“OK, so where’d you go to high school?” John Goodman asks me. I thought I was doing the interviewing, but the notoriously friendly actor turns the format around, asking me the evergreen St. Louis question. “Eureka,” I answer. “All the way out in Eureka.” But he knows the town—and a guy who was once mayor, way before my time, he says. I have Goodman on the phone because I want to ask him about Tower Tee, my family’s golf course and driving range, near where he grew up. (His answer, by the way: Affton High.)
Goodman surprises me with how many memories he shares—memories none of my family knew, starting with this one: “The first time I ever got drunk, I was 15 years old and we went to Tower Tee and picked up the golf balls and deposited them into Mackenzie pool. That was the prank. I spent the night at my friend’s house and we got into his dad’s rum.”
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Was that your first memory of golf? For me, golf was just for swells and rich guys. I didn’t know any better, and then I started hanging out with a guy who used to caddie all the time, and now I’m more into golf. But growing up, the only golf I knew was miniature golf, and we used to drive by Tower Tee and just honk our horns at people.
A lot of people still do that. Yeah, but I always liked that it’s a nice quiet center for the community. For me it’s like a proletariat country club for normal everyday women and men who just want to practice golf. The family, the Lotz family that runs it…
We pronounce it “Loats.” German. Oh, right, good kraut makers. But yeah, I just hate that it’s closing. And the cemetery across the street from my old house, they’re [possibly] portioning that out.
My dad told me he saw you at the Tee right after Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans [where Goodman now lives]. I had to evacuate. I was on my way to L.A. to do a play, and I evacuated to St. Louis. I lost track of my family for three days. I was hanging out in Oakville and Affton, so I went to Tower Tee to blow some steam.
What do you usually hit when you come through? A jumbo bucket of balls? I get small buckets, because I’ve got bad arthritis in both my shoulders. After a while, on a large bucket, it starts defeating its own purpose to me. It doesn’t look like it’s tiring, but in my delicate physical shape, I get tired of the repetition. Did you ever drive around that metal cage to pick up balls?
Well, my dad used to make me and my brother pick the field by hand if it rained. If we run the ball-picker, the balls smush into the ground and we lose money. He used to make us work all night and then pay us $20 and breakfast at Uncle Bill’s Pancake House. That’s better than what I used to get at the car wash.
Any other memories? I did a movie about Babe Ruth, and I had to learn how to hit left-handed. So I was home and I thought, “Let’s go to Tower Tee and practice at the batting cages.” Well, a ball tailed off and broke my thumb. I went to St. Anthony’s, blood gushing out of the bottom of my thumbnail, and I’m shaking, and the nurses are hitting me up for autographs. I’m glad I remembered the broken thumb, because there’s still a chip there at the tip. That’s a good healthy reminder that I need to take a couple of swats… This really makes me sad, bringing up these memories. Damn. Tell your dad I hope to get up there this summer.
