Imagine with me that you’re flying in a Learjet on your way to your next job. You’ve had a hectic morning preparing for your trip and rushing off to the airport, so once you get settled on the aircraft and the plane is in the air, you close your eyes for a quick nap. This scenario (or something like it … remember, we’re imagining) took place fifteen years ago this day.
The tragic death of golfer Payne Stewart and five of his associates occurred when they lost consciousness in a depressurized cabin and fell asleep, ninety minutes before the aircraft crashed when its fuel ran out. Because Stewart hailed from Missouri (my home state) and because he clearly loved golf and life, I considered him a breath of fresh air in the early years when I was learning the sport. Some people called him a showboat … his throwback (but colorful) clothing set him apart. Was it flamboyant (as some commentators described it)? Maybe, but I would have preferred the word memorable. In an era of ordinary polo shirts and khakis as the standard golfing garb, Stewart dressed splendidly so people would not confuse him with his contemporaries Davis Love III or Nick Price or Hal Sutton. Continue reading “Finding Home”
