I’ve played golf with three presidents—41, 42, and 45.
George Bush Senior, 41, ran around the course like the Energizer Bunny. He seemed to have a really good time doing it. George H. W. was a movie-superhero blur out there.
President Clinton and I have played four or five rounds and it’s always been a blast. When we’re together, it’s just two hackers messing around. We’ll hit extra balls, occasionally land some really good shots and some bad ones. It’s never serious when we play. No ten-dollar bets. An occasional mulligan.
The two of us were photographed repeatedly on the course during an interview for Sports Illustrated. I tried to set the tone of the story for the writer, Jack McCallum. President Clinton and I were just going to go out there and have some fun. No scorecards.
McCallum wanted to cause some trouble, of course. That’s what he’s supposed to do. It’s his job. So he asked which one of us was the better golfer. I told him, “Well, President Clinton is faster giving a four-foot putt. I’m faster dropping a second ball after a bad shot.”
On we went to the first hole, a par five.
I hate to admit this in print, but I muffed my second shot into the rough. Just to be sure I had made my point with McCallum, I yelled over to him, “Hey, make yourself useful, Jack. Pick up that stray ball for me.” Fortunately, he thought that was pretty funny. Then I showed him how quickly I could drop a second ball.
I’ve also played with President Trump. So has President Clinton. Donald Trump is a serious golfer, easily the best golfer of the presidents I’ve played with. He’s somewhere between a four and six handicapper. For real. And I have no reason to make that up.
Before Donald Trump was president and before I had collaborated with President Clinton on a novel, I took two friends of mine to play at Trump National in Westchester. My friends and I had grown up together in Newburgh and I figured it would be a story for them just to be on one of Trump’s courses.
So, we’re playing the third or fourth hole, and one of my friends looks over to the sixth hole. His eyes go wide. “Is that Donald Trump? Is that President Clinton?”
Yes, it was. Trump and Clinton were playing golf together, which is its own interesting piece of history. It’s the way things used to be in politics, though. Better, saner times.
My friends and I finished our round and got to the clubhouse just as Donald Trump and President Clinton were getting up from lunch.
We started walking across the dining room and President Clinton was staring at me. Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered him, but I said, “Hi, I’m Jim Patterson.”
Clinton said, “Oh, I know who you are. I recognized you right away.”
I said, “Well, I recognized you too.”
At that point, my buddies, Bob Hatfield and Mike Smith, who were both card-carrying Republicans, asked if they could take a picture with President Clinton. I decided it would be another great story for them to bring home to Newburgh, but I would sit this one out.
I hunkered down at a dining table and watched them do some mischief out on the lawn. Melania took a photograph of my friends with President Clinton.
Then I watched them shaking Donald Trump’s hand. I knew he didn’t like to shake hands. When they got back to the table, I asked, “What was going on with Donald Trump out there?”
My friend Bobby Hatfield said, “We told him we played basketball against him in high school.” This was true enough. Donald Trump went to New York Military Academy, which is located not far from Newburgh. Our schools had played against one another. Trump said to my friends, “I hope we won.”
Hatfield said, “Nah, we kicked your ass.” Both Donald Trump and President Clinton got a laugh out of that one. What an image. Donald Trump and Bill Clinton enjoying a good laugh together.
One more story.
In the fall of 2019, Little, Brown was contacted and told I was being considered for either the National Humanities Medal or a National Medal of Arts. In the past, the National Medal of Arts had been awarded to my old lunch pal John Updike, Toni Morrison, Joan Didion, August Wilson, Philip Roth. My publisher was informed that I might get a call from the White House.
The call came one Friday while I was working in my home office. A very official-sounding male on the line said, “Please hold for the president.”
I couldn’t resist and I said, “Which president?”
The award ceremony at the White House was very gracious and memorable for Sue and me and the Little, Brown people.