I didn’t choose golf. Golf chose me.
It all started on my birthday in 1997. I received a long rectangular box.
‘To Mark’
‘From Grandma and Grandpa Franzke’
I opened the box and pulled out what I thought were sticks. “It’s a stick! Oh look, another stick!”
“Those are golf clubs, Mark.” My mom was quick to correct me.
“Oh, neat.”
The set came with a driver, 3 wood, 5, 7, and 9 irons, and a putter.
I learned that I would be taking golf lessons that summer in Topeka, Kansas. My grandparents were members of Shawnee Country Club (SCC). I didn’t know it at the time, but some of my favorite memories happened on that golf course. My favorite golf course. But we will get to that later.
During the summer at SCC, they had a junior golf league. My cousin, Tim, was also going to be taking golf lessons that summer. We both lived in the suburbs of Kansas City. Topeka was an hour east. We had some early mornings that summer. We would carpool together to Lawrence, KS to meet Grandma at the Liz Claiborne outlets, the halfway point. Grandma would drive us the rest of the way. We would stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for a night or two, our days full of golf.
I expected to hate golf. I didn’t know how to swing a club. I knew how to play miniature golf, but this was the real thing. It was intimidating.
For the junior league, they would split us into groups of four. Depending on your age, you would either play 3, 6, or 9 holes. I was in the 6 group my first summer.
Each group of four was accompanied by a walker who would keep score for you. Grandpa was often the walker in my group. I was terrible at first and most of the kids had been playing a lot longer than I had.
But I stuck with it that summer. I got better. I actually kinda liked it.
I played the next summer. And the summer after that. And the next. I became a halfway decent golfer. I graduated to the 9 holes group. I came in 4th place at a tournament one summer.
My sister took lessons too, but she didn’t take to golf like I did. She started in the 3 holes group and she would shoot in the 60s. She hated it. She only lasted one summer.
But I fell in love with golf. At least I thought I did.
Then on June 20, 2001, Roger Franzke, my grandpa, died of cancer.
Golf would never be the same for me after that.
So let me back up and tell this story the right way.
In May of 1997, I received my first set of golf clubs as a birthday present from Grandma and Grandpa Franzke. It was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received because my Grandpa loved golf. He wanted me to share in his love for the game.
Shawnee Country Club was a beautiful course back in the day. It was well maintained and lush green. It is my favorite course because it’s where I learned to play the game grandpa loved.
I wasn’t the only grandchild that took to the game. Several of us learned how to play. This delighted him to see his grandkids playing the game he loved. But he gave us so much more than the game of golf.
Grandpa would make you feel like you were his favorite. I’m sure my sisters and cousins would say the same thing. There was a genuine love he had for all his grandchildren. He had nicknames for us too. I was “Sport.” My sister was “Toots.”
As I got better at golf, Grandpa and I would play a full 18 together. I never beat him. But I didn’t care. Being on the course with Grandpa was the reward.
I remember hitting shots right down the middle of the fairway. Grandpa would lean in as my ball spun through air and say,
“Oh Mark, you’re gonna like that one.”
He would yell at my ball when I hit bad shots too:
“SIT! SIT! SIT!”
I remember sinking some long putts. Grandpa would celebrate like he had just won the lottery. He had a spirit that was electric. You couldn’t help but light up when you were around Grandpa.
From my perspective, Grandpa’s electricity extended far beyond the golf course. You could feel it at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, whether we were going for a swim or watching Johnny Carson reruns. Family gatherings were full of laughter (and they still are).
But even more than that, it felt like Grandpa was the very soul of Topeka.
When he died, it felt like part of Topeka died with him. And the game of golf was never the same for me after that. I’ve played at Shawnee Country Club a handful of times since Grandpa died. The course feels empty without Grandpa walking by your side.
I continued to play golf in high school. But I missed that whisper when I hit a great shot. I missed his laughter lighting up the course.
After high school, I decided I was done. This was partly due to the fact that I couldn’t afford to play golf. But it was mostly because when Grandpa died, it felt like the game died too.
I went years without playing golf. It drifted into my past. I got married and went to grad school, which meant I really couldn’t afford to play golf.
But not far from my school, there was a beautiful 9 hole course. I needed a summer job. I started working at the course in the summer of 2012. One of the perks was I could play for free, whenever I wanted. I thought about it, but couldn’t bring myself to play.
That is, until Vinny showed up. Vinny came bursting through the doors of the golf club like the Hulk. He was in his early 70’s, well built and full of energy. He would talk my ear off, but he was funny. We struck up a friendship. He would come into the club every day and we would talk about nothing of significance, but we were always laughing. In the back of my mind, I knew Vinny reminded me of Grandpa.
It wasn’t long before he asked me to play a round with him.
“I’m rusty. It’s been a long time since I’ve played.”
“Get your ass out on the course with me!” he demanded.
I couldn’t say no.
I started playing golf with Vinny every day after my shift. It was rough at first. But when you play every day, you start getting halfway decent.
I loved playing with Vinny. We would laugh the whole round, give each other crap when we hit bad shots, and give each other the respectful nod when we hit the good ones.
I hit the best shot of my life playing with Vinny. It was on hole #5, the only par 5 on the course. I hit a great tee shot right down the middle of the fairway. Then came my second shot. I pulled out my 5 wood, still a good 200 yards from the green. The green dog-eared to the right and was out of my line of vision. I knew the course well enough that if I hit my shot over the tree line just right, I had a chance to land my ball on the green.
I stood over my ball, visualizing the shot, took a deep breath, and swung. As I watched my ball sail through the air which would land on the green and lead to a birdie, Vinny leaned in and said,
“Oh, that’s a beauty, Mark.”
Vinny even hugged me because it was such a good shot.
I felt like it was Grandpa hugging me. And that was the moment I knew I could still enjoy the game.
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One other thing you need to know about Grandpa is that he was a watercolor painter. He had a particular fondness for lighthouses. But his favorite thing to paint was his grandchildren.
At Grandma’s house, there is a wall full of Grandpa’s paintings of his grandkids. Unfortunately, he did not get to paint all of us. I’m sure he would have finished if he had lived longer. He probably would have painted all his great grandkids too.
I’m not a painter. That is one thing Grandpa did not pass on to me, though others in our family have that gift. But I hope this tribute to Grandpa has given you a portrait of the man he was. At least, the man I knew him to be.
Love you, Grandpa. Thanks for teaching me to love the game.
Dodd Squad 