. 

I covered the Masters for St. Pete, came to the late Tampa Times in 1958 as sports editor, covered the Masters for the Times until I moved to the Tribune and covered the event until I retired, after introducing Mick Elliott of our staff to the beat, which he adores.

You cannot fight it. You must give in to its enchantment. It captivates. Makes you work your hardest and best. You ate at the best, saw and reported the best, against the best of our writing lot. Our papers generally have agreed, now. I didn’t sleep on the floor anymore. Got a deal at Horne’s Motel, then another upscale tourist court, that had food.

Masters fans, during the tournament, get up, have breakfast, go to the course, eat the pimento or egg salad sandwiches, languish in the grandeur of Augusta National and grab a spot, put down their claiming chair no one will move, walk the course so you can tell everybody about it all. Nothing in golf like it. Nothing.

I began buying two season tickets years ago when you could.  Got this letter sometime back saying I could buy two more for my eldest son, if I wished, or have him do this and that. Well, Rick did and now he has his own. Now, if he has had to sleep on the floor somewhere, that’s his problem.