My Friend John

I would like you to meet my good friend John Oliver. We have known each other for fifteen years, played hundreds of rounds of golf together...and we laugh a lot...mostly at each other.

He came to Pinehurst from Fairfield Connecticut where he owned a plant and tree nursery. The New York Times once called it "the Tiffany of Nurserys."

We have much in common. In another life we were big time boozers. He now has 33 years of sobriety and I have 30. We each lost a wife to lung cancer. And we have this friendly competition going on about everything. Here are just a few examples.


One day John took a golf lesson. So he shows up to play with me and he hits the ball 20 yards past mine--every time. He could never do that. Worse, he gloats. As the ball sails over mine he will turn and give me this stupid smile that just radiates arrogance and superiority. He finally tells me his secret. The Teaching pro closed his stance. I close my stance-NOT. So I do what I do best. I make his life as uncomfortble as possible. It didn't take long. He finally looked at me and said. " if it's gonna mean our friendship, I'll open up my stance." He really said that.

We compete over some of the dumbest things imaginable. I mean who cares who has been married the most? And it can get out of hand. We got into this thing about who gets up the most often at night to go to the bathroom. It's a guy thing. But John had to share this with his lovely wife Marilyn, who can raise an eyebrow higher than anyone. Anyway, at the end of the second week I was well ahead. The turning point came the night he managed to make it all the way through-well until four in the morning. So he gets back in bed and beaming with pride, he shares this record setting feat with Marilyn. And she says: "why don't you call Bud".