My introduction to golf came at the driving range that used to be out on Route 5, about halfway between Auburn and Elbridge.

My father Mike and one of his friends, Al Impaglia were hitting balls, calling their shots, right to left, left to right, high fade low draw and so on. I was a little kid and it was the first time I met Al. It was quite an exhibition by these two gentlemen, one that I never forgot.

As luck would have it, I met Al again when I worked a summer at the old Hammond and Irving foundry where he worked on the “big hammer.” I met him again when I started playing golf for a number of reasons, golf itself being the least of them. Al was a member at Dutch Hollow and let me play with him, Ken King, Phil Losito, Al Notarpole, Bob Banaszak, just to name a few.

Golf was new to me. I was a baseball player and the golf swing never was easy. I played with them by the rules, and they taught me much more than you could ever learn from technical manuals or golf gurus. They taught me about sportsmanship, fair play, one-on-one combat, what it means to never give an inch, what it means to play hard, to give your best on ever shot and to never quit. They also taught me about the magic of making eagle when you really need it and about making putts or shots when you absolutely had to, about the magic of knowing how to play the game.

I watched Al swing a club when he was past his prime, whatever that is and saw immediately he had a special talent. Al kept the club in front of him and had his arms connected to his body during his swing many years before it became fashionable. He had a great swing, and never tired of sharing his knowledge. On top of his fine technique, he had a pair of steelworker's hands and arms with great strength. You'll never find anyone who had a better short game or could make a pressure putt.

I was playing in the group behind Al when he won his last club championship at Dutch. As he was preparing to putt on the 18th, a thunderstorm was approaching and everybody knew that Al needed a 10-foot putt to win the championship. I waited in the fairway as Al lined up his down-hiller, looking at it from every angle, grinding away. Lighting flashed overhead with dark clouds, wind, and thunder as Al bent over the putt. There was more lighting and rain started, but Al never wavered; he waited until he was ready and never flinched.

The storm was over us as Al stroked the putt smooth into the hole for his victory. I really believe he didn't even know what was going on until somebody pointed out the bad weather. That was grace under pressure, concentration and a true demonstration of what it takes to be a tournament player. And that was Al; he loved to play, the competition and the game.

Al was always positive, encouraging and his enthusiasm was infectious. You learned just by being around him and playing with Al was a special treat. Like Joe Fronczek said, “Al was a gentleman and a player. Whenever Al was around, you had a good day.” I like to think that Al and my dad are trading shots again, competing like a couple kids from VanAnden Street.

See you on the links!