Dearest Friends in Golf,

We are gathered here today to remember Old Tom Morris, who on this day in 1908, passed from this world through a darkened doorway he thought was the door to the loo. He was 86 at the time, and had outlived his wife, and his son, and most everyone whom he had loved.

He had ensured, however, that one great love – golf – would live on in perpetuity.

Despite the best efforts of modern myth-makers, Old Tom was not a myth. He was a flesh and blood man, complete with his own foibles and follies. He was a man who had experienced almost unimaginable heartache. When, in 1875, the wife of Old Tom’s son Young Tom, died in childbirth, along with the baby, a rift developed between father and son. And it was not long thereafter that Young Tom, golf’s first superstar player, died as well, a mere ghost of his once-strapping self.

Yet, we gather not today to bemoan the cruel blows that the cold universe metes out so haphazardly, just as in a game of golf, we do well not to complain about the errant bounce or rogue gust of wind. (Or, at least, we try not to.)

We are here instead to honor the man whose passion forged for us the modern game we all love. Whose inveterate hand nurtured The Old Course at St. Andrews, Nairn, Carnoustie, Prestwick, Royal County Down, Royal Dornoch, Muirfield, and Cruden Bay, among many others.

For those of us who cannot attend the Old Tom Morris Memorial Golf Tournament today at The Old Course, we owe the man a toast, perhaps his favorite Black Strap port, or Cruzan Black Strap Rum, or a fine single-malt Scotch.

And for those of us who really want to learn more about Old Tom on this bittersweet centennial, I highly recommend Tommy’s Honor, by Kevin Cook.

So for you, Old Tom, wherever you are, Cheers, sir. You are well remembered.

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