Stick That in Your Pipe

They are called “behind-the-scenes people.” The people who keep things running, but rarely get any credit.
They are the ones who edit the novels we read for English 1102, design the set for the next Coppola picture and make sure the power is running to light the last inning of an intramural softball game at West Complex. They are the ones who carry our golf bags at tiny Port Amor and gigantic Augusta National.
A gentleman passed away recently. A man I have never met. A man I have hardly heard of because he was one of those behind-the-scenes people.
His name was Bruce Edwards, and he was a caddie. He did more than carry Tom Watson’s bag for 30 years. For Watson, he was a sage, a man of wisdom at Watson’s disposal. When Watson would hook the ball into the pine needle rough, Edwards would be by his side. When Watson would chip in from 15 yards out to finish the day at 6 under, Edwards would be by his side. For Watson, he was Virgil leading his companion through Hell, Purgatory and finally Heaven, which for Watson was winning the 1982 U.S. Open and for Edwards is all too real now.
Edwards most recently carried Watson’s bag at last year’s Masters. After Watson failed to make the cut, he found his caddie in the parking lot weeping. Edwards did not think he would ever get to see Augusta again. Never get to walk the pristine greens nor guide Watson through “Amen Corner.” He was right.
He died at his home after battling Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, a disease for which there is yet to be a cure. The disease slurred his speech, but he continued to fight.
Last year, Edward’s doctors told him that he had one to three years to live. One to three. Imagine that; wrap your mind around that: the finality of having a medically-sound expiration date slapped on you like you’re a gallon of milk. It seems cruel, unfair.
Edwards was strong in the face of this ominous hourglass. He was proud. He was prepared.
“I’ve been lucky,” he said at last year’s U.S. Open. “I’ve had one of the greatest golfers in the world. I’ve had a wonderful ride, a lot of wins, a lot of great moments.”
Many things in this world are impossible to fathom. The number of stars dotting the sky over a secluded beach in southern Maui, the number of grains of hot wavy sand that coalesces to form the Sahara, the depth of friendship that develops between two men walking manicured lawns in search of a tiny white ball.
We may never discover the exact amount of stars visible in a still Maui night, or number the sands in the intimidating Sahara and we may never understand the depth that Tom and Bruce’s friendship ran. But we should stand in awe of all three.
We will miss the man because he stood for strength, because Watson cried in public over the passing of another man, his Virgil, because we want to experience the kind of friendship Tom and Bruce experienced.
Oh, how we do.
Edwards caddied for Watson for over a quarter of a century. In those years, Watson won many tournaments and was able to have an experience that many golfers, professional and amateur alike, covet: walking up to the 18th hole knowing you have won the tournament. The cheers poured forth from the sun-drenched fans, and smiles of unadulterated joy spilled forth from Watson and Edwards. Who knows if the fans were cheering for Watson only, or for him and his caddie?
Now he does not have to wonder. Now we stand and cheer as Mr. Bruce Edwards of Ponte Verde Beach, aware of the victory he has accomplished, walks past the 18th and disappears into the clubhouse.

Posted by Colonnade Archives on Apr 16 2004. Filed under Sports. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry