The Big Man

The Big Man died seven years ago today.  Gerry was my best friend and favourite golfing buddy.  He wasn't a scratch player by any means, but he loved the game and was absolutely the best company on the golf course.  That's what makes a great golfing companion--not whether they can play well or not, but rather how pleased you are to be in their company for four hours on the course.  Gerry was the best.

At six feet five inches tall and over three hundred pounds, Gerry had some difficulty with slicing the ball.  But he also perfected the "automatic reload," where, as he hit one of his wicked slices, his right hand came off the club, dipped into his pocket, and produced another ball which he would drop on the ground and prepare to hit as his previous shot was still in the air.  He was not attached to his golf balls and he was unrelenting in his good humour, whether he made an 8 or a 3. 

My favourite golfing memory was of Gerry making the winning putt for our team in a scramble that had to be decided in a playoff.  The Big Man leapt in the air like Philly Mick when he won his first Masters.  He said to me afterwards that that was the most excited he'd ever been.  Obviously, that might have been his biggest thrill in golf, but, believe me, the way Gerry lived his life was anything but dull.  He crammed a whole lot of living into his fifty four years.  And he was dearly loved by many.

We miss you, Gerry.