The Best of Times

A Great Speech by George Peper at Yeamans Hall

George Peper is one of America's most respected golf journalists. For 25 years he was Editor-in-Chief of GOLF Magazine, with a total readership of 7 million. He is currently Editor of LINKS Magazine where his column appears in each issue.

Yeamans Hall Invitational Speech
by George Peper
May 4, 2025

What I’d like to talk about this evening is us—all of us here—and some of
the amazing things we all share.

Now, by definition, those of us who are members of the United States Seniors Golf Association have one thing in common—our age (in fact our advanced age). I’ve actually done the math—I looked up all of your ages in the Seniors’ website—and the average age of those of us assembled this week is 67.8. What that means is we’re a living, breathing group-portrait of the Baby Boom generation—those born between 1946 and 1964—the largest, best-educated, and most financially fortunate demographic in American history. Yes, there are a couple of Red Dots here who sadly missed the cut by a year or two, but tonight I’m going to magnanimously welcome you kids into the wigwam with the rest of us lucky folks.

Basically, we all hit the generational jackpot...Thanks to a combination of divine providence and our parents’ timely moment of carnal passion...each of us was handed one of life’s golden tickets.

I mean, think about it. We dodged the bullets of World War II...We missed the misery of the Great Depression. Instead, we were born into an endless American summer of prosperity and possibility. College, back when we went, cost pennies, jobs were easy to find, homes were affordable, and the stock market was about to take off on a 40-year tear that turned modest pensions into fortunes.

Modern medicine conquered polio just in time for our childhood and now has delivered robotic joint replacements just in time for our retirement. Our cultural timing was equally impeccable. We came of age with The Beatles and Motown, we were treated to cinematic genius, from Hitchcock to Scorsese to Spielberg, we saw TV evolve from three channels to 3000 and witnessed the evolution from Ed Sullivan to Saturday Night Live, Leave it to Beaver to Modern Family, Gunsmoke to Yellowstone, and Lassie to Paw Patrol. And now we have streaming services that put it all at our fingertips.

We were present for both the first moon landing and the first personal computer. We raised our kids, and now grandkids, in an era that gave us both rotary dial and smart phones, vinyl and Spotify, road maps and GPS, handwritten letters and zoom calls. We’ve spanned not just two centuries but two millennia—and we lived through 14 Presidents, 8 Popes, and perhaps most impressively, 7 James Bonds.

Bottom line, we boomers showed up at the party just as the drinks were being poured, the music was getting good, and the buffet was fully stocked. For half a century we’ve partied hearty—and soon we’ll be heading home without having to do any of the cleanup. If that’s not perfect timing I don’t know what is.

But there’s one more element to our generational good fortune—especially those of us here tonight—and that, of course, is golf...glorious, grounding, soul-saving golf...and it might just be the biggest jackpot of all.

If you think about it, golf in America “grew up” right alongside us. Back in the 1960s, when we were teenagers or kids—or in the case of you Red Dots, toddlers—the PGA Tour was basically a traveling circus—a bunch of golf-playing gypsies making barely enough money to survive. But then a perfect storm hit: Arnold Palmer stole everyone's hearts, TV fell in love with golf, and Arnie’s agent Mark McCormack started marketing Palmer, Nicklaus, and Player as if they were rock stars.

Pretty soon, those stars realized their worth. They broke away from the PGA of America, created their own tour, and put a sharp young fellow-pro named Deane Beman in charge as Commissioner. Beman built clever alliances with TV, corporate America, and charities, and before long, the Tour’s annual revenue exploded—from four million dollars in 1974 to 260 million in 1995 (en route to the $2 billion of today).

Basically, golf got organized. It got serious.

And it got rich—just as much of America did.

And in the process, we golf nuts struck gold.

We got to watch Palmer, Nicklaus, Player, Trevino, Watson, Miller, Crenshaw, Norman, Ballesteros—the list goes on. Today, fully half of the members of the World Golf Hall of Fame are players from the ‘70s and ‘80s. By any measure, it was golf’s greatest generation.

One month ago, we all watched Rory McIlroy win the Masters and complete the career grand slam, and a wonderful moment that was. But think about this: Most of us have been around for the completion of not just one but eight career grand slams—one each by McIlroy and Gary Player and three each by Jack Nicklaus, and Tiger Woods. I mean, can you believe how lucky we’ve been to be able to witness the full majesty of both Nicklaus and Woods?

And now, for dessert, we get to enjoy Scottie Scheffler, who about two hours ago
posted the lowest 72-hole total in history—253—to win in his home state of Texas by eight strokes.

When Arnie and his cohorts started slowing down, the Senior Tour arrived, giving us even more years to cheer our heroes on. At the same moment, thanks to the confluence of Title IX, the feminist movement, and a superstar named Nancy Lopez, women’s golf also took off.

If that wasn’t enough, a boom in golf course construction during the 1990s brought us spectacular new places to play around the world while at the same time hundreds of posh golf-centric retirement communities popped up and readied for our arrival.

When creeping seniorhood began to erode our golf skills, modern technology came to the rescue. We traded persimmon woods for metal ones, unforgiving long irons for hybrids, steel shafts for graphite, and mushy balata balls that smiled back at us after we skulled them for impervious Pro V1s that added yards to our drives. No other generation—before or after ours—will ever see that kind of upgrade.

And the wildest change may be the most recent one. Golf has moved indoors. Thanks to simulators, the fact is that more rounds annually are now played inside than outside—millions more. The game is actually splitting in two, much the same way that skiing became skiing-and-snowboarding and tennis has become tennis-and-pickleball. We now have "green golf" for those with the requisite time and money, and "screen golf" for everyone else—a quicker, cheaper, and more social game—with way fewer lost balls!

Currently there’s no evidence that any appreciable number of the “screenies” will ever head out on the fairways, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some of us Baby Boomer greenies soon head indoors and begin to play on our own home simulators. I mean, I don’t know about you guys, but as I rack up more and more mileage on life’s back nine, the idea of rolling out of bed and playing Pebble Beach in my pajamas, with perfect weather and no green fee, sounds like the best mulligan ever.

But here’s the real thing, my friends. No matter how golf evolves, it will always be more than just a game for us. For decades, it’s been our therapist and our sanctuary...our classroom and our playground...the reason we rose before dawn and lingered long after dusk. It hasn’t just filled our weekends—it’s filled our souls.
We’ve laughed until tears rolled down our cheeks. Cursed wicked slices and whispered gratitude for miracle bounces.

Golf has humbled us...it’s healed us...and it’s refused to let us grow old
without a fight.

Think of the moments: The track of an early-morning putt across a dew-covered green. The impossible shot you knew you shouldn’t take—yet somehow pulled off. The round that was more about the conversation than the score. The sunset walk up the 18th fairway—your shadows stretched long—beside a friend who knows your story by heart.

We played when we should’ve been working...We played when we should have been parenting. But here we are. Older....wiser...a little creakier, but still here.

Because this game... this maddening, magnificent game... still waits for us.

At sunrise...

At sunset...

In that perfect moment when the light hits the fairway just right, and the
world feels—even for just a heartbeat—exactly as it should be.

So let us give thanks, my friends...

Not just for the luck of our timing, but for the laughs that echo across
decades.

For the friendships forged in bunkers and celebrated at the 19th hole.

For the memories etched into countless greens and the memories that lie
on fairways ahead.

We haven’t just played this game.

We’ve lived it....

We’ve loved it....And every swing, every story, every new round whispers the truth we’ve always known: Golf is not just a game...it’s one of life’s greatest gifts.

*****

I hope you enjoyed the read. I sure did.

The Head Nut

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