It was quite a ride from my first Masters Tournament until the last I covered personally, sometimes with a colleague, sometimes alone. The first, for the St. Pete Times, was in 1958. Arnold Palmer won it, his first, as he had that spring won the St. Pete Open. The last I covered was in 1997 for The Tampa Tribune. Also reported the first Gary Player win and the first of Jack Nicklaus. Thus, I was there when Palmer, Player and Nicklaus won seven in a row from 1961 through 1966, the Big Three Years, great golf years.

Had dinner at the Charles Coody rental on the eve of his surprise win in 1971, with Gary Brewer before his 1967 win, when he sank precisely the not-so-long putt he’d missed in 1966 to hand the Masters to Nicklaus. Dined twice on the eve of the Masters finals with Tommy Bolt. He won neither, but he was the most fun. Told me and Lauderdale buddy-writer Bill Bondurant about his bad temper experiences and occasional fights.

Good man, Bolt. Was a good friend of the Lloyd Farrentinos, founders of Pinellas golf course communities where Bolt worked. Buddies, the Bolts and Farrentinos. Bolt said he never met a man he’d never fight, if he had to. Grew up dirt poor. Had to scratch it out.

A top memory of the Masters was meeting through a pair of Carolinians, John Carter and Paul Carter, the great Tennessee Ernie Ford. Ford and buddies claimed seats along the west side of the par-3 16th, a water hole full length, from where they could see the 15th and 16th green area. Met Ford and with the Carters and my interesting friend, Leon Denton of Camp Mack on the Kissimmee River. Denton talked like Ernie Ford, only more crackery.

Denton’s car that we used at Augusta had a key in the unlocked trunk all the time with Florida citrus there inviting theft, inside hanging down, key in the ignition all the time, unlocked (glove) compartment with money in it always, and parked outside his open-door motel room with fruit, drinks there for the asking, or taking. Leon didn’t care. The Masters press parking people didn’t like Leon’s car but I had a pass for it.

Tennessee Ernie Ford and his buddies met us for dinner regularly. We had a $20 pool. They wanted in. It was rigged. The Carters, scoundrels at times but never appearing so, and we in on it had the big name players, palmed for the drawing. The Ford people drew the Jack Burles, the Ben Hogans, the Sneads, and worse. We did not tell them until later and we then drew again. Yes, Tennessee Ernie sang for us.

Arriving one morning at the Masters, when someone outside a gate called my name. It was Conrad Rehling, golf coach of the Florida Gators. Several of his players were in the tournament, but he had no ticket. Could I help? We talked. I went inside, but found nothing.

But, I saw Bob Murphy of Mulberry and Bartow, who went to Florida on a baseball scholarship, got hurt worked hard at golf and got a grant. If anyone could help, he would. Murphy took off his competitor’s badge on his hip. I took it to Rehling. Got it. Saw it all. And did not lose the badge. Nice move, eh?

The late Gene Sarazen and the late Bob Rickey helped me along the way big time at the Masters. Sarazen had great years at the Belleview Biltmore just above Clearwater, at Pasadena in St. Petersburg, and in Dunedin where the national PGA headquarters was located for a time. They should never have let it go to the lower East Coast. Never.

But Sarazen took me by the hand at Augusta National, introducing me to the bigs there, all of them. He took me daily to the dressing room of the Masters champs. Then, when the Mackles built Marco Island he took Linda and I by the hand to that great place as well, for fun, and for work. What a man. Candid to the bond. Abhorred slow players.  We played golf with him. I was slow. I was not Sarazen-fast.

And, of course, when I was writing about Calvin Peete and he won a tournament and had a gold front tooth. At Augusta, he had a buddy who came from Chicago and wanted to drive Cal up Magnolia Lane in his big, fancy car. I said I wanted to go up the lane with them in that style. I did. Cal did. Neat, too, eh?

I had written first about Cal showing up in his pink Cadillac for a satellite tournament at Buckhorn Springs, with cleats on his boots, items for sale in his trunk, and the striking gold tooth in the upper front row of his otherwise white teeth. Did a first story on Cal, a very nice man. He became a fixture in golf. Made the PGA tour.

When he won a tournament, I told him I told him I thought the tooth had served its purpose. He agreed. It was removed. Cal Pete has a place in everybody’s golf history.

That’s about enough. And we didn’t mention stalking Lee Trevino at the Masters when he dressed in the parking lot throughout. Did not mention Cajun Martinis, a Lakeland Masters Crowd original. And playing the course several times, including several from a cart with Jim Garner, or taking a 10 on No. 12, or shooting a best of 88, once with Ed Rood.

Or when Art Pepin hit one in the john at No. 18. He played the lie. I won the hole. Did not mention Carey Middlecoff so long ago hitting practice balls, he told me, and asked his caddy for his name. The caddy answered “Poe, sir.”

Middlecoff asked the caddy if he were any relation to Edgar Allen Poe.

The caddy said, Middlecoff reported, “I am Edgar Allen Poe.”

And he was, said Middlecoff, after checking the caddy’s badge.

Babaloo, Augusta, and thanks Leon Denton and Gene Sarazen.