My grandma came into this world swinging.
Maggie Lough was born during the 1918 Influenza Pandemic. The doctor told her mother he’d be back the next day to sign Maggie’s death certificate. The puny infant wouldn’t make it.
Obviously she did, because here I sit.
Maggie died in April after winning many more battles along the way. She survived the Depression. She raised three children with no money. She lived 20 years with just one kidney after losing the other to cancer.
She was also an avid golfer. She and my dad share one thing the rest of the family does not: they both have a hole in one. I’ve known for a while, but didn’t have any details, until her funeral.
My dad gave a very moving eulogy. Friends and family were invited to stand and share their memories with Maggie. A very frail woman stood, with assistance, and said she was playing golf with my grandma when Maggie aced a par three. My grandma was too short to see it, so her friend had to break the news she wouldn’t need her putter on that hole.
It was November in Indiana, the month most Midwest golfers store their clubs for the winter. And my grandmother hit a hole in one. No doubt it took her a full driver to get there.
I write this because she’s a woman who isn’t famous or well-known, but she should still be remembered and celebrated. Neighbors and friends remember her for cutting coupons and wrapping up leftovers during financial hardships. I remember her wearing hats to church, the interesting advice she’d send me via two-page letters, and the sass and strength she passed onto me that I desperately try to call my own.
Most importantly to this blog, she should be remembered as a great golfer. She likely doesn't hold any records or has won any Tournaments, but we should honor the women before us who were devoted to the game, but whose influence may not be palpable to the greater world of golf.
Our golf game thrives because of them.