Page 87 of Putting Out
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Birdie Smithfield was a man who believed in tradition. From the annual tradition of putting the same star on top of his Christmas tree each year to the weekly routine of sitting in the same pew each Sunday at his Southern Methodist church.
And when it came to the American, well, that tradition was the most sacred. As chairman of the American Tournament it was, he believed, his sacred duty to present to the public year in and year out the very best course, with the very best field of players for the very best tournament.
This year, however, they were introducing a change to the tradition. For the first time because of a strange and, in his opinion, flawed ranking system a woman was going to play in the field of the very best.
It was often suggested Birdie didn’t like women. Birdie absolutelylikedwomen. In their place.
In his opinion, however, this golf club was not their place.
He couldn’t prevent those distinguished members from inviting their lady friends to partake in the facilities from time to time.
This was different. This wasn’t some random Tuesday business meeting where the lady could hit from the ladies’ tees and rejoice in the honor of being allowed to play on hallowed golf ground. This was a woman who would be participating in what was the greatest golf event of the year.
One lone woman among a hundred of the finest professional golfers past and present.
It was an injustice of epic proportions to bastardize the event in such a way. But alas, he did not control the PGA’s ranking system so he couldn’t control the field of players the way he would like.
Soshewould come. There was no hope for it. He could take consolation knowing she would only play two days and during those two days she would be made a spectacle. In the end, the world would see how woefully disadvantaged women are when comparing themselves to men.
This morning she had called for an appointment with him and he had accepted.
It was common practice for those players never having played on the course before to want to play a few practice rounds before the event.
Sadly, allowing Reilly Carr such an opportunity was in conflict with his beliefs.
Birdie Smithfield was a man of strong convictions. Equally as strong as his belief in traditions.
* * *
“I’m sorry.What did you say?”
“I said that while I understand your desire to play the course before the upcoming tournament, I simply can’t bend the rules in this case to make an exception for you.”
Reilly’s jaw dropped open. She and Odie had made the appointment with Smithfield as a courtesy. It was common knowledge any qualifying player for the American would be granted the opportunity of a few practice rounds. In fact, the course was littered with her competitors right now, many of whom were not members.
Odie told her without a member’s sponsorship they needed to get an invite from Smithfield personally. It was classier than having Luke get her onto the field as the guest of a previous winner.
Now the man with the round gut, round face and round bald head was telling her in no uncertain terms… no.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Smithfield…”
“Call me Birdie,” he said congenially.
“Birdie. But it’s my understanding that you have the right to allow any player a practice round or two.”
“I have exercised that authority in the past, yes. But I feel having that kind of influence in some ways takes away from the spirit of privacy this course is so famous for. Members pay dearly for their membership and should be the only ones to play or invite others to play. It makes the experience much more special, don’t you think?”
Reilly sat back in the chair she’d been offered, tugging at the navy blazer she’d worn to affect an air of professionalism. Sensing she was fidgeting, she folded her hands across her lap in a manner that would have made Grams proud of her.
“Sir, are you trying to tell me you’re not going to let her play before she sets foot on this course in three weeks?” Odie, who was never one for subtlety didn’t see Reilly was a train about to be railroaded.
“Oh, no, sir. I would never presume to allow or disallow Miss Carr to play. It’s simply the truth that it’s not my decision. If she can find a member willing to sponsor her then she, like any other lady, would be more than welcome to come hit the golf ball on our fine course. Even the ladies' tees have been known to present quite a challenge.”
Reilly didn’t rise to the bait. “How would I go about getting a membership list to ask someone to sponsor me?”
“Oh, now, that’s something I’m afraid I couldn’t help you with. Our membership list is entirely confidential.”
