"Nice shot!," exclaimed Clyde. "What did you hit?," he asked in continued astonishment.

"A 7 iron," I replied as a matter of fact.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Clyde declared, "That's the longest 7-iron I have ever seen!" He began to repeat this seeming ‘miracle' shot to the others in our foursome.

We were playing golf...Mr. Brooke, Roy Moore, Clyde Sukeforth, and I. We were playing on the then 41-year old, 9-hole golf course called Wawenock Country Club in Walpole, Maine, where I caddied and learned to play golf. Mr. Brooke (aka Thomas V. Brooke) was the manager of the Club, my boss, and high school golf coach. A wonderful and towering guy who was delighted to tell ribald anecdotes, Roy W. Moore was a five-time Maine Seniors's Golf Association champion. He wore denture plates, but never the top one. He liked to blow air through his dislodged lower plate seemingly in an effort to whistle a tune between shots.

The second hole, where that apparently impressive second shot to the par-4 green occurred, is a dogleg right with out-of-bounds along the right side. It was the first Saturday in August 1969. I was 16 years old and loved to swing the golf club hard and fast ala Lanny Wadkins. I loved golf, Maine summers, frisbee, and pop music. That's pretty much it.

However, I was aware that earlier in the summer John Lennon and Yoko Ono hosted a "Bed-In" in Montreal, Canada where the couple recorded "Give Peace a Chance;" that Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones was found dead in a swimming pool; and that just two weeks before, Apollo 11 landed on the moon and the first humans kicked up some lunar dust. The Sharon Tate/Charles Manson murders and the Woodstock Music and Art Festival were still to come.

Songs such as Aquarius, Honky Tonk Women, Hot Fun in the Summertime, One, Crimson and Clover, Proud Mary, Sweet Caroline, and I Can't Get Next To You emanated from the small clock radio stuck on a shelf between golf shirts for sale in the pro-shop where we grabbed a quick bottle of Pepsi between nines. In the shade of the large veranda in the front of the clubhouse, we could rest, watch others tee-off the first hole in starting their second nine, and listen to a natural mix of songs from the window screens, the rustling leaves on the trees lining the driveway, and the quiet of country.

Clyde was in his late 60s. He wore suspenders over nothing that resembled a golf shirt...more a work shirt with rolled up sleeves. On this head he wore a plain cap with the visor raised up to reveal his forehead. He had bowed legs and walking seemed to be an effort for him. He was the first left-handed golfer I knew. He always had a cheek full of chewing tobacco and spoke very rarely. His older golfing buddy, Roy Moore (who could still shoot his age), did all the talking. But, Clyde quietly played on...the quiet only being interrupted by the squeaking of his Bag Boy pull cart that carried his Atlantic golf bag with the little sea horse logo. My father told me that Clyde had something to do with baseball, that he was a catcher earlier in his life, and that the squatting that catchers do and the abuse they receive caused the problems with his legs.

We finished the round. It would be one of only a handful of times I played with Clyde. Clyde continued to be a member of the club while I drifted away from golf during the early 1970s. It would be years later, in fact, during the year 2000 that I would learn a great deal more about Clyde Sukeforth.

Born in Washington, Maine on November 30, 1901, Clyde Leroy "Sukey" Sukeforth began his 10-season Major League Baseball League career as a catcher with the Cincinnati Reds in 1926. Before his promotion to the Brooklyn Dodgers coaching staff in 1943, he managed the Brooklyn farm system with the Elmira Pioneers and the Montreal Royals. Dodgers president, Branch Rickey, also gave Clyde scouting assignments. In 1946 Clyde scouted the major leagues' first African-American in the modern era, Jackie Robinson. A 44-year old Clyde was the only other person in the room when Rickey told the 27-year old Robinson of his plans to sign him to a contract to play in Montreal. In 1947 Robinson donned the Dodgers uniform thereby breaking the color barrier in baseball. Moreover, because Dodgers manager, Leo Durocher, was suspended, Clyde managed the Dodgers for two games in 1947 which included Robinson's first major-league game.

So, now, I think about that summer's day in August, the "miracle" 7-iron shot, and Clyde. If I had only known about him and the historical event in which he was an integral player. In the early 1960s Clyde ended his career as a scout with the Milwaukee/Atlanta Braves. He died on September 3, 2000 in Waldoboro, Maine. I will always remember the quiet man with the squeaky cart, but will always regret not knowing him.

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