Results matching “golf”

article / nut tree inn / father-son tournament / like father like son / my father's life / things in common / yellow rose of texas / other thoughts / dad, i will miss you / last signature / final resting place / dream

They say that when the father passes away he not only takes a piece of his son with him but he also leaves a piece of himself within his son. This is very true. Here are just a few items to remember my dear father by, which is very important for me.

Article

The following announcement appeared in the obituary section of the Monterey Tribune newspaper:

Nut Tree Inn

When I was a little kid, my Dad and I stopped at the Nut Tree Inn just outside of Stockton. After a short break during our long ride to who knows where, we took a picture in one of those photo booths. You can see the result here to the left. I am only four years old. I had this rash on my chin all the time, because I tended to slobber alot. So it is in the year 1961 I think. That means that in the picture my father was as old as I am now. I am younger than all of my children now. Strange, isn't it? To the right I am sixteen at the same place. We've changed a little, but not that much, I think.

My Dad and I way back in 1961.

Very same place 12 years later.

Father-son tournament

One of my favorite memories is when we won the Father-Son Tournament at Corral de Tierra, way back in 1973, I think it was.

We were quite an amazing twosome, playing our best round ever. We were a foursome with Bill Chapman and his father who came in a close second place.

Here to the left is an old yellowing article which I have saved and still cherish to this very day.

Dad used to refer to me on the links as his "sweet swatter" and at home simply as his "buddy."

Those sure were the good old days, were they not?

Like father like son

Like father son, the saying goes. There are many things that I currently do with my own children that my father often/sometimes did with me, namely the following:

• While driving the car and if they are in the passengers seat next to me, pinching their left knee between forefinger and thumb, until they giggle aloud for me to stop it.
• Burying my nose in their hair and smelling the sweet, youthful freshness with a deep breath.
• Taking long walks with one or the other.
• Kissing them on the lips, a bit too juicy and wet.
• Running my fingers through their hair, scratching and massaging their scalps lovingly.
• Saying: Want a Hertz Donut? Then slugging the boys' shoulder, and then replying with: Hurts don't it?
• Giving them a so-called Indian Burn.
• Calling the two boys my Big (Lennart) and my Little (Maarten) Buddies.
• Every Sunday is trash day, and I wander all through the house to empty all of the trash cans. If someone decides to toss even a small wad of paper in a trash can I have just emptied, I can become quite irritated.
• Trading punches to see who is the strongest.
• Hugging the kids tightly which feels really good.

"Life is a great surprise. I don't see why death should not be an even greater one." – Vladimir Nabokov.

My father's life

My Dad was a practicing anesthesiologist in Salinas.

Now that my father has passed away, it is not my intention to glorify him with exaggerated zeal. My fathers life was not very easy at all. He was not very often happy, and for some reason his depressions ruled his life to a great degree. Perhaps it was his youth, the war experiences, a chemical imbalance, the way he was, or a complicated combination of all of the above which made him how he was. He complained alot about life and whenever the slightest thing went wrong he accused the world out loud of always being against him. He cussed, growled and grumbled. He was fixated on neatness, so impatient that he could not wait a minute, and he was so honest at times to be rude. As a kid you are by nature embarrassed by your parents, and certainly things seem worse than they really were. Now that I am older I realize this. He did have a very positive side to him, and that is how I would also like to remember him. He was emotional, loved his children greatly, was very giving. He always worked hard, even when he was feeling depressed. In his own words, he would "drag" himself out of bed to go to work. He was actually proud. He gave away his money freely. During the last years of his life he never let me forget that he was proud of me. It could have all been different, but it wasn't. Otherwise, I would not have become the person I am today.

My father blessed me by giving me life, and now I must carry that precious flame into the future, eventually passing it onto my own children.

Things in common

I have acquired a number of traits from my father, things that as I grow older become eerily common. Below is a brief list of those endless twists of personality, intelligence and spirituality, both positive as well as negative:

• Keep track of things in the past, remembering important dates, either historical events are just things that have happened in my life. Exactly 10 years ago to this day...
• Very emotional about my children, films and music.
• Getting bald, though at an older age and much slower. Honestly do not care one bit. That is how I am.
• Find it very important to be well off, support my family, have a house and a big, comfortable car.
• Drink too much black coffee, pure and unadulterated, the stronger the better.
• Impatient with work, getting bored too quickly, and looking for new challenges.
• Very persevering, often almost to an extreme.
• Do not drink or smoke.
• Impatient, wanting to go.
• Talking (whispering) out loud to myself without realizing it, because there are so many rampant thoughts going around in my mind which require some form of release.
• Fixated on things that have to be done immediately and impatient when this cannot be realised.
• Cannot resist chocolate, peanuts and fatty foods.
• An interest in Eastern philosophy combined with a tendency to be too critical about Western civilization.
• Save everything which I cannot ever throw away, like souvenirs, old clothes and shoes, letters or pictures, things my kids have made for me, a notes from Thea when I first met her.
• Super neat, fixated on goals and impatient until the next objective in life has been acquired, be it finishing a project, book, or just driving some place.
• Slurping my coffee or soup loudly, and then sighing with obstreperous enjoyment. This helps me release energy.
• Love to go to the movie theater, but also watch the old black-and-white films on the television.
• Patriotic and truly American in my blood.
• Ad infinitum...

Yellow rose of Texas

My father's favorite tune was the Yellow Rose of Texas, perhaps because of its roots to the Civil War, his patriotic feeling or even his love of that state -- even if he was born in Lawrence, Kansas.

Other thoughts

The following excerpts are taken from a recent response of mine to an email I received from a kind person who was experiencing similar thoughts and feelings concerning the death of a father (who also happened to be a WWII veteran). I have included parts of the email with the person's express permission, in the hopes that the inspirational thoughts can someday help others in similar circumstances. Where appropriate I have taken the liberty to paraphrase certain sentences.

"One could say that after the war my father remained a miserable person, often depressed about life, and I am convinced that the war was not good for him. Certainly from birth, I feel he had these propensities towards depression and paranoia, but the war made them ten times worse than they should have been. The ironic thing is that he kept it all inside of him, and rarely spoke about them. Never any details, just things like how he saw many fine young men my age get killed, about the japs, the ship he was on, general stuff like that."

"When I was little I was of course very curious, asking questions like what did dead people look like, had he ever killed anyone (no he was a doctor, even saving the life of a Japanese prisoner once, see here), but he never ever answered me beyond a brief yes or a no. I felt really bad about this. I wanted to know so much more, and I hoped that by talking with him, I could make him feel better about life. Why didn't he tell me? This is difficult for a child to understand, and with ignorance comes self-doubt. When my father got all depressed again, lay in bed or went to some hospital for recovery, I thought I could really help him. I wondered if maybe I too was a cause of all this, my inability to reach out and understand him. I spent many waking hours at night figuring out ways to accomplish this, but they never worked. Because of the 'failure' of mine I began to entertain feelings of guilt. These guilt feelings grew and grew, eventually helping to result in my very own devastating depression a few years back."

"As my father got older, I thought that it would be nice to talk to him before he died, get all these pent-up feelings straightened out. It never happened. There were enough opportunities, but it never happened. My poor father just did not want to talk about these awful memories and there was absolutely nothing I could do about them. I had to learn to accept this, release myself from this suffering of my father and let it be. I had my own life, and I realized that it was up to me as the oldest son to carry the torch he had sacrificed to me by going to war and all. He had also sacrificed a part of his soul not only for the freedom of others, but also to return home and create the wonder called you."

"When my father lay on his deathbed, I felt terrible. Really really terrible. The rest of my family had been pained by his misery for too many years, and they felt more relieved to get him out of their lives. This made me feel even worse. Now it would never happen, me having that miracle talk. Even if I had learned to accept the fact that I could never help him, death is pretty definite. Literally as well as symbolically my chance would be gone forever. But he wanted to die. He had repeated it endlessly years on end that he just wanted to die, that he did not deserve to live, that the world was a terrible place, that sort of thing. This was the moment we had all been waiting for, the moment he had always strived towards."

"... at the same time I knew he loved us very, very much. He had done alot of things with us and had done his best to make our lives worthwhile. I think he saw hope in the world through his children. The very last phone calls I had with him before he got sick, he would end the conversations with 'I love you all very much.' This seemed out of the blue for me, and I was a little caught off guard as I was not used to him being this way. Now I know why. For three years he had known he had cancer of the rectum, and he had hidden this secret from us that he would be dying soon."

"So when I heard that he had been operated on and that things didn't look good, I flew as quickly as I could to be by his side. After traveling nearly twenty-four hours in desperation and not knowing if I would arrive in time or not, I finally made it to the hospital in the middle of the night. I had a big cry, sobbing, feeling sorry for myself. My father opened his eyes and saw me, raised his head and tried to speak. He couldn't say anything because there was this big breathing tube jammed down his throat. He gagged and struggled because there was something really important to tell me. But he could not tell me. I saw it in his eyes and the way he struggled. At first I panicked and was ready to rip that stupid tube free so that I could hear the answer. I just told him to relax, there would be enough time later to talk. That never happened. Of course after he died I felt guilt again, like I should have been there earlier when he could talk. But I have this feeling that it was nothing deeply philosophical, nothing more than a 'I love you' or something, definitely not the answer to all my questions, or the perennial answer to everything."

"This was a very symbolic event for me. My whole life I had wanted answers in normal situations, but they never came. Then just before he died the chance arose, but there was a breathing tube in his throat. He wanted to talk but couldn't. The truth of the matter was it was never meant to happen. I could shed my feeling of guilt and regret now, with the knowledge that there would be a day when I too would die. Then I could talk with my father in peace and all the answers would be revealed. Now, that was something to look forward to, prepare the rest of my life for, make up for the shortcomings of the past, a miracle chance showered down upon me from the almighty God."

Dad, I will miss you

This is how I remember my Dad, playing golf with him in Hawaii in August 1970.

Dearest Dad,

I will miss you so very very much. The end came swifter than anyone could have suspected, but the time was always meant to be. Some day I too will wake up from this life of dreams. Then we will at last sit together again like the good old days, catch up on lost time, and finally exchange those things in the end we never had a chance to share. I love you Dad, and I will always remember you with a loving heart.

Your son,
Kiffin

October 22, 2000.

Last signature

Signature from Dad's very last letter to me, 18 September 2000.

Final resting place

On April 19th 2001 my father's ashes were put to rest at the Arlington National Cemetery during an honorable ceremony. The following excerpt from my mother's email describes the occasion quite well.

The dream

The death of a person close to you will affect you both emotionally and subconsciously. The emotional part you are aware of since you experience extreme sadness and there's an empty feeling inside. The subconscious part is a bit trickier and often comes to light through your dreams. Here's a dream about my Dad which illustrates that point.

I was rushing to be on time for my tee off slot at 13:58 when I got a telephone call from the caddy master. He told me that I was late for my flight which was ready to tee off at 13:18. What?! That's in just six minutes. They had shifted the times around because of various cancellations and my time had been rescheduled. I rushed inside and changed clothes as fast as I could. Completely out of breath, I ran to the tee box. Don't worry, we put you on the later flight at 13:36, so you have time to catch your breath and settle down. Not enough time to hit any balls just a few quick putts to get a rough feel of the greens, that was it. I was going to play and that was all that mattered to me.

What seemed to be a hectic start turned out to be a fantastic round of golf. Golf is so unpredictable that way. You arrive early and hit a couple buckets of balls perfectly, but once on the course it's a different story. Other times I hit balls and half of them are shanks, but the score at the end of the day is much better than expected. This time around I was in the zone, fresh from work with no chance to stretch or prepare myself mentally. I hit almost every ball down the middle of the fairway, my irons stuck close to the flag or just off the green for an easy chip and one putt, I felt very confident. Great stuff. Too bad I had a double-bogie five on that easy par three. Can't have everything.

Turns out that I not only made the cut and qualified for the weekend tournament, but amazingly I had the lowest score of all and placed first for the morning round, five strokes ahead of the nearest competitor. A good feeling. Now I am that new unknown American guy who torched their course, getting to be the talk of the town. This means some extra pressure to perform in public and amaze my fans by playing another stellar round.

Thanks to this lucky day my handicap plummeted to a 4.2 which is the lowest handicap I've ever had since my teenager years.

If things don't go according to plan and I choke or have a bad day or just miss out on the following cut, who cares. It was fun while it lasted and a great feeling I will remember with fondness. We'll see what happens, fingers crossed.

Qualification round results

Unfortunately, although I kept qualifying for the next round, my scores became steadily worse. I survived all the way to the final round on Sunday afternoon and came in at a respectable nineteenth place. I felt gung-ho this morning and got up extra early to hit balls on the driving range and focus on my putting, but so much golf in the last week (five rounds total) took its toll in the end. I'm not as young as I used to be, and the first part of my game that started to get worse was my general control of the ball and estimating distances to the green. Bad drives, lots of sand traps, lousy putts and a couple fluffed chips.

Final scores were: 74+76+80=230. All in all I feel honored to have been able to complete this fine tournament, better luck next year.

The longest day of the year is June 21st. This day is officially known as the summer solstice. With so many extra hours of sunlight, it is the ideal day for a golfing marathon. For the true golf fanatics among us, it's a good enough excuse to take up the challenge of completing three rounds of golf within a single day. That's no less than fifty-four holes. For me, this is something that I haven't done since the good old days when I was a healthy and energetic golfing Californian boy. For the others, a seemingly impossible challenge ready to tackle.

That is how the first annual Zduhac 54 hole marathon was born: a truly historical moment in golfing history. We were a part of this fantastic event, a proud moment to share with the world. Now is our biggest chance to become famous.

We started at the crack of dawn and we were unbelievably enthusiastic about embarking together on such an exciting adventure. The first drives were all down the middle, with many drives to come. Would we survive, could our aging and feeble bodies handle such extremes, how about the mental stress dealing with so much pressure? Turn the clock fast forward. Nearly fifteen hours later and we somehow managed to finish just before the sun went down. From 7:00am until 9:30pm, we golfed and golfed, and when we started getting tired we simply golfed some more, only taking two short breaks between the rounds for a quick lunch and dinner.

We made a fun and relaxing tournament out of it, keeping to the fine spirit of golf. Sport for gentlemen, the thinking man's sport. For the sake of competition and making it kind of official, we kept score (gross and net scores, most birdies and sandies, fewest putts, skins, etc). In the end, there was a designated overall champion. Congratulations to Eric van Mieghem. However, by simply completing this enormous task at our age, we were all winners in the end.

Final hole teebox (almost done).

Finished at last.

Let's forget about the next two days when we could barely stand up any more, let alone bend down to tie our shoes. Our vertebrae seemed to be glued together; the bottoms of our feet were badly bruised. True challenges to prove ones manhood and virility are not without risks, frustrations and much mental as well as physical pain.

For the sake of the history books and all those curious readers, the fearsome foursome consisted of the following fantastic golfers, in order of the net scores: 1st - Eric van Mieghem (221), 2nd - Bernhard Kordic (235), 3rd - Kiffin Gish (242), 4th - Michael Pentowski (249).

Hopefully this fine event will live on in as a proud golfing tradition, maybe even becoming a famous golf tournament someday. Next year I hope to enlist more enthusiastic and crazy golfers to join in our noble cause. For sure, the four of us will be there again.

I was hoping to play better during the club championship this year. The feeling was that slowly but surely I was reaching an optimum performance, peaking out at the right moment in time. Last week I had some really good practice rounds and I was mentally fit. I was hitting the ball very cleanly and felt confident with my putting.

Unfortunately, playing under pressure in an important tournament is a whole different story. I ended up having three so-so rounds: 80+86+82=248. Only one birdie(!), too many double-bogies, and once even a nasty nine on the par five twelve hole (I crunched a perfect drive down the middle of the fairway and then proceeded to shank my second shot out-of-bounds). I missed too many easy putts and kept pulling the ball slightly to the left, especially on the short iron shots to the green.

That's why golf is such a great sport. Golf is not only about your skill and peak performance, but also requires a dauntless and fearless frame of mind to pull you through those difficult moments.

All in all I ended up winning third place, received a nice little trophy and gift certificate, as well as a polite applause. Better luck next year.

I had a terrible day of golf, which is strange because when I started I felt in top form and was excited that I would shoot a fantastic round. So what went wrong?

You might say that it started on the first three holes after a bogie, double-bogie and bogie, shooting up to four over par right at the beginning. However, I kept my cool and felt that there was a good chance to finish off the rest of the front nine even par after that or even making a couple birdies for a thirty-eight. After a string of four pars and two birdie putts that just lipped out, I ended with two bogies for a respectable forty-two.

Considering that this was an important tournament, the monthly medal, and we were playing from the back tees, I could deal with the forty-two and finish off the back nine with a stellar performance. That was not going to happen.

Double-bogie (missed two footer), par (missed three footer), bogie (missed two footer), double-bogie (splash in the water), double-bogie (out-of-bounds), bogie, bogie (missed three footer), par (missed three footer), bogie (hit right trees). That's a stellar round gone sour quickly with no hope in the world. A forty-five, giving me an eighty-seven for the day. What a terrible round of golf.

Looking back on the day, there were only a couple of really bad shots, the rest was bad luck with missed easy putts, a water ball on an easy par three and a messy out-of-bounds on an easy par four, when I should have whacked the ball right down the middle of the fairway with an easy chip shot to the green. In general I felt like I was making pretty good contact with the ball, especially my drives, although as usual I was pulling my iron shots a bit to the left (my grip was too strong, but I did not feel confident enough to make it stronger, feeling like I could shank the ball). I held my temper pretty well, and only slammed my five iron on the tee box once, which is pretty good for me.

At the end of the day I felt terrible, but at the same time I had an irresistible urge to give myself a second chance and go out for yet around of golf. Was I crazy? By being tortured and made to look like a fool, I wanted to go out and risk making a fool of myself again.

Way down the list at 20th place.

Aced the 15th hole!

I had my first hole-in-one today on the 146 meter 15th hole, hurray. The wind was in my face so I choked down slightly on my six iron and hit the ball about eighty-five percent.

The ball started off slightly to the right of the flag, but it arched back in perfectly with the sweetest little draw you could imagine and hit the front of the green. I figured that it would be pretty close, but never suspected that the ball would go in the hole. Since the hole is slightly uphill and the green is atop a slight rise, no one could see where the ball ended up.

Finally after more than fifty years of golfing I have an ace under my belt. Better late than never. It will take me awhile to equal my father's record of nine, but it's a good start.

Hole 15 from the tee.

Closeup of the flag from the tee.

For ages now I've been pulling the ball to the left. Even when I hit the ball pure and it takes off directly at the flag, it inevitably fades left off of the green, getting a bad bounce more often than not because the ball is spinning that way. If I try to compensate by aiming more to the right, the ball has an even worse fade going farther to the left than usual, like it's attached to some big invisible rubber-band snapping it back around hard.

I had a quick lesson with the golf pro this afternoon, and in no time he solved this issue by adjusting just three simple elements of my swing.

• Weaker grip, rotating my right hand ever so slightly on top so the v-shape formed by my thumb and forefinger points to my chin.
• When addressing the ball, stand a little further from the ball. I have to reach out slightly and align my back straighter up and down.
• Relax my muscles and mind, swing smoothly, making solid contact with the ball but not exaggerating it too much.

Funny how I was absolutely convinced that the pull fade was caused by a weak follow through of my arms closing the club face as I rotated. Rather than being the cause it was a result of the items above. Standing too close to the ball combined with the strong grip made it impossible to follow through high, and my pull left with the arms was because of the restricted motions of my anatomy.

If I can hold on to this three simple adjustments, ingrain the groove in my body and remain confident, I should do just fine this year, maybe even winning a couple of tournaments.

Freezing our butts off.

We must be completely insane to be playing golf in such extremely cold weather. Either that or our golfing addiction has seriously fogged our senses. Being able to play golf is more important than most things in life. In such extreme conditions golf is no longer a true test of skill but it's still fun nonetheless.

It's freezing cold outside, and there's a thick layer of snow covering the ground. No one in their right mind would want to play golf in these kind of conditions. Winter greens, frozen water hazards, and hitting bright orange golf balls so they don't get lost. Well, it might not be exactly a true test of skill, but it's still a lot of crazy fun nonetheless. A cup of hot chocolate afterwards with extra whipped cream, and the day is complete. Several hours later and my toes still haven't completely thawed out.

I parred the seventh hole (winter green).

There I was driving back home after a fulfilling round of golf, minding my own business and rethinking the various golf shots and how I might have played better, when all of a sudden this loud explosion abruptly woke me up from my reverie.

I thought: what the heck did that car just crash into me?! In my rear view mirror I saw a white vehicle brake slightly and slow down a bit. It had all happened in a split second as our two vehicles passed each other on a narrow bridge.

I pulled over to the side of the rode and got out to inspect the damage. I assumed that the other driver would turn around and come back. Instead the white vehicle sped off into the distance and disappeared around a bend in the road.

A quick inspection of the outside of my car revealed that there was no extensive damage, no gashes or scratches, strange I was sure that I heard a loud popping sound like soem kind of explosion of metal splinters.

Turns out that it was only my side view mirror which had bent inwards on the hinges and half of the mirror had broken off. By hinging it had absorbed most of the impact, but had cracked badly.

I was relieved and angry at the same time. I wanted to hop back in my car and speed down the road to catch this guy, maybe even get angry at him, cuss and beat him up. Maybe it was not a guy but a girl. Women drivers!

However, I decided to count my blessings and remain cool, calm and collected. I got back in my car, readjusted the side view mirror, and continued on my way as if nothing had ever happened.

This is the story of the mighty fighting ship called the USS Meade.

fighting ship / wooden chest / japanese belt / tour of duty / combat chronology / items of interest / memories of ww2 / links

Fighting ship

USS Meade DD-602 (full size).

Destroyers were versatile ships, helping win the war at sea. My father Dr. Rex Allen Gish served as lieutenant (medical officer) on the destroyer USS Meade DD-602 and was onboard for a extended period during various missions in the South Pacific fighting the Japanese enemy. This is a picture to the right and the vital statistics of this fine ship:

B e n s o n   C l a s s   D e s t r o y e r

• Displacement: 1620 tons.
• Length: 348'2".
• Beam: 35'4".
• Draft:17'4".
• Speed: 37 knots.
• Armament: 4 5"/38, 5x4 21" torpedo tubes.
• Complement: 276 High-pressure super-heated boilers, geared turbines with twin screws, 50,000 h.p. Built at Bethlehem, Staten Island and commissioned 1942.

Wooden chest

Lt. (jg) Rex A. Gish USNR.

My father had an old wooden chest which he kept in our garage and was locked up tight. Sometimes as a boy, my father allowed me to look inside and view all his various war mementos. There was this unused bullet shell, lots of black-and-white pictures, his dog tag, his diary, an old leather-covered war diary and my favorite: a leather belt taken from a Japanese soldier when the USS Meade helped sink an enemy submarine. Interesting to think that my father was actually there. In the war diary it is written that my father went aboard on August 22, 1943. He lists all the officers on the ship on the first page of his diary.

The captain was John Mumholland, and my father relieved an R.J. Lovett. During his voyages at sea he visited the Fiji Islands, New Zealand, Tarawa, etc. He also later served on the USS Cogswell which he boarded on January 11, 1944. He then continued on to the Marshall Islands, Sapian, etc. As a kid I was fascinated with these war adventures, and to me my father was a real American hero. Yet he rarely spoke about these events in his life, and when he did he was short and to the point, avoiding any detail at all.

My father's dog tag.

Japanese belt

The story of the enemy submarine can be found in an archive, and I take the liberty to include the following excerpt from it:

"Two days later, Meade made an underwater sound contact while screening to westward of the transport area. Between 1530 and 1738 Meade and Frazier (DD-607) launched five intensive depth charge attacks. Meade's final barrage forced Japanese submarine I-35 to surface, and both destroyers directed 'a devastating fire upon the target with all batteries.' Five minutes later Meade checked her fire and at 1751 Frazier rammed the sub, hitting her port quarter abaft the conning tower. I-35 settled and sank, stern first, at 1754.

The destroyers launched boats to recover four survivors. One was killed during a brief exchange of gunfire; as Meade's boat returned with a second, seriously wounded prisoner, an American dive bomber mistook it for a submarine conning tower and bombed it with a 600-pound delayed fuze bomb. It landed 3 feet away, and the underwater explosion lifted the boat out of the water and holed it. Meade recovered the motor whaleboat crew who were 'shaken up somewhat.'"

Empty .45 cartridge of a bullet shot from our motor whale boat at Japanese survivors of a submarine which our destroyer had brought to the surface and then sank off Tarawa, Gilbert Islands, Nov. 22, 1943.

Legend has it that the only surviving Japanese soldier was taken alive, seriously injured and ready to die. My father was the only medical doctor on board then, and he felt it was his duty to help this young soldier. In the end, my father had to administer extra morphine in order to ease this poor man's misery and excruciating pain. The fellow shipmates of my father didn't like this too much at all. They felt that the valuable vials of morphine were being completely wasted on this so-called "damn Jap." They kept insisting that the vials should be saved for later just in case they were really needed in real battle, giving my Dad a really tough time. Well, the story continues that my father had quite a row with the others, defending with difficulty his belief that all humans requiring medical help should be treated equally and fairly. In the end, Charlie (as they called him) was held down by others as my father amputated his leg. I can see it now, my father the noble war hero upholding his courage in the face of battle. Hard to believe. I am now the proud owner of that old leather belt which came from that Japanese prisoner of war. There is an tattered tag attached to it on which my father had written:

Belt from Japanese survivor of submarine sunk by U.S.S. Meade off Tarawa, Gilbert Islands Nov. 22, 1943.

When the Japanese prisoner recovered enough, he made a nice watercolor painting for my father, thanking him for having saved his life. It was a picture of Mount Fuji, believe it or not -- probably painted a million times over in the last hundreds of Japanese history. Still this unique version was meaningful enough that my father had saved it all these years in his old wooden chest in the garage. I vaguely remember what it looked like. In the end, just before Dad died, he got rid of it during one evening of cleaning up all his old junk. Gone in a second. Too bad, as it certainly had not only historical value but also sentimental value for me. Oh well. Perhaps discarding the piece of paper was symbolic though, getting rid of the past gesture of thankfulness for saving a life. Just before my father himself passed away.

Tour of duty

As I mentioned, my father never told me much about the details of his war experiences. Mostly just superficial statements, like seeing alot of people and friends getting killed, the powerful gun turrets firing at the enemy, that kind of stuff. Actually, I never really knew that much about the exact areas where he had gone and fought.

A medal which he had received.

At last, I approached him directly on the telephone and requested that for the sake of Gish history he should write down on paper a list of places to which he went. He actually was kind enough to do that for me, and this is the result:

"Yes, I was on two destroyers during the war - USS Meade and USS Cogswell - Alan Shepard (astronaut) was an officer on the latter. He hit a golf ball on the moon! Meade was commissioned 22 June 1942. I do not believe it was ever in the North Atlantic. It saw plenty of action in the North, Central and South Pacific when I was a medical officer (26+ years old!). I have forgotten many of the skirmishes. We were against the Japs, but maybe I can think of the major battles: Aleutian Islands; Tarawa with the 2nd Marine Division; Marshall Islands; Marianas (Saipan, Tinian and Guam); Truk in the Caroline Islands - this is where the kamakazis first came after us. Casualities were high and several US ships were damaged and sunk."

- - from my Dad's letter to me, 19 Sept. 1999.

You can also have a look at my father's official Navy Certificate which attests to his active participation in the naval service.

Combat chronology

The following events have mostly been taken from the Combat Chronology of the US Navy Forces in operations against and from the Marshall Islands (1941 - 1945) in which the USS Meade played an important role:

• 22 November 1943 - The destroyer USS Frazier (DD-607) is damaged by the intentional ramming of the Japanese submarine I-35, which is sunk with the help of the destroyer USS Meade (DD-602), in the Gilberts.
• 18 February 1944 - USS Meade (DD-602) sails.
• 8 March 1944 - USS Meade (DD-602) arrives Majuro.
• 18 March 1944 - Task group including 1 carrier, 2 battleships (Iowa [BB-61], and destroyers (USS Meade [DD-602] and USS Phelps [DD-360])(Rear Adm. W. A. Lee) bombs and bombards Japanese installations on Mili Island in the Marshall Islands. United States naval vessel damaged: Battleship IOWA (BB-61), by coastal defense gun, Mili Island, Marshall Islands. First shore bombardment against Mili Atoll in Marshall Islands. The USS IOWA received her first hit when she was struck by two Japanese 4.7 projectiles.
• 13 May 1944 - Naval land-based and Army aircraft stage heavy bombing attack on Japanese installations at Jaluit Atoll, Marshall Islands.
• 17 May 1944 - USS Frazier (DD-607) shells (with Meade) Eniben Is, Maloelap Atoll.
• 11 July 1944 - USS Meade (DD-602) sails from Majuro.
• 25 December 1944 - USS Meade (DD-602) commences escort run between Eniwetok and Guam.

If you want to learn more about the Cogswell, its history including some pictures, the visit the USS Cogswell Website or the personal (archived) geocities site at USS COGSWELL DD651.

Items of interest

Via my never-ending search across the Internet, I have also came across the following items of interest having in some way to do with the USS Meade. I have also included a couple of emails.

• M. Greenspan, emails January 2013.
  
  I found a 2001 mention of the USS Meade, DD 602, on your blog. I am looking for an appropriate home for pictures showing life on the Meade during WW II.
  
  My dad, Harry J. Greenspan, was a Lt JG who served as assistant Communications officer and then Communications Officer on the Meade from 1943-1945. He was detached after the war ended for TDY in New York City, where he helped put the ship's album together. Dad died in October 2012. Going through his belongings, I found 8"x10" glossy prints and small contact prints for the pictures in the album, as well as some pictures that didn't make it into the album. Is there an appropriate home for these?
  
  Sincerely,
  M. Greenspan
  
  (Later: My dad told me the story of the wounded Japanese sailor taken onboard Meade after Meade and Frazier sank the Japanese submarine, and wrote it down in a memoir for the family. Dad didn't include the part about the leg amputation or the quarrels over morphine, but he remembered the painting that the Japanese sailor made. In my dad's memoir, written long after the war, he mixed up your father with a later ship's doctor, Doc Healy.)
  
  
• Howard L. Martin, emails May 2005.
  
  "I served on USS Meade from May 4 1942 til Feb. 1944. My Duty station was # 2 Fireroom. I was the volunteer 1st loader on #1 gun that sunk 4 ships off Savo Island near Guadal Canal in Nov. '42. Car Urban Loaded the Powder, jack Sommers removed the lids off the powder cans. I previously served on the USS Sturtevant DD240 (sunk) 4/26/ 42. I served on the USS Bennington CV 20 from Feb. 44 til Sept. 46...
  
  ... I was a plank owner on the USS Meade. My first ship the USS Sturdevant was sunk about 90 miles from Key West, FL. After a brief stay in Hospital I was transferred to Brooklyn to board the Meade. After shake down we headed South. Our Doc. at that time was Lt. Lovett. He was very friendly and spent much time with crew members especially after bad skirmishes. He left our ship in Pearl and Lt. jg Gish replaced him. He was all doctor and very attentive to our needs, but did share the same camaraderie with the enlisted crew as his predecessor. Over much objection he bravely insisted on helping the wounded Jap (we named him Charlie). He only had morphine to ease the pain while he removed a leg and stopped the bleeding. He used volunteers to hold the Jap still while he operated on him. The Meade endured many many rough skirmishes, landings, sea battles and sub battles, but kept on a'coming. In 44 new boilers had been designed and built, I was transferred back to Philly to attend the school on how to operate and maintain these boilers After completion I went aboard the USS Bennington CV20 and sometimes was protected by the USS Meade, especially in Leyte Gulf and Okinawa. Regards. Howard"
  
  
• Edgar Eugene Stone (Stoney), emails November 2001.
  
  "Dear Kiffin : I received your letter about your father & the Meade; yes I was aboard ship from July 1943 till Nov 1945, yes I remember him. Do you have his ships album? If not you can get one from the government archives in Washington, it will have a map of all the places the ship made & time & dates...I was a underwater soundman, I hunted submarines, on a machine. That was my watch job, my GQ job was first shieldman on #2 gun.
  
  Your Dad gave me my shots for the South Pacific, I did like him for 3 or 4 days, after that he was all right, I talked to him three times out on the fantail of the ship, he was an all right guy.
  
  We are going to have a ships reunion next spring & you are invited. I will let you know by e/m what, where & time."
  
  - - Stoney the Old Soundman, FiveSonsStone@aol.com
  
  
• Don Peirce - a so-called "plankowner" aboard the USS Cogswell until June 1944. He has access to the ships deck logs 1943-1944.
  
  Good Evening,
  
  I have received your inquiry as regards Dr. Rex Allen Gish. The name does not particularly ring any bells or whistles. However, my memory is one that seems to have become fragmented with the passage of time. I do have the 'deck logs' of the Cogswell from her commissioning though June of 1944 when I left the ship. I have reviewed them during this evening looking for any reference to him. I am attaching some notes I gleaned from said 'logs' the last time there was an inquiry directed to me. They may not have any relationship to your inquiry as I was searching for things of interest to any other shipmate who also was a 'plankowner' as was I. I any event, thank you for your inquiry. Time is running out for those who sailed the Pacific with your Dad. Hope this might help.
  
  - - Don Peirce
  
  Post Scriptum:
  I have read the Cogswell's log for January 11, 1944. The ship was moored @ Pearl Harbor in company with the USS' Case; Bailey; Knapp. During the 1600 - 2000 watch your father, Lt. (jg), R. A. Gish, MC-V (G), USNR., File No. 143071 (Ref. CinC Pac. Spd. Ltr. F16-4/00 serial 25-F of 10 January 1944) reported for duty on board this vessel.
  
  The Officers aboard in February of 1944 were as follows: Charles Frederick CHILLINGWORTH, Commander, USN. (Division Commodore); Harold Thomas DEUTERMAN, Commander, USN. (Captain of the ship.); Reuben Noel PEARLEY. Jr. Lieut. USN. Executive Officer; Bowen BLAIR, Lieut. USNR; Rex Allen GISH, Lt. (jg) USNR; Roy Fred LEVERENZ, Lieut. USNR; Henry Cole SHELTON, Lieut. USNR; Warren Frank ALFSON, Lt. (jg) USNR; John A. DAINO, Lieut. (jg) USNR; Joseph M. GINTHER, Lt. (jg) USNR; Charles Evans HUGHES, III Lt. (jg) USNR; Charles Desarmeaux PULVER, Lt. (jg) USN; James Kelsey COGSWELL, III Ens. USNR; John Adam GEHLING, Ens. USNR; Robert Thomas GOLDER, Ens. USNR; Arthur Donald GRAYBILL, Ens. USNR; Langdon Benjamin Gregg, Jr. Ens. USNR; Thomas Morrow REAVLEY, Ens. USNR; Charles Everett TRYGG, Ens. USNR. Your father is the only one with no next of kin recorded with home address. He is listed as having a wife, but no name.
  
  I note that 13 March 1944 a Yelke, F. P., FC3c was treated by a Lt. (jg) Kelley MC-USNR.
  
  Lt. (jg) Rex Gish, (MC), USNR is recorded on 8 February 1944 as treating Goochowski, Peter W. for scalp wounds. He is recorded as treating another scalp wound 25 February 1944 on McLean, J. C., S1c.
  
  27 February 1944, Lieut. (JG) Rex A. Gish, (MC) USNR was transferred to USS Prairie, for medical treatment.
  
  [Note: My father was tranferred to the USS Prairie for an appendectomy on February 26th, remained aboard this ship until March 17th, then was on the USS Charles Paddock en route to Pearl Harbor where he arrived on March 26th (taken from his diary)]
  
  I find no further record of Lieut. Gish being aboard the Cogswell in the following months of March, April, May, or June of 1944.
  
  - - Don Peirce
  
  
• John L. Batty, M.D. - a short autobiography.
  "After we return to Pearl I decided I wanted to try sea duty, as a year had passed. My request was approved and I was assigned to the USS Meade , a destroyer also identified as the DD602. I really enjoyed this year. We spent time on independent duty, and then operated with the 5th Fleet over the Central Pacific. We were instrumental in taking one island, and we shot up some small atolls that were being by passed. Fortunately we were never hit by any of the Japanese shells. We did get back to Mare Island for a major overhaul."
  
  - - Lieutenant Junior Grade
  
  
• Email from Greg Thomas (November 12, 2001).
  "I really enjoyed your web-site on the USS Meade. My father was aboard USS Preston when it sank November 14, 1942. He most likely was rescued by the Meade along with the rest of the Preston sailors, though the Meade's action report does not include enclosure A, which listed the names of the survivors. Great job on the web-site. Keep up the good work!"
  
  - - Greg Thomas (Ceres, California).
  
  
• Message from navydestroyersailors discussion group.
  
  "Here's what I've found. I have typed it by hand because it is too hard to scan paragraphs out of books this large. All material is from Theodore Roscoe's book "Destroyer Operations in World War II." I believe it may still be available from the US Naval Institute which has a website but I don't have its URL handy. He wrote a similar volume, which I also own, called "US Submarine Operations in World War II." It is awesome material, both books, almost 600 pages in length! Writing about the Guadalcanal campaign-- November 15, 1942: Destroyer PRESTON sinks after Japanese salvos during the battle off Savo Island in the approaches to Guadalcanal. "About 131 of her survivors were picked up the following day by the destroyer MEADE." Later: Japanese transports attempt to land troops on Guadalcanal. "The Jap troops were wading ashore when Marine Corps planes from Henderson (field) spotted the ships. Then destroyer MEADE (Commander R. S. Lamb) came steaming down from Tulagi to investigate. MEADE was armed with new 40mm. batteries, and, as this was her first time in action, she was eager to try them out. She proved their capabilities, and her own, in short order. The first transport was shot to rubbish by 1121. Then one after the other were riddled to junk. Aircraft added bombs to MEADE's bombardment, and "Cactus" artillery joined in the shelling. No more than 2.000 of the large contingent of soldiery carried by the transports succeeded in getting ashore. Having finished off the troopships, MEADE went on that afternoon to pick up the survivors of PRESTON and WALKE. She was assisted by landing and patrol craft, a PT-boat and aircraft spotters. When her rescue effort was concluded she had saved 266 destroyer men. A fitting finale for the naval Battle of Guadalcanal." Then: "Tassafaronga had grown too hot for Japanese shipping. The destructive raid by MEADE guaranteed the 'heat wave.'" Later, on January 29 1943: As a part of Task Force 18, MEADE was a screening unit which was attacked by Japanese torpedo bombers which resulted in the sinking of the cruiser CHICAGO. During late January 1943: MEADE joined a Task Force to attack Japanese forces in the Aleutian Islands as one of a force of 12 destroyers. Her first combat assignment was to provide fire support for the Army's attack on Attu. Then, she became a part of the invasion of Kiska in July 15th, 1943. LCDR J. Mulholland had become her skipper. (No other mention of her in this campaign.) September 1943, Invasion of the Gilbert Islands, including Tarawa: "Six Japanese I-boats (submarines), dispatched to the Gilberts, did not arrive in time to intercept the invasion forces, but two of them managed to get themselves intercepted. In the afternoon of November 22, while screening the heavy units of a cruiser division about nine miles northwest of Betio, destroyer MEADE put a 'pinging' finger on an undersea target. MEADE's report brought destroyer FRAZIER on the run to join the hunt. The destroyers jockeyed into attack position; 'ashcans' were sent rolling; patterned explosions thudded under the sea. The sub, when detected, was at shallow depth, and the blasting must have hampered her diving capacity. Up came a great swirl of oil which clogged the air with fumes. the DD's immediately deposited four more depth charges on the fringe of the oil slick. Results were prompt. The sub came thrashing to the surface, and Japs scrambled out of the conning tower. Both destroyers opened fire as the I-boat broached. Pummeled by 5-inch and 40mm fire, the submarine pitched and rolled in a torment of TNT. Then FRAZIER raced in to ram. Like a ploughshare, the destroyer's bow sliced into the sub's pressure hull just aft of the conning tower. FRAZIER backed off, and the I-boat, with the sea pouring into its vitals, plunged to the bottom of the sea. Two survivors, plucked from the sea, identified the sub as the I-35." Even later: "During the last week of May (1944), four destroyers of Task Group 57.8 bore down on Mille (an island in the Marshalls) for target practice. The DD's were---and MEADE. The ships opened up at a range of 11,000 yards. The Japs answered with an accurate fire that appeared to be director-controlled, and the destroyers retired. 'This type of operation as an exercise does not warrant the risk involved,' reported captain Smoot. 'Approaching the problem as an exercise precludes taking decisive and aggressive action.'" That's all the written material. MEADE was commissioned on June 22, 1942. She was the second ship so-named, the first having been given to the British as one of the fifty old destroyers transferred (lent,{ ha, ha}) to Great Britain on September 2, 1940 in "trade" for leases of British bases. She was a WW1 over-aged four-piper, but GB was happy to get her because in one week alone they had lost 11 DD's to the Germans. The British renamed her HMS RAMSEY. That's all I have for now. I am sending this to the navydestroyersailors list to give them a taste of what it was like in the real war."
  
  - - Joe Felt
  

Memories of WWII

Harry Greenspan's memories of USS Meade in World War II is a fascinating read, in which he tells many interesting stories about this destroyer in the same period when my father was also serving on that ship.

With special thanks to the daughter Marian Greenspan and her brother for giving me persmission to publish it on my website.

Links

• Brief History of the USS Meade (archived).
• Tin Can Sailor's Destroyer Site - The National Association of Destroyer Veterans.
• Action Report of the Rescue Operation of the USS Benham, Walke, and Preston around Savo Island 1942.
• Picture courtesy of the Tin Can Sailors Archive.
• USS Frazier joins the USS Meade (DD-602) in attacking the Japanese submarine I-85.
• Golden WebPage where American heroes are given the tribute they all deserve.
• A short autobiography by John L. Batty, M.D. for the Buffalo Commons Storytelling Festival (McCook, Nebraska).
• Navy Destroyer Sailors discussion group from the Yahoo!Groups web site (Joe Felt).
• Naval Historical Center is a Department of the Navy site whose mission is "To enhance the Navy's effectiveness by preserving, analyzing and interpreting its hard-earned experience and history for the Navy and the American people."
• Combat Chronology of the US Navy Forces in operations against and from the Marshall Islands (1941 - 1945) in which the USS Meade played an important role.

Today was my first complete eighteen hole round of golf for the new year, and believe it or not I shot a 36+38=74. So far many holes have been closed due to the weather and lousy conditions, but today it was an honor and a privilege that I could finish an official round of eighteen holes.

Three birdies and a near eagle were as sweet as can be. No double bogies either, and I played with the same ball for the whole day.

This is by far the best start of any year, maybe even in my whole life come to think of it. How is this possible? It definitely puts me in good spirits and all of a sudden I enjoy the wonderful game of golf like never before.

Of course, I shouldn't forget that winter rules were in effect meaning I could bump my ball, and the tee boxes were in general more up front making the holes slightly shorter, especially the par threes. Still, because of the wet conditions of the ground the ball rolled much less and more often than not just plugged right where it landed, and the greens were pretty soft and irregular making putting accurately an impossible task.

Hopefully this is a symbolic beginning for a fantastic year ahead with many stellar rounds to come. I will have to practice a lot and time my peak performances to coincide with the most important club championships and other important tournaments.

For the first time I will also qualify for the senior championship since I'm fifty-five and going strong.

Since I hadn't really played much golf in two months, I was afraid that I'd be duffing and shanking the ball all over the place. Despite the weather I decided to give a go anyway.

I was the only one at the driving range this afternoon, I mean who'd be crazy enough to go to the golf club in such lousy freezing weather? So it didn't really matter how poorly I hit the ball, it was just me and mother nature blowing wind and rain at me in cold bursts of inclement disappointment.

For starters I chose the pitching wedge and placed it carefully behind the ball. Looked in the distance and focused my attention on the yellow flag at one hundred meters. I took a grand swat at the ball, my first swing in ages and there it went. The ball sky-rocketed upwards, straight as a whistle, and landed about three feet from the yellow flag. How's that possible?

And that's pretty much how things went as I worked my way through the three buckets of balls. Bang, bang, bang. I did mis-hit a couple balls, shanked twice and duffed just once. In general much better than I ever could have expected. Not bad at all, I guess there's still hope. The magical groove of golf is still ingrained in my mind and body.

An interesting trend though was that the more balls I hit the worse the shots became. Not that they got really bad, but there was a tendency to hit the ball less purely and start pulling it to the left. Like at the beginning you are slightly stiff, just stiff enough so that the plain of the swing stays in line and the swing is not quite hard enough that the chances of hitting fat or thin are much less. The more I swung the looser my arms and hips, and thereby the wobblier the plain of my swing. Harder to control, more concentration needed, something that I definitely hadn't practiced in awhile.

Pulling the ball to the left, consistently to the left, how come the ball is going over there? Well, got to practice some more this week and in the weekend. Next year more stellar rounds and possibly an even low handicap, we'll see.

Could it be that my father passed away twelve years ago already? Sometimes I think not, but at the same time I still cannot believe it and have learned long ago to accept it. When I looked at the calendar this morning, I was struck by the fact that the time had passed by so quickly. Yes indeed, twelve years ago it has been.

He was forty years old when I was born, so that means that had he still been living today he would have been ninety-five years old. That's pretty old. I wonder how many holes in one he would have collected by now, had he lived that much longer.

Dr. Rex A. Gish, Hawaii 1970.

The many memories of my father still remain very fresh in my mind, like it was just yesterday. I guess he had a pretty important influence on the making of the person I am right now, but that is not everything. Cussing and yelling often enough, sure. But also giving me advice, displaying integrity and honesty, and telling me what I might want to do in life.

Playing golf with him, driving in his big Cadillac, going to see the Giants play in Candlestick Park, waking up in the middle of the night because of his cursing and complaining, having a quick dinner in front of the television waiting for the Monday Night football to start, it's all part of what I am all about.

My goal in life is to have as many holes-in-one as my father, he had somehow collected nine beauties. However, since I have none so far that may take some time. Something to look forward to in life.

I figured that I still had just enough time to play one last round of golf in California before I had to catch my international flight back to Amsterdam. I was really looking forward to playing with my old golfing buddy, but he was nowhere to be found. Having already waited at the clubhouse for thirty minutes, I was getting pretty impatient. I was worried about the flight that I might miss if we started our round of golf too late.

The golf course was jam packed with millions of people all over the place. Lines were forming at every tee just like the long lines at theme parks during busy weekends. The place was one big confusing labyrinth. The fairways twisting around like a ball of spaghetti and there were greens located every which way. The trees were thick and twisted together, and the rough formed a thick tapestry of greenish spikes jabbing into the sky. There was a slight wind, nothing out of the ordinary, but there was something in the air that made one feel like some disaster was about to take place.

I then realized that the first tee box was way down at the bottom of this steep hill, and I had to negotiate my way down a winding dirt path. Pushing past the people walking the other way was not easy, and although I felt like pushing people to the side because I was in a hurry, I remained patient and cordial. Finally I saw him, there was my friend entertaining a large crowd of people with his various antics and spectacular golf tricks. I put my bag of clubs in the golf cart and waved at him to indicate that I was ready to go.

I pushed my way through the thick crowd and realized I had gone the wrong way, so I tried to turn around and head in the right direction back to where I thought that my friend should be. However, by the time I had got to the tee box, my friend had already hit his drive and was wheeling his way quickly down the fairway in the golf cart. He'd left me behind in the suffocating crowd and everyone was applauding except me.

I tried to push my way through but it was impossible, there was no way that I would ever be able to catch up to him. So I gave up knowing that I had to leave right away in order to catch my flight in time. Going back up the hill was steeper than I remembered coming down. It kept getting steeper and steeper, until I was forced to negotiate a sheer vertical climb by pulling myself up with my arms using this long rope that was hanging down from an overhanging branch.

I somehow pulled my way up to the very top. When I looked down I realized if I let go I'd fall hundreds of feet to my death. With a dangling left leg I raised my foot barely high enough so that I acquired enough leverage to pull myself up to safety. If I managed to wave down a taxi fast enough and there were no traffic jams, I'd barely make it in time to the airport.

That's when I realized that my favorite set of clubs were still on that lousy golf cart that my friend was driving down the first hole. By now he was probably rounding the bend to the second hole. I'd have to leave my wonderful clubs behind or miss my flight, which was a real predicament. I was angry, worried and frustrated at the same time.

I never knew what happened after that, but I can only wonder. When I awoke and the first thoughts of the new day started bubbling on the liquid surface of consciousness, I had already forgotten the end of this interesting episode.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that my new handicap is 4.9, which is now the lowest it has ever been since I was eighteen years old, which was more than thirty-six years ago.

Two years ago my dream was to achieve a single digit handicap. Now I've even dipped below that seemingly unattainable and magical five handicap boundary.

My last two stellar rounds of 75 and 76 from the back champion tees certainly helped to get me down there. What a great way to end the golfing season.

Feeling overly cocky and in an up mood, I signed up for the "Heren 1" golf team for next year. I wonder if it's possible to decrease my handicap even further, or to discover that there's a lower limit for me.

Someday I hope to shoot my age (and get a hole-in-one).

I played exceptionally well in the Davilex Open 2012 at the Liemeer golf course, shooting a stellar round of 37+39=76. In the end I came in at fourth place, not bad for a field of seventy low-handicap players from all over Holland.

If it wasn't for that out-of-bounds ball (double-bogie) and those two birdie putts I just lipped out, I would have tied for first. Well, I did have a couple lucky shots inbetween and a super long 30 foot birdie putt, so I cannot complain. Only four over for the day from the back championship tees is something to be proud of.

Proud winner!

I was hitting the ball very well, slamming a couple screaming drives way out there and my short to medium play was fairly accurate. It's a great feeling knowing that you can still play great golf once in awhile, makes all those frustrating rounds worth the hassle. The last two holes were very nerve-racking: bogie, par (long putt).

I was sitting in the club-house afterwards with only two flights to go and had the best finishing score so far. Feeling cocky, I already had my speech prepared in my head, including the Dutch jokes I'd make to the laughing crowd, thinking that I'd come in first place. Wishful thinking. Counting down from tenth place, six people before me, and then the lucky fourth place went to me.

It was a good day which I'll remember for a long time. Here's the official tournament video, see if you can find me.

As the defending number one of last year's club matchplay championship, I will be going into the weekend with high hopes of defending my title with flying colors.

For the last couple of weeks my game has been steadily improving, and I am mentally fit as well, feeling exceptionally confident that I'm going to make it two years in a row.

The weekend will be busy for me over both days with two matches per day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, as long as I keep winning. That means that it will be a fun-filled and action-packed adventure for me, so I am planning on making the best of it and enjoying myself as much as possible.

This evening I will be sure to go to bed in time to be up and ready in time for the early morning eight o'clock start.

Wish me luck, though hopefully I will probably not need it.

(Turns out that I won my first match 8-6. However, in the second match, after coming back from three down and surviving the turn all square, I lost four holes in a row, and ended up losing 4-3. Oh well, better luck next time.)

During the final round of the Rijnmond Open 2012, I played with these two younger whipper-snappers whose combined age (22+23) was ten years less than my age.

Also, their combined height was about three times as much as mine, mostly because I have stumpy legs and am not very tall.

Nonetheless, I proved that you are never too old to be a winner, by placing 8th in an original field of 120 contestants.

My final score was: 75 + 82 + 80 = 237.

Too bad that on the second day I shot a quintuple-bogie ten and a triple-bogie seven on the back nine, otherwise I could have easily been in 5th place.

Seems like my golf game is suddenly getting better for some reason. I open the club face ever so slightly when I address the ball, and my back swing arcs out a bit as if I am trying to fade the ball slightly. The trick is to accelerate though the ball and finish my follow through high in the air.

Just like Ben Hogan used to do in the good old days. I think that if he could see me now he might just be a little bit proud of me.

This has been the wettest summer in years, and just about every weekend it has been raining. Not good for golf, not good for anyone. All of a sudden we have the first tropical weekend, it's about time I would say. The summer is nearing it's end so this has come just in time. Let's celebrate and enjoy.

I'm loving the heat and soaking it in. All the boring Dutch people should also be feeling as thankful as I am, but most of them are just complaining. Too hot.

No need for me to hang around at a crowded beach, I think I'll stay at home and read a good book in the garden.

Today I had such a terrible round on the course that I've decided once and for all to give up golf. What a completely insane game. My decision is final, and my clubs are on sale for a pretty good discount.

I wouldn't mind an occasional down period, but this has been going on for too long. Frustrating those double and triple bogies, and so few pars. Topped the ball three times and spent a good portion of my time wandering in the trees looking for my ball.

One thing positive is that I didn't get as angry as I would expect, and I took this disastrous day all in stride. Smiling the painful smile of politeness, although inside I was feeling really embarassed at such a terrible score.

It's all relative though, and compared with the rest of the world events it's an insignificant and unimportant speck of nothingness.

Maybe I won't sell my clubs afterall. Will clean them extra well and polish the woods to a shine for the next round of fun and relaxation.

It's not very often in one's life to get on a long par five in two, let alone having the ball end up just ten feet away from the flag.

I powered my drive slightly to the left and my ball was cushioned nicely in the rough.

With an amazing low five wood shot which had a slight draw at the end, the ball flew at the flag, bounced in front of the green and rolled just past it and a little to the left.

My eagle putt slid just past the left side of the hole and then I missed my putt coming back : a three putt for par.

It's not very often in one's life to three putt for a par. Oh well, better luck next time.

Golf can be a very cruel sport. You are playing the best you have in years, hitting the ball without effort, sinking putts and punching chips right next to the flag. That's the moment when disaster strikes without warning.

Three weeks ago I was having a fantastic front nine, and I was two under par going into the sixth hole. I nearly drove the green and was just off of the fringe on the left side pin high. Had a simple ten foot chip. Looked like I would get the ball close and make an easy putt for yet another birdie, to go three under par. I was feeling pretty hot, and nothing could stop me now.

Instead, here's what happened. I flubbed the chip and the ball barely rolled onto the green. Then from six feet away, I three putted for a bogey. Something in my head snapped and I had a complete disconnect with the rest of my body. I could feel it and was getting pretty nervous. The more I tried to ignore it, the more I began to panic. Things were about to unravel and I could feel it coming.

I ended the nine holes with a bogey, double-bogey, par. Thirty-seven, not bad. Then I had a nine on the par five tenth hole, followed by a double-bogey, double-bogey. The more I tried to calm down the worse things got. I shanked the ball, pulled my drives to the left, duck-hooked my approach shots. Ended the back nine with a triple-bogey on the eighteenth hole, for a total of forty-seven.

In the span of twelve holes, I had gone from two (almost three) under par to fourteen over par. Had I had an aneurysm without noticing it?

Since that disastrous meltdown I have been a complete basket case when it comes to trying to play golf. The following round of golf I even had a fifty plus forty-four, and then the week afterwards a forty-four plus forty-seven, ouch. A complete loss of confidence. I even starting topping the ball into the water ten feet in front of me, and once the poor ball only just made it to the woman's tees.

Golf is a cruel sport. Sometimes it just doesn't make any sense, no matter which way you try to look at things. From one instant to the next you can be playing a stellar round and then the club in your hand feels like a heavy piece of plywood, the nice white ball becomes a heavy metal marble.

I've been really nervous playing golf lately, no confidence, no nothing. Waiting for the next shank or topped ball to come. Until today, that is. Things seem to be getting better ever so slowly. Broke eighty, hurray. I guess there's hope. The golfing gods have forgiven me.

The strangest thing of all is that my swing feels pretty much the same. I'm not so sure what I am doing differently which all of a sudden has improved my game so drastically. More than likely something very minor, perhaps a minimal tweak of my grip, combined with some very major changes in my mental being, more confidence and positive thinking, the knowledge that yes it's still possible to play a good round of golf if you put your mind to it.

Maybe I won't sell my golf clubs and cancel my club membership after all.

In his book "How to Play Your Best Golf All the Time", Tommy Armour provides alot of sound advice for improving your game.

The book contains instructions that at first glance may appear to be pretty basic for us so-called more experienced players. Much of the book may have originally been geared more towards beginner and average golfers. However, on closer inspection the reader discovers that even the seemingly basic stuff contains hidden jewels of wisdom. What you notice is a flow of well thought out ideas which form a fundamental basis that is absolutely necessary if you want to play golf well.

Here are my favorite quips:

• Action before thought is the ruin of most of your shots.
• When you miss a shot, never think of what you did wrong. Come up to the next shot thinking of what you must do right.
• Make up your mind before your backswing starts, then let your muscles do the work.

On our last day we drove down to Big Sur.

Thea and I had a really great time in California seeing the family and friends, driving around and visiting interesting places. We went to Monterey, Carmel, Pacific Grive and Big Sur. We saw San Francisco, crossed the Golden Gate bridge to Napa and Sonoma Valley, the Redwoods, Bodega Bay and Oakland. I even managed to get in four rounds of fantastic golf, eat real Mexican food, and for the first time in more than thirty-five years go up and down the high-speed glass elevators at the St. Francis Hotel on Union Square in San Francisco.

At first there's so much to look forward to and tons of fun activities to do. You're so excited and happy. Then all of a sudden it's two weeks later, it's time to say goodbye, and you feel really sad. Before you realize it, you're back home again so far away from the ones you love.

In order to experience life to its fullest, you must sometimes make difficult decisions. These choices result in long lasting consequences that you must come to accept and embrace in order to survive.

The advantages are balanced with the disadvantages. You learn more about yourself and acquire unique insights into nature and existence, and where you fit in the overall puzzle called life.

The greens over here are lightning fast, and I just cannot get used to them. No matter how lightly I strike the ball with my putter, the ball rolls and rolls way past the hole, sometimes even down to the other side of the green. I cannot believe it, which I say out loud, as if not my fault and out of my control.

On average I've been three-putting five to six holes a round, and once even had a four putt from only ten feet away, ouch. The last round I played at my home course, the greens were rough and bumpy, requiring large sweeps of the putter to get the ball barely to the hole. Sometimes I'd whack the ball so hard and it would stop way short of the hole, even downhill putts.

Another difference is that all of the distances are in yards instead of meters. Not that that is such a big deal, one yard being about 0.9 meters, but over longer distances this can mean a whole club less. Just yesterday, with the wind at my back I hit a hard seven iron to the back of the green on a 165 yard par 3 hole, which is about 150 yards, my usual seven iron distance. This might seem at first like a slight adjustment, hitting merely one club less, but psychologically the effect is much greater. I have this feeling at the back of my mind that I have to hit the ball much harder, as 165 yards sounds and/or feels much further than 150 yards, which can mess up my swing.

Now I need to re-adjust, but that will not be easy. I've played twice and barely broke eighty both times: 79 + 79. If I could only putt more gently, stop three putting and switching between meters and yards, my scores would be much better.

Putting more gently would not be enough, however. A slower velocity means that the ball will be affected by the break much more. There are alot of curvy greens here, some bevelled in such a way that balls hit too far will roll off the side of the green, past the fringe and into the high grass. Several times I've somehow managed to kiss the ball just right, only to see it curve outside the lip at the last couple inches. Putt with confidence and watch the ball drop in the heart of the hole, they always told me.

Oh well, no one promised that golf would be easy. That's why I like it so much. Now it's time to prove myself in the home country, thirty plus years later, pretending and enjoying it all at the same time. Who cares about the occasional three putt and double bogie, when I can laugh and shake it off, getting that valuable birdie once in awhile.

The last time I came to California, I brought along lots of heavy clothes just in case, but since the weather was lovely and very warm I'd lugged along alot of extra weight for nothing. This time around I decided to bring mostly light weather attire, short sleeves, golfing shorts and only a couple regular pants.

As it turns out, old mother nature has decided to tease me by bringing along rain and cooler temperatures, but I'm not about to let that get me down. Californians are pretty spoiled when it comes to the weather, and although for Dutch standards these are typical days that I'm very used to back in my home country of Holland, my friends and family here are complaining about how lousy the weather is.

When it comes to golf, nothing keeps me away from my eighteen hole fix, and that is also the case for the little drizzle and cloudy skies. Who cares? Ironically, since no one dares play during these conditions, alot of tee times are open, and I can easily book prime times and have the whole golf course to myself.

This afternoon I'll be hacking around the Laguna Seca Golf Ranch with an old High School buddy from the past. Hopefully I can get a bunch of pars, not too many double-bogies and a even birdie or two.

Finally made it back to California, the last time being about four years ago. Everything looks pretty much the same as usual. The drive down to Monterey from the airport which normally takes a little less than two hours took four hours because of massive traffic jams in the Bay Area.

Unfortunately, the US authorities would not allow Thea to board the plane, because of some minor anomaly with Thea's passport that Interpol had tagged as suspicious. This was a very traumatic moment, especially since I had to leave her hastily to catch the flight, giving her a quick kiss and emotional hug. Hopefully she can get the situation rectified and join me later next week. Welcome to the land of freedom!

From beginning to end, I travelled a total of five thousand plus miles in nineteen and a half hours. My mom thawed out some frozen raviolli and that was my dinner. Crashed in bed at eight and managed to sleep until five in the morning, whereupon I sat downstairs in the sitting room and read my book. So the jetlag is fairly minimal.

Cannot wait to go out and play some golf, although for the next week they've predicted cloudy weather and occasional rain showers. It's good that I brought four pairs of golfing shorts with me. Also would like to head on over to a couple golf stores and buy lots of fun stuff: fairway woods, flop wedge, golfing caps, towels, ad infinitum.