ST. ANDREWS, Scotland -- A father and son stand near the 17th tee.
The son, Lyall Rowan, goes to the concession stand and comes back with two bacon rolls, layered in thick slices. The father, Elliot Rowan, begins eating while Lyall trims the fat from his sandwich. It doesn't matter that they're both grown men. The dad is always the dad.
"That's a good bit for you," Elliot says, pointing to a piece on his sandwich, trying to give some of his food to his boy. "There's no fat."
"I already got the large bit, Dad," Lyall says.
With sandwiches, they're ready to watch golf. Before leaving, Elliot kicks the pieces of discarded bacon fat toward a trash can, policing the course he's known most of his life.
The dad is always the dad.
Elliot Rowan is 79. Lyall Rowan is 29. They're from different eras, but both men love golf. Elliot is one of the great teachers in Scotland. Lyall played college golf at Rice University. They both live in St. Andrews, and, on this rainy afternoon, they've walked over to the Open Championship.
"You came for the first time when Sneed won the Open?" Lyall asks.
"Aye," Elliot says.
"And you played in the Scottish Open?"
"Aye. It was in Carnoustie in '51, so it would have been in St. Andrews in '52."
Elliot played golf as a young man, then turned his attention to teaching. He coached the Scottish national team, becoming a legend, working at clubs around the country, learning more about the grip than most other men on the planet. When Elliot had a son later in life, young Lyall had access to an amazing teacher. It was priceless, except that sons rarely want to take advice from their fathers, and Elliot was so busy they didn't get to play much. He had his lessons. Lyall had his tournaments. Golf wasn't the thing that brought them together. It was the thing that kept them apart.
They stand behind the new 17th tee and watch the swings. Both know a tremendous amount about the game. Lyall once shot a 65 on this course to win a tournament.
Davis Love III lets a drive rip.
"That's a bad shot," Lyall says.
"It's a wee bit hooky," Elliot says.
Lyall left for the United States, and they were separated by an ocean. Elliot stayed in St. Andrews. He worked on a book, trying to put everything he'd learned down on paper, so it wouldn't all disappear when he died. It would be his gift to his son, to everyone who loved the game. The book consumed him.
The men check the wind, find it's blowing away from out of bounds. They follow the big cuts, the pros aiming over the corner of The Old Course Hotel. The shots scream off the drivers.
Father and son peer into the sky.
"The last one was the best one," Lyall says.
"My eyes don't refocus quickly enough," Elliot says.
In 2006, after graduation, Lyall made a decision. He was coming back to St. Andrews. They look at this as a make-up of sorts. A do over. They see each other most days. The love between them is apparent after five minutes of seeing them together. "He's my best mate," Lyall says. "I feel I'm starting to really get to know him."
This past winter frightened Lyall. Elliot had a health scare, one of several he's had recently. A cough set in, and antibiotics and steroids did nothing to slow it. In a bar in November, as Lyall sat in a corner of a local pub and worked on his laptop, a friend across the room saw him, pointed him out and told me: that young man is taking care of his fading father. "He was coughing so badly I was feeling sympathy pains," Lyall says.
But Elliot is tough. Doctors figured out the problem and now he's back on his feet. He finished the book, whittling and whittling until it was as tight as he could make it, a lifetime of knowledge boiled down to about 6,000 words in a clear, plastic binder. Who knows if it will ever be published? In some ways, that's beside the point. It's a treasure. He seems full of energy these days, ready to tackle the terrain of the Old Course.
They stand side-by-side, seeing what the pros can do with their home course. They are both tall, both carrying umbrellas. They are obviously related. Conversation flows easily between shots. Golf isn't the thing that keeps them apart. It is the thing that brings them together.
Elliot takes the last bite of his bacon roll. There's a crumb on his face. Lyall takes out his napkin and brushes it off.
The son is always the son.
