The Open

There are two weekends on my calendar each year that are non-negotiable for scheduling events. The first is the Cream City League fantasy baseball draft in late March and the second is the Youngquist Open in mid-July.

In 1991, my father began a new tradition for our family, The Youngquist Open. This annual golf event was held over a weekend in July in the Northwoods of Minnesota. We would stay at my parent’s cabin on Long Lake and the foursomes consisted of most of the male relatives of my family. These included my father and brother, all my cousins and my Uncle, and even my grandfather in the early years. As the years passed, the next generation also began to join our ranks.

We typically golf a warmup round on the way northward from the Twin Cities, or in my case from Milwaukee. The tournament would begin with 18 holes of golf on Saturday followed afterward by a cruise on the pontoon boat, a steak dinner, and either poker or cocktails around the campfire. On Sunday, we would play nine holes, and the tournament would conclude with the presentation of the Youngquist Open trophy to that year’s winner. A celebratory barbeque on the lake would end the weekend before everyone scattered toward their homes.

The timing of The Open was always the second or third weekend in July, until it was decided that the event should coincide with the British Open each year. Our shenanigans on the way northward were legendary in the early years. Today, we all smile contritely when we recall those early years and our imprudent and reckless behavior.

After a few years, Amy and her father made a trophy for the winner out of plywood. They cut out a piece of wood in the shape of a golf green, painted it, and attached an old wood driver head to it. The trophy still circulates amongst us but in the next ten years or so it will be completely filled with the name plates from the annual winners.

It was very difficult for me to attend this tradition in the early years with young children at home. I always felt bad leaving Amy home alone with three young children, so my attendance was sporadic for several years. My father took great pride in this event and often talked about it with his neighbors, friends, and co-workers. As my kids grew older, I made it a priority to come as often as I could despite the long tedious drive home. The drive encompassed more than 500 miles each way from Sussex, Wisconsin and it would typically take me 8 hours nonstop to reach home.

Early on I realized that golf is only secondary to the event. Getting together with my male siblings once a year is the major driving force for attending each year. I will admit to being a very average golfer and I often get frustrated by my lack of success (my name appears only once on the trophy).

The highlight of the weekend, however, is always the pontoon ride. I am not at liberty to discuss those details (what happens at the Open stays at the Open), but suffice it to say, I have learned a lot about my relatives’ lives that I never would have known without the pontoon ride.

The pontoon ride would always be followed by a steak dinner in the cabin or out on the deck. My father always had a tradition for any new participant. The night of the steak fry, he would ask the newbie in his most sincere tone, “How do you want your steak cooked?”

When they began to respond, he would cut them off and shout “You’ll get it the way I cook it!” to all of the veteran participant’s laughter. My brother kept that tradition going, but it has now been several years since we’ve had a new participant.

The Open has kept going despite circumstances that may have derailed the event from time to time like the passing of my grandmother and mother. In both instances, it was felt by the group that they would have wanted us to continue the tradition.

When Amy was diagnosed with cancer and her care needs were becoming more difficult, she insisted I attend. That year’s Open was one of the few that weighed heavily on me. My brother and I had a marathon one-on-one session on the pontoon boat long after we had returned everyone to the cabin. We discussed a myriad of subjects including the highly uncertain future confronting our family. I am grateful for Amy’s insistence that I attend and my brother’s compassionate ear.

Several years ago, our family sold my parent’s lake home. The Open has found a new home at my brother’s place on the Minong Flowage in Wisconsin. I am grateful for the shorter commute. It has knocked off about 200 miles and 3 hours of my drive home.

This year will mark the 36^th year of the Youngquist Open. I am hopeful that we will be able to keep the tradition alive with a new generation for as long as possible. It is a constant in my life that I have grown to cherish more each year.

As we take to the course this year, may our drives be straight, our putts break to the hole, and the weather be beautiful. See you soon boys.