Editorial
Front Page - Friday, October 23, 2009
Are We There Yet?
Sammy the Great
Jay Edwards
“Just returned from a golf lesson in an effort to fine-tune my game. Tip for all to ponder: Remember you can tune a piano but you can’t tune a fish!!!!” —Sammy the “ball striker” Bull
A long-time participant in “The Julian Cup,” somewhere along the way Mark Pennebaker was given the nickname “Sammy the Bull.” It kind of stuck.
We completed this year’s “Cup” matches, our “22nd Annual,” on the last Sunday in September, the day before Mark and his wife Kristi would leave for their vacation to Cabo San Lucas. None of us dreamed when we walked out of the Men’s Grill of the Hot Spring’s Country Club, bidding farewell to him, that it would be for the last time. He died suddenly while on that vacation.
Some of the guys who played in The Cup with Mark over the years have reminisced about our friend. Here are some of those memories.
“Mark taught me how to play golf after I graduated from college, when we both were working for the bank department. One day we were in McGehee, to play golf with the president of the bank and some other bank officers. There is a par 3 beside the road and as we were standing on the tee box about to hit, along comes a girl riding a horse. After some brief conversation, Pennebaker has talked her into letting him ride the horse for a hole, while she rides in the golf cart with me. I can still see him ahead of us — riding that horse and singing the theme song from Bonanza. I’m not sure he had even been on a horse before. The bank president still asks me about him whenever we see each other.” — Bill Whitmore
“Once about eight years ago, Sammy invited me to play in a charity scramble. It was a prominent charity, and the tournament was at Chenal, with a lot of guys wearing expensive golf clothes and playing with nice equipment. Sammy was screaming ‘Da German Ball!’ off the first tee, and as soon as a couple of adult libations had been downed, the frequency of the screamed comments increased. As usual, he had us laughing heartily on almost every hole, as he stomped the fairways and greens as ‘The Bull,’ in his trademark golf sandals. After five holes of golf, the serious golfers in front of us could take no more. That’s right, we had a group let us play through during a charity scramble because they could not concentrate with Mark’s ‘joyful noise’ behind them. After we got around ‘Judge Smails,’ and his group, I told Sammy on the next tee that he was the only person I knew who could claim that honor.” — Randy Morley
“In my first Julian Cup, many years ago, I was partnered with Mark for alternating shot. We were to tee off at 1 p.m. at North Hills. I arrived at 10:30, got loose, hit a hundred balls, chipped, putted, ate, got loose again, chipped, putted, and nervously made my way to the tee box. At 12:50, no Sammy. And no one has seen him. At 12:55 a great calamity from the parking lot catches everyone’s attention. Some awful, loud, singing of a nondescript show tune. Make way for Sammy the Bull! He runs his cart over the curb, over the tee box, nearly flipping over, and all without spilling a drop — a perfect WC Fields entrance. ‘Let’s play some *&#@% golf!!!’ in a tone that drowned out a passing 747. He laced his ball right down the middle of the fairway. I hit mine into the swimming pool.” — Johnny Slattery
“At the conclusion of this year’s Cup, Mark and I found ourselves the last participants left at the Hot Springs CC Men’s Grill. He told me about his Cabo vacation, which began the next day. He was jovial and expecting a wonderful time. We hugged each other before we left. Without question, the best hug I can remember.” — Mark Davis
“I can truly say that I never was in the presence of Mark without laughing at something he said or did. I played against him many times in the Julian Cup and never once was there a cross word spoken or poor sportsmanship exhibited (unless it came from me). He loved to play golf more than anyone I know. He loved life and lived it to the fullest. I am going to miss him so much.” — Jim Julian
At Mark’s Rosary I ran into Owen Colford, who lives next door to Mark and Kristi and their girls; and who graduated with Mark and Randy and me from Catholic High in 1975.
Owen told me about the many times he would see Pennebaker out in his front yard, yelling the familiar words out to his daughters, Layne and Paige, in that big old booming voice of his: “I love you pretty girls. I love you.”
That was Mark Pennebaker —a husband, father, son, brother and friend — who knew how to laugh, to love and to live. Is there any greater legacy?
|
|