Hirara Our old friend Harry, who was one of the founding members of the Sunday Morning Group, died not long ago, and his widow told us she was going to send us half of his ashes to spread around the golf course, as Harry had wanted. The container we received was so heavy—three pounds—that I thought maybe she had sent us all of him, but Hacker (real name) said he’d Googled “cremation” and that all of Harry would have been more like six. We had 17 guys on Sunday, plus Harry. Schoonie had the only cart, so we put Harry on his team:
Joe brought lunch: pulled pork, spicy sausages, and lobster macaroni and cheese — all made by him, none of it touched by his wife—and because the Ryder Cup broadcast was about to begin we ate in the clubhouse, in front of the TV, instead of on our patio. I announced that I had stirred half a cup of Harry into the pulled pork, but no one believed me:
After lunch, Hacker borrowed an ash-distribution utensil from the clubhouse kitchen:
We put some of Harry under one of the bluestone pavers on the patio:
And some on the first fairway:
And some in the cup on the seventh hole, where Harry once had a hole-in-one:
And some in the divot mix in one of the divot-mix boxes that Harry himself built and gave to the club:
So long, Harry!