Sunday, April 8, 2001
[HAWAII GOLF]
Time to link up The men sit in the clubhouse restaurant and talk story about the stock market and World War II rations and local communities that used to be swamp land. They are four friends. They have just finished 18 holes of golf.
at Olomana
This foursome meets every
Tuesday to talk story
and play golfBy Kalani Simpson
Star-Bulletin"I'm really proud of you," Terry Monahan said to the man beside him. "You got your second wind. Your leg didn't bother you today, it didn't slow you down."
Jack Williams, grateful for the respite and looking forward to lunch, smiled in agreement.
But Monahan had more. "Now you go home, put some ice on it, take care of it. Better than just sitting down and doing nothing. Complaining.
"See?" Monahan said. "Nobody gets away with anything in this group."
Williams has a knee that gives him trouble, like a lot of people do. He has a son and daughter, six grandchildren and 14 great grandchildren. He lost his wife a year ago Valentine's Day.
He is 85 years old.
Remy Latour will be 85 in October. He is the scorekeeper of the group. He is an amateur historian, writing down his stories and remembrances. He came to Hawaii during the war, in 1943, and except for a brief trip back to his native New York, this has been home ever since. He and his wife have "a real nice calabash family." He and the Oahu- born and -raised Williams met when their businesses intersected, and they have been friends for three decades or more, give or take a few years. Neither one is sure.
Loren Dilsaver will be 87 in June. His son has lived in Hawaii for 30 years. Dilsaver splits his time between the mainland and Hawaii, and from November to April he plays golf with these rascals every week.
"I never played golf until I was too old to learn," he said.
When he leaves in the spring, "We'll have to find another old guy," Latour said.
Monahan is the baby of the group.
He is tall and strong and takes a big swing. He hits it far and walks after it as often as he rides. But his friends have to tell him where to go. "I can't see," Monahan explained. "I can see to hit the ball, but after that, that's where these guys help me."
These four are favorite customers at Olomana Golf Links in Waimanalo. Every Tuesday, they play. Waitresses hug them. Pro shop people call them "Mr." "Mr. Latour." "Mr. Monahan."
"As long as I see you two (Williams and Latour) together, I'm happy," a fellow golfer on the course told them.
They have played for years. They say, "Please" and "Thank you." They smile and root for each other. They bet for dimes on the putting green.
Latour's favorite word is "good." "Good one, Terry." "Good job, Jack." "Good, good, Loren."
Monahan was happy to join them. He had to retire in 1988 because of his eyesight. He had been a golfer, years earlier, a good one, you can see that by the way he plays. He hadn't been out for about 15 years, because of his vision. But then he met Latour, who invited him in. Soon he was on the course again, every Tuesday, displaying the foursome's longest drives. He was glad, he said. "I like to play."
He was happy to be part of a group. This group.
"We're all in our eighties, so we go along at our own speed," Latour said.
Williams walks slowest, but he's the best golfer. They all have their moments. The others give Monahan play-by-play.
"You're going to like that one. It's rolling and a rolling."
"Thanks, Jack."
Their strategy has changed. They don't have the bodies they once did. Latour, especially, has to lay up more, and Dilsaver gives him grief over it. "Maybe when I get that old I won't be able to hit that far, either," Dilsaver said. Dilsaver is two years older.
They laugh and smile and take their time. The frustrations of the game aren't quite so frustrating any more. Latour gets a great bounce at the lip of the ditch to stay fair. He laughs at his luck. Williams assures him it was skill.
At the end of the morning, Latour is in charge of adding up the scores. They bet on the fewest putts, not the fewest strokes. The men joke about the counting. They pay their quarters and tell their stories and have their lunch. For four friends in their eighties, it's been a good day. Another Tuesday.