The air and the atmosphere were heavy yesterday during a grey, showery day at the Augusta National Golf Club. Bruce Edwards, Tom Watson's caddy for 30 years, had died early in the morning. Edwards, 49, had been suffering from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig's disease, and had not been able to caddy for Watson since the UBS Cup in Sea Island, Ga., in November.
Watson learned of his friend's death en route to the course for his early starting time. Edwards had told Watson he wanted him to play the Masters should he die this week. Watson, who won the 1977 and 1981 Masters, shot four-over par 76 and then spoke of Edwards.
"He could make you laugh at the worst times and he could -- I've said this many times, he's kicked me in the butt when I've needed to be kicked in the butt," Watson said.
Watson had attended the annual Golf Writers Association of America dinner on Wednesday, when Edwards was to be presented with the Ben Hogan Award. The award is given to somebody in golf who carries on in the game despite illness or a physical handicap. Hogan was nearly killed in a car accident in February of 1949, but came back. He won the Masters, U.S. Open and British Open in 1953.
Edwards had taken a turn for the worse and could not attend the dinner. His father, Jay, accepted the award on his son's behalf. Nearly everybody shed tears as he spoke. Watson also spoke.
"No long faces," he said. "Let's celebrate his wonderful heart, not a mean bone in his body."
Edwards was called "the Arnold Palmer of caddies." He was, too. He always had time for a word with anybody who came his way. He could have done other things with his life, but was drawn to caddying and found his man in Watson.
"I was a long-haired golfer and coming out of the locker room at a club in St. Louis, playing in the tournament there in 1973, and he was a long-haired caddy." Watson said. "We fit the bill right together there. He asked me if he could caddy for me, and I said: 'Sure, I'll give you a shot. Let's go.' "
But Edwards did not caddy when Watson won his two Masters. Players then were required to use Augusta National's caddies. Still, he followed Watson around in the 1977 final round and cheered him on to his first green jacket.
In 1982, a year after Watson won his second Masters, he and Edwards found themselves to the left of the 17th green at the Pebble Beach Golf Links on the Monterey Peninsula in California. Watson had a chance to win his first U.S. Open. His ball was nestled down in the rough, 30 feet from the hole.
"Get it close," Edwards told Watson. "Close, hell, I'm going to make it," Watson said. He did. Watson pointed at Edwards playfully, as if to say, "I told you so." He won the U.S. Open, the only one in his storied career. They embraced after the round.
"I think the hug at the 18th hole at Pebble Beach was probably the most wonderful memory that we both shared together," Watson said. "That was the only major that he won on my bag. [Watson employed a Scottish caddy during the five British Opens that he won.] But, you know, that was the major that I wanted to win most, and he knew that."
By 1989, Watson's game had slipped. He suggested to Edwards that he work for somebody else to make more money. Edwards got together with Greg Norman for three years, but things didn't work out and he returned to Watson. They were golf's best-known player-caddy twosome and supported each other through the best of times and the worst of times.
Not that Edwards let himself think he was going through the worst of times with ALS. John Feinstein, author of the new book Caddy for Life: The Bruce Edwards Story, said yesterday that Edwards did not want to be a public figure, but that he stepped up to help raise awareness of ALS. So did Watson, who has donated the $1-million (U.S.) annuity he won last year to organizations doing ALS research. He vowed again yesterday that a cure will yet be found for the neuromuscular affliction.
Watson will play today's second round of the Masters with a heart both heavy and light. He'll surely be thinking of Edwards.
"I write this to everybody who loses a loved one," he said, "and I believe it's true. May the memories of the one who has passed on fill the void that they left."
Edwards leaves his wife, Marsha, his parents and many friends. He lived the life he wanted on courses both beautiful and not so beautiful and was a consummate professional from the first tee to the last green. rube@sympatico.ca
