Alexa Stirling

I V | A L E X A S T I R L I NG

My earliest recollection of Bob Jones was when, as a child of seven, he was lying asleep in his bed, recovering from the effects of an upset tummy. He was a rather spindly child, with a head too large for his small body, but he was even then the handsome person he turned out to be (Matthew 1999). Back to her autobiography: Perry Adair, Bob Jones, and I were all too insignificant for the honor of caddies, and the three of us would trudge round the course many a time playing thirty-six holes in the day, lugging our own bags and under a broiling sun. Sometimes we would wait at No. 1 tee for a couple of hours before we could get away … then we were off, nearly hidden by our bags, but as happy as could be.

As I discarded a hat, my hair in places was bleached to a delicate straw, but the color of my nose made up for that. I grew in strength, if not in beauty, but Perry and Bob wore hats, and their good looks were not spoiled. At this period, it was the beginning of the fashion for boys to plaster their hair as close to their heads as possible. I thought it was very new, very stylish and consequently the proper thing to do … I nearly pulled out mine by the roots, applied water, and then held all that was left down tight by a ‘slide.’ High tight collars were all the vogue amongst the ambitious youths, so I nearly choked myself. When looking down low for a golf ball, my eyes must have appeared as though they would leave their sockets altogether. Most people would have had heat stroke, but as far as I know, I never did. As time progressed, we had many fun-filled days playing golf together. We had complete freedom to be on the course at any time with the exception of Sundays, at which time we would walk around and watch the better senior members. In this way, we hoped to improve our own games. All our attempts were under the watchful eye

of Stewart Maiden, who was our guide and mentor for years to come. It was with great gratification and admiration that I saw Bob grow to become the fine, broadminded, dignified gentleman he later proved to be. She used “Jimmie” for Jimmy Maiden, her first teacher after her father: Jimmie Maiden and I were good friends. I played my first match with Jimmie, who had also made my clubs. It was for a package of chewing gum, a secret treasure forbidden in the house, and it was one-hole long. He was to use one club with one hand, and I was to have all the clubs I wanted, and two hands. I think Jimmie won the match, but he was a thorough gentleman and the lady got the gum. And about his brother Stewart Maiden, who followed Jimmy as club pro in 1908: He and I soon became great friends, and he has never been above playing

with me at any time that I might request. Like most speechless people (so I am told) he can chatter when he likes. I wonder if there is another professional in America who is on such terms of affection with his club members as is

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