From Monastery to Masters: The Unconventional Path to Golf Mastery
Look, we all love golf, right? But sometimes, you gotta wonder about the paths people take to get there. Some guys are born into it, rich dads, country clubs, the whole damn shebang. Others… well, they take the scenic route. And I’m not talking about a few extra bunkers. I’m talking about a route that involves a monastery. Yeah, you heard me. A goddamn monastery. How the hell does that even happen? It’s a story that’ll make you rethink what it means to be good at this game, and maybe even what it means to be a decent human being.
This isn’t your typical golf tale of endless practice sessions on perfect fairways. This is about a guy who walked a path so far removed from the usual golf grind, you’d think it was a joke. But it wasn’t. It was his life. And it led him to understand the game, and life, in ways most of us can only dream of. It’s about discipline, focus, and finding your game when you least expect it. And it’s a hell of a story.
The Dual Apprenticeships: Golfer and Monk
So, picture this. A young guy, back in the 1950s, on Long Island. He’s got golf on the brain. Not just playing, but *professional* golf. He’s putting in the work, dreaming of making it big on the tour. For years, that was the plan. The driving range, the practice greens, the whole nine yards. He was serious. Like, *really* serious. He spent a solid decade, through high school and then college in Alabama, with his sights set firmly on a career as a pro golfer. College golf at Spring Hill College, Jesuit school, you know the drill. He was good. Damn good.
But then, things took a sharp left turn. After his college golf days, he didn’t head to Q-School. Nope. He headed to a monastery. A Trappist monastery, in rural Georgia. For five years. Five years of silence, prayer, and hard work. Training to be a monk. Can you even wrap your head around that? From the manicured greens to the quiet cells. From the roar of the crowd (or at least the imagined one) to the absolute silence of contemplation. It’s a hell of a contrast. And somehow, this crazy detour became the foundation for everything that came next. It was his pathway, completely unintentional, to a life in journalism, and to teaching. Peace Studies, of all things.
Golf as a Passport in the Capital
Fast forward a bit. This guy, Colman McCarthy, settles into life in Washington D.C. He’s married, got three sons, and he’s a big-deal columnist for the Washington Post. Nearly 30 years he was there, starting way back in the late 60s. He was a straight shooter, a liberal voice, a true believer in peace. But he was also a golfer. And in D.C., golf is more than just a game. It’s a damn passport. You’re playing East Potomac, the public course, or maybe you’re trying to get into Burning Tree, the all-male club where the big shots hang out. Golf opens doors. And Colman, he knew how to use it.
When the mood struck him, he’d write about golf. And when he wrote, it was with this incredible mix of sharp logic and a touch so light you’d barely feel it. He wasn’t afraid to call out the bullshit. The Masters, back in the day, was a prime target. He absolutely ripped into their tiny, handpicked fields, how they excluded good golfers, Black golfers, international talent. He even suggested a player boycott. His idea? Make the Tournament Players Championship a major and rename the Masters the “Clifford Roberts Invitational,” a little jab at the chairman. It was bold. And a few years later, things did change, becoming more meritocratic. He had a way of cutting through the crap, whether it was on the golf course or in the world.
Finding the Game Again: The Pleasures of the Course
Colman McCarthy was born in 1938 on Long Island. His dad? An immigration lawyer who loved golf and baseball. Kind of like Atticus Finch, but from New York, Irish-Catholic. Colman always had heroes. Tommy Bolt, as a kid, even caddied for him. Mother Teresa later on. He was drawn to people who forged their own paths. Chi Chi Rodriguez, even with opposite politics. Notah Begay. He appreciated people who owned their journey.
Then, in 1977, he wrote a slim book called “The Pleasures of the Game.” I stumbled upon it in my local library. I was a senior in high school, and let me tell you, that book was a game-changer. Colman talked about the simple joys: a nine-club bag, walking the course, playing fast, following the rules, bringing your own damn food. He described caddying at a fancy Long Island club, even for guys like the Duke of Windsor and Perry Como. Talk about a resume.
But he didn’t just caddy. He worked in the pro shop, selling socks and balls. Then came the real deep dive: “working as the nightman in charge of rotating fairway sprinklers.” Seriously. And in the quiet hours, from midnight to 3 a.m., he’d practice putting by moonlight. Using Venus as his plumb-bob for sidehill putts. That’s dedication. Or maybe just plain insanity. But it painted a picture, didn’t it? The golf course as a kind of monastery. He nailed it down to one sentence: “Golf exercises the body, stimulates the mind and elevates the spirit.” Pure gold. It’s this philosophy that really sets his approach apart, turning a simple game into a profound experience.
The Monastery Metaphor: Discipline and Focus
That idea of the golf course as a monastery? It’s not just some flowery language. It’s about the discipline. The monk’s life is all about routine, focus, and cutting out the noise. Sound familiar? That’s exactly what you need on the golf course. Think about it. When you’re standing over a crucial putt, or facing a tricky approach shot, what’s the first thing that goes? Your focus. Your discipline. Your calm.
Colman’s experience in the monastery taught him how to find that stillness. How to shut out the distractions. How to be present in the moment. That’s not something you learn from reading books. That’s something you live. And he brought that into his golf. He wasn’t playing for the roar of the crowd; he was playing for the quiet satisfaction of a well-executed shot. He found the pleasures in the process, not just the outcome. This is a valuable lesson for any golfer looking to improve their mental game, moving beyond the score to appreciate the journey of each swing.
He met me, I think, at the 1985 Kemper Open at Congressional. I was caddying, he was just wandering around, looking like a reporter, bucket hat and all. One night, I even sat in on his Peace Studies class at American University. He hammered home a point: it’s not enough to just know about the world’s problems. You have to *do* something. That’s the kind of guy he was. He lived what he preached. He wasn’t just observing; he was participating. And that active engagement, that willingness to get involved, is a powerful parallel to how a golfer needs to approach their game – actively seeking improvement, not just passively hoping for it.
Talking to Everyone: The Wisdom of the Crowd
After his class, we grabbed some grub. He was a vegetarian, by the way. Then I hopped on the Metro. He didn’t own a car. Famously committed to public transit and his three-speed Raleigh bike. He biked everywhere. That was his thing: talk to everybody. Because you can learn from *anybody*. He lived it. Friends with Joan Baez, Sargent Shriver, golf pros, Congressional staffers, bus drivers. He stayed in touch, too sporadically, for 40 years. And I’m telling you, Colman McCarthy shaped my life immeasurably. I can’t imagine a life without heroes. Can you?
It’s that willingness to connect, to listen, to learn from everyone, that’s so damn important. On the golf course, how many times have you seen someone dismiss the advice of a stranger on the range? Or ignore the quiet wisdom of a caddy who’s seen it all? We get so caught up in our own heads, our own ego, that we miss out on the valuable insights that are right in front of us. Colman understood that true wisdom isn’t confined to the elite; it’s everywhere, if you’re open to it. This approach to learning, embracing diverse perspectives, is a powerful tool for golfers aiming to refine their technique and understanding of the game.
Family, Golf, and a Life Well-Lived
His wife, Mav, was a nurse, loved Scotch, ate meat, and was a conservative. Talk about opposites attracting. They were devout Catholics, she from Greenwich, he from Long Island. Mav passed in 2021. When they got engaged, her dad tried to scuttle the whole thing. Took Colman out for golf at his fancy club. Colman, in tennis shoes and borrowed sticks, shot a 66. Marriage was on. That’s a power move, right there.
Two sons, John and Edward, became teachers and baseball coaches. Jim, another son, became a PR guy who actually helped Augusta National navigate its single-sex club issues back in the day. Colman and his three sons? They formed a golf foursome whenever they could. Long Island, Dominican Republic. Since Mav died, Colman lived with John and his family in the Dominican. He passed away there on Feb. 27, at 87. He was still puttering around the practice greens at Casa de Campo, still smitten by the game. All while wanting to make the world a more just place for all 8 billion of us, including the 60 million golfers out there.
His life was a testament to the fact that you don’t have to follow the beaten path to find success, fulfillment, or even mastery. Whether it was his time as a monk, his career as a journalist, or his lifelong love affair with golf, Colman McCarthy showed us that a unique perspective can lead to extraordinary achievements. His journey is a powerful reminder that the game of golf, like life itself, offers endless opportunities for growth, learning, and profound connection, if you’re just willing to look for them.
You can learn more about the impact of individuals who bridge different worlds at Peace Brigades International, an organization dedicated to nonviolence and justice, reflecting the spirit of individuals like Colman McCarthy.