February 9, 2019
As I sit here in the depths of a New England winter, dreaming about the upcoming golf season, and watching the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am on television, I am inspired to put into writing a story I have told a thousand times before. This is the remarkable story of how I got to play Cypress Point.
In the year 2000, for my fiftieth birthday, I decided to treat myself, my wife, and daughter to a bucket list trip to Pebble Beach. Pebble Beach is a perennial Golf Digest top ten golf course. In the spirit of full disclosure, I am currently a Golf Digest panelist. It is the Holy Grail for almost every serious golfer. The big decision is always what other courses will you play while you are visiting Mecca. In addition to Pebble, I had decided on Poppy Hills, Spyglass, and the Links at Spanish Bay, not a bad rotation. Spyglass is in Golf Digest’s top 50.
Before heading out, I did what every self-respecting golfer would do. I tried to exert what little influence I had to see if I could get us on Cypress Point (#3.) I contacted colleagues on the west coast. I brow beat my club professional, but all to no avail. Nobody gets on Cypress Point, no way, no how. There are very few members scattered all over the country, and they like it like that. Who could blame them? Cypress Point would have to wait for another day.
After checking into the Inn at Spanish Bay with a room overlooking the bagpiper, our first round was at Poppy Hills. I would like to say that I have vivid memories of Poppy Hills because I don’t, but I do remember it was not hateful.
Next up was Pebble Beach. I was really nervous that the course would not meet my expectations. The last time I had that feeling was my visit to the Grand Canyon. Needless to say, I was blown away by both experiences. It is hard to describe the beauty of the golf course juxtaposed to the Pacific Ocean. It is one of the few times when you would not be upset to take six hours to play a round of golf, and pay an obscene amount of money for the privilege.
The three of us were paired with the Travel Editor from Senior Golf magazine. Who knew there was such a thing! We had a delightful round until it came time to play our third shots into the iconic, par 5, 18th hole. As we were preparing to hit, a very large group of Japanese tourists decided to walk from the lodge to the beach, and in front of the 18th green. Three of them actually lingered on the green. Two of them reclined and posed on the green while the third took photos. You can’t make this stuff up. Visitors were howling with laughter from the porch of the Pebble Beach Lodge. We made a group decision, said what the heck, and hit anyway. In my case, the odds of hitting the green were slim to none anyway. No one got hurt, and we all had a good story to tell. As an aside, several months later, I spotted a copy of Senior Golf magazine at a newsstand, and, sure enough, our experience was immortalized.
On day three, we were scheduled to play Spyglass. Despite the overcast skies and threatening rain, we got to the range early to warm up. I was striping the ball pretty good for me, but my daughter was killing it. She had qualified for the 1999 US Girls Junior. She was on a state championship team in Florida, and would go on to Captain the Harvard Women’s golf team, win numerous club championships, and qualify for five US Women’s Mid-Am Championships. The reason I point this out, in addition to being a proud parent, is that I was well aware this was not about me.
Anyway, as I was grinding away, two elderly gentlemen came along, and one started hitting balls next to me. The one not hitting starts asking me questions. “Who holds the PGA Tour 72 hole scoring record,” he asks. I thought about, but I really did not have a good guess. “Well,” he said, “it’s Mike Souchak, and that is him hitting balls next to you.” For the record, in his first win at the 1955 Texas Open, Mike Souchak shot a 257, a record that stood until 2001. I was certainly old enough to know who Mike Souchak was, probably having seen him on Shell’s Wonderful World of Golf. My wife and daughter had no idea who he was. After the introductions and my effusiveness, the first gentleman asked me where we were playing the next day, and I said the Links at Spanish Bay. He responded with “Why?” He and Mike agreed they did not like the course. Then he asked, and I kid you not, “Have you ever heard of Cypress Point?” Thinking quickly, I stammered “Yes.” “How would you like to be my guests at Cypress Point tomorrow?” “I will leave a message at your hotel room regarding all the details.” We played our round at Spyglass, a magnificent golf course, with visions of sugar plums dancing in our heads. What just happened? Did it happen? We got back to our room at Spanish Bay, and, sure enough, there was a message regarding starting time, caddies, dress code, etc. Wow!
We got to Cypress Point nice and early, but he was already there practicing his putting with two caddies milling around. As it turned out, both caddies were accomplished amateur golfers, maybe not on the order of Ken Venturi and Harvey Ward, but plenty good enough for us. All of a sudden, we are on the first hole getting ready to tee off. The morning fog had not quite burned off so the effect was stunning. There is a small hedge just off the first tee that looks like the Green Monster in Fenway Park as you get ready for your first swing of the day.
Our host was a gentleman by the name of Gary Laughlin. He came from the Texas oil-drilling business. He was a former Navy pilot. Because there were so few members in the local area to play with, he was happy to have us as our guests. David Feherty described him as “a gnarly Hogan crony and longtime Cypress member.”
After a few shots, the caddies had our games sized up pretty well, and realized that there was one player in the group. As a result, I never saw my caddie again as the two caddies and my daughter would triangulate over every shot. The only help I got from my caddie was “hit this.” As we moved along, the anticipation was building the closer we got to sixteen, the famous par three over the Pacific. What nobody told me and I should have known was how beautiful the par three fifteenth was. Regardless, I washed my ball in the Pacific on sixteen. “Is anyone here a marine biologist?
We finished, and it was time to go, or so I thought. “Why don’t you come to my house for lunch,” Gary asked. “Follow me.” So we followed him around 17 Mile Drive until a set of wrought iron gates opened magically to our left. We went in, and were immediately greeted by his housekeeper, who brought us out a wonderful plate of good stuff to eat. In the mean time, I was looking at some of the framed letters he had on the wall addressed to his wife, Sandy. One said something like “Congratulations on winning the Club Championship again, Jack.” Another letter with a similar message was signed “George.” That was Jack Nicklaus and George Bush respectively. Eventually, his wife joined us. She was former tennis player from Rollins College in Winter Park, FL where we were coincidentally living at the time. It was all just too perfect. When we got home, as a thank you, we sent them a framed picture of the Rollins College chapel.
So now you have read my Cypress Point story. It is no longer on my bucket list, having been replaced by Pine Valley. My daughter had an opportunity to revisit the course with her college golf team, and Gary came out to watch. I still have his e-mail address, and occasionally send him a brief message. I believe he is about 94 years of age, almost the exact same age as my mother, who recently passed away. My latest message to him has not received a reply.
And happy birthday to my wife, who buried her tee shot into the hedge on the first hole, but never complained as usual.
https://www.golfdigest.com/story/the-incredibly-unlikely-story-of-how-one-golfer-got-onto-ultra-private-cypress-point