The Unconventional Path to Golf Mastery: Monk, Writer, Golfer
So, you think you know golf? Think again. We’re not just talking about smashing drivers or sinking 30-footers here. There are some seriously interesting characters out there who’ve approached this game from angles you wouldn’t expect. Take Colman McCarthy, for instance. This guy wasn’t just a golfer; he was a monk, a writer, a damn good one too. His story is proof that golf can shape a life in ways you never saw coming. It’s not just about the score; it’s about the whole damn journey.
From Fairways to Friars: A Decade in the Making
Before Colman McCarthy became a household name as a columnist for The Washington Post, he was on a different path. A path that, believe it or not, involved a serious dedication to golf. We’re talking about a solid decade, through his high school years and then college, where his sights were set squarely on becoming a professional golfer. He played college golf down in Alabama, at Spring Hill College. But the story doesn’t end there. After college, he took a sharp left turn and spent five years living in a monastery in rural Georgia, training to be a Trappist monk. Yeah, you read that right. Monk. It’s a wild pivot, but it set the stage for his eventual career in journalism and his unique approach to life, including his love for golf.
This period wasn’t just some random detour. It was an apprenticeship. Two of them, actually, and almost by accident. He was planning to be a pro golfer, then he was training to be a monk. This dual focus, this deep dive into discipline and reflection, eventually paved the way for his life in journalism. He ended up teaching classes, too, a whole curriculum he called Peace Studies. It sounds heavy, and it was, but it all circled back to the core values he held dear, many of which are surprisingly reflected in the game of golf.
Golf in the Capital: A Passport to the Game
As Colman settled into his life in Washington D.C., with his wife and three sons, golf made a comeback. And in the nation’s capital, being fluent in golf is practically a requirement. It’s like a secret handshake. Whether you were hitting balls at the public East Potomac course or trying to get a tee time at Burning Tree, that exclusive, no-women-allowed club for the big shots – presidents, diplomats, all those grandees – golf was everywhere. And when the mood struck him, Colman would write about it. Not just any old golf scribbles, mind you. His writing always had this unfailing logic, this sharp wit, and a touch that made it incredibly readable.
He wasn’t afraid to call things as he saw them, especially when it came to the stuffy traditions of the game. The Masters, for example. Back in the day, the powers that be at Augusta probably didn’t have much use for a guy like Colman. Right before the 1977 Masters, he dropped a column that basically ripped the tournament apart. He mocked its tiny, handpicked fields, how it casually excluded talented golfers, not to mention Black golfers or players from other countries. He even suggested a player boycott, which would elevate the “Tournament Players Championship” to major status and rename the Masters the “Clifford Roberts Invitational” – a little jab at the chairman. A few months later, Roberts died. Coincidence? Maybe. But soon after, the Masters started becoming a lot more meritocratic. Colman had a knack for cutting through the bullshit.
Finding Heroes on and Off the Fairway
Born in 1938 on Long Island, Colman came from a family that loved sports. His father was an immigration lawyer who also happened to be into golf and baseball. Think Atticus Finch, but from New York, Irish-Catholic. Colman never lacked for people he admired. As a kid, Tommy Bolt was a hero – he even caddied for Bolt a bunch of times. Later on, it was Mother Teresa. He was drawn to individuals who forged their own unique paths. Even Chi Chi Rodriguez, despite their political differences, earned his respect. And Notah Begay? He liked him too. It shows you that heroes can come from anywhere, and their influence can shape how you see the world, and the game of golf.
In 1977, Colman penned a slim book called “The Pleasures of the Game.” I stumbled upon it as a new release in my local library. I was a senior in high school then, and that book? It was a game-changer. Colman wrote about the simple joys: the nine-club bag, the benefits of walking the course, playing at a good pace, sticking to the rules, even bringing your own snacks. He talked about his days caddying at a fancy Long Island club, sometimes for serious VIPs like the Duke of Windsor and Perry Como. Imagine that.
The Golf Course as a Monastery: Practice by Moonlight
After his caddying days, Colman experienced a bit of a demotion. He ended up in the pro shop, selling socks and golf balls. But his big break came next. He described it as going “into darkness.” He worked the night shift, in charge of rotating fairway sprinklers. And in those quiet, midnight-to-3-a.m. hours, he practiced putting. By moonlight. He’d use Venus as his plumb-bob for those tricky sidehill putts. Talk about dedication. Long Island summer nights back then were warm, humid, and still. Those old sprinkler systems, the ones on stakes, made this rhythmic, spritzing soundtrack. Sometimes, a little rain shower would add to the ambiance. Colman’s image, practicing putting under the stars, stuck with me. It painted the golf course as a kind of monastery. In “Pleasures,” he boiled down the broad joys of golf to a single, perfect sentence: “Golf exercises the body, stimulates the mind and elevates the spirit.” That’s it. That’s the essence.
I remember writing to him after reading “Pleasures.” And I’m pretty sure I met him at the 1985 Kemper Open at Congressional. I was caddying, and he was just wandering around, rocking a bucket hat and carrying a reporter’s notebook. One night that week, I even sat in on his Peace Studies class at American University. He always emphasized that it’s not enough to just be aware of violence in the world; we have a responsibility to do something about it. That was a core lesson, a powerful one.
A Life Lived in Motion and Connection
After the class, Colman and I grabbed a quick dinner in the cafeteria. He was a vegetarian, by the way. Then, I hopped on the Metro to head back to my digs for the week – crashing on a friend’s sofa. I don’t remember how Colman got home, but he didn’t own a car. He was famously committed to public transit and his trusty three-speed Raleigh bicycle. He biked everywhere. That’s commitment. That’s living your principles.
In his travels, he made it a point to talk to everyone. That was his thing: talk to everybody, because you can learn from anybody. He lived what he preached. He was friends with Joan Baez and Sargent Shriver, along with various golf pros, Congressional staffers, and bus drivers. We stayed in touch over the years, though maybe not as often as we should have. I can honestly say that Colman McCarthy profoundly shaped my life. I can’t imagine a life without heroes. I don’t know about you, but I need those guiding lights.
Echoes of a Life Well-Played
Just about a month ago, I was at a grocery store in Philadelphia. A young woman with a bit of a Southern drawl was scanning my items. She mentioned she was from Mobile, Alabama, and had attended Spring Hill College there. She’d left without finishing her degree because she ran out of money. I told her a little something about Colman McCarthy – not about his sub-70 scoring average as a junior on the Spring Hill golf team, but about his later life as a teacher. She said she was saving up, planning to go back to school and start her own teaching career. It felt like a direct echo of Colman’s influence, passing on that spark of inspiration.
Colman’s wife, Mav, was a nurse, enjoyed Scotch, ate meat, and was, believe it or not, a conservative. Talk about opposites attracting. They were both devout Catholics, she from a more high-society background in Greenwich, Connecticut. Mrs. McCarthy passed away in 2021. When Colman and Mav met and got engaged quickly, his future father-in-law tried to put a stop to it. His plan? Take Colman golfing at the family’s fancy club. Colman, wearing borrowed clubs and tennis shoes, shot a 66. That marriage was definitely on. Their two sons, John and Edward, became teachers and baseball coaches. Their third son, Jim, ended up in public relations, even advising Augusta National through that whole brouhaha about being a single-sex club. Colman and his three sons formed a golfing foursome whenever they could, sometimes on Long Island or in the Dominican Republic, where John lives. After Mav died, Colman lived with John and his family in the Dominican Republic. He passed away there on February 27th, at the age of 87. He was still puttering around the practice greens at Casa de Campo, still smitten by the game. All the while, he was driven by a desire to make the world a more just place for everyone, all 8 billion of us, including the 60 million golfers out there on the fairways.
Colman McCarthy’s life was a testament to the fact that golf isn’t just a game. It can be a discipline, a philosophy, a way of life. It’s about the journey, the lessons learned, and the connections made, on and off the course. If you’re looking for inspiration, look no further than a golfer who found wisdom in a monastery and expressed it through the power of the written word. That’s a hell of a story.