He came out of nowhere like a summer storm and like thunder he went bowling down the fairways, breaking record after record. A gallery materialized about him, though this was no tournament, and word flew ahead into the clubhouse that an unknown marvel was burning up the course.
Someone recalled his name from the register: Forbes—Joseph Forbes. But nobody had seen him before.
On the thirteenth, a 1,325-yard hole, with a dogleg to the right, he took a number-five trajectory-iron and, after a moment’s gaze through the telescopic, lofted his shot over a stand of cedars. He made an easy birdie. On the fifteenth it was thought he was too short, but the automated ball rolled down the incline and trickled across the green to drop into the cup—for an ace. He was 58 at the end of the second nine.
