The Waterbury Democrat., 1938-05-12

 years have wrought; the lovable Ouimet is through with competition, comfortably settled down in his role of non-playing captain. Good man, then more noted for travelling for winning the national open, now to tournaments in freight cars than is one of Omaha's more prominent young business men. And Fischer what a shy, embarrassed, and frightened schoolboy he was when the Caledonia nosed away from the dock. He didn't speak ten words on the crossing, choosing to sit alone in corner reading or walking the deck, practicing his swing. Since then he has won the national anna teur and only his Prussian haircut remains the same.
 Lawson Little was with us, not even sure of a place in the singles lineup, so little was he known. No one knew, least of all Lawson, that on the other side of the Atlantic he would start winning streak that was to make him the most invin- cible amateur since Bobby Jones and Gus Moreland, the drawl- ing Texan, who is now settled in Peoria, family man. Gus didn't want to put on a dinner jacket v. |. said they were sissy clothes .. but he did, and after one look at his handsome self in the mirror, said: Boys, from now on I'll get dressed up pretty as quick as the next one" It was Gus who, after he had fired pair of birdies at his British foe in the cup matches, told an English reporter: Man, you're looking at a golfer who is hotter than a setting hen on a wool nest"
 Jack Westland was along, and Johnny Dawson. It was Jack and Johnny who, spending a weekend at Lady Astor's country home, Cliveden, were requested to dress for an afternoon of racing at near by Ascot knowing that Ascot called for fancy clothes, but not quite sure just what sort of fancy clothes, Jack and Johnny put on dinner jackets and let it go at that. q don't think Lord Astor has ever fully recovered from the shock of our appearance, Jack said in telling the story.
 Practice on the deck going over, with the boys firing dozens of golf balls into the sea, much to the Scotch help. Betting on which player would have the best first round at St. Andrews, a course none had seen and Johnny Fischer, quiet, shy Johnny, who had never boasted of his game, winning the money by five strokes.
 Sweet Chandler Egan, old enough then to have been the father of any boy on the team. Winner of the na- tional title in 1905, and yet he had made the Walker team 29 years later. Chandlers gone now, but his fine qualities will be remembered as long as men walk together down fairWayS.
 Max Marston much maligned Max, who took it all with tolerant smile, knowing, as did all who knew him, that no man ever played the game more to the hilt, but that no man ever played it with less devia- ton from the letter or the spirit of the rules. Black jack and bridge games that ran all night and on into the sunshine of the morning Stateroom golf games, with the bath tub as the 18th hole. The mist and the rain and the wind of St. An drews. Night clubs in London Midnight bowling on the green ir Prestwick. The then Prince of Wales uttering a royal damn when he sal down on a gorse bush in scramble for a better view of the putting green. Memories.
 As I walked from the dock wished for the 1888 team the same luck, the same good times, the same fellowship that we had in 1884 when I went along with the boys tt write about them.
 Copyright. 1888, by United Press)