Our story starts in June 1952 when an American by the name of Hal Bruce settled in Boise, Idaho and set about finding the nearest golf course where he could indulge his favourite pursuit. By looking in the local telephone book, he came across a municipal establishment which advised him to come down on Sunday morning "any time before nine, before church lets out".
When he arrived at 8.30 a.m., the place was deserted except for a slightly-built woman, probably in her seventies, who was busily chipping balls onto the putting green. In response to a wave from Bruce, she advanced towards him, with a noticeable limp.
What happened next was recounted by a Californian writer named Bob Brust, in a charming piece for the US Golf Association's Golf Journal a few years ago.
The elderly woman said in a lilting accent: "Well son, no sense in us playin' alone on such a fine mornin'. How 'bout if I join you? I'm Mary O'Leary."
Her prospective golfing companion introduced himself, whereupon she suggested: "Hell, what with lumbago and all, I'm only good for nine holes. By the way, what's your handicap?" Bruce replied that he normally played off 10. "Fine," she said. "But seein' as you're new to the place, I'll spot you a couple of strokes to make the game more fun."
"Oh, I couldn't do that," Bruce protested. "After all, we're just here to enjoy the fresh air. We don't have to have big stakes." An apparently disappointed Mary replied: "Okay, but I always play better under a bit of pressure."
As Brust took up the story: "Her back swing had a little hitch and she didn't have much length, but everything was hit cleanly up the middle. Putting seemed to be her main weakness, but Mary chipped in from the fringe a few times, which evened things out. Coming to the par-four ninth, both players had totalled 38.
"When Mary requested a short rest, they took a breather on a bench. After asking a few questions about his work and home life, she said, 'You know, Hal, I don't usually gamble at golf, but this mornin' I feel lucky. I went off and left m'purse on the kitchen table, but Mike (the course manager) let me put the green-fee on my tab.
"Just for the heck of it, I'll play the last hole for what's on my bill. If I lose, I'll pick up the tab for both of us another day."
Bruce had serious misgivings about taking advantage of a frail and clearly tired opponent, but he eventually agreed for fear of offending her. So they faced the ninth, which was dominated by a pond about 180 yards off the tee.
Mary played a three-iron tee shot down the left and onto the eighth fairway, for safety. Bruce, on the other hand, elected to take on the carry over the water with a three-wood and, in a manner of speaking, he lost the election. The under-hit ball found a watery grave.
Meanwhile, his opponent hit her second shot close to the green from where she chipped and putted admirably for par. Against Bruce's bogey, she won the bet.
With that, they shook hands and parted company but not before Mary had suggested they should have a re-match the following Sunday, to which Bruce eagerly agreed. He then went into the golf shop where he explained to Mike that he wished to pay Mary O'Leary's bill.
The manager gave a quiet smile. "Well," he said, "Mary is in arrears for two green fees, balls and a bag of tees. The total is $15.10. But an even $15 will be close enough."
Bruce hit balls every day that week and even got a lesson from a professional. When Sunday morning arrived, Mary suggested: "What if we play for the price of my tab from last Sunday? And I'll spot you two strokes." Having lost all inhibitions about age and the weaker sex, Bruce promptly agreed.
The match was over by the time they reached the ninth tee, by which stage Mary was two up and $15 richer. Having thanked her, sportingly, Bruce went for a drink to the bar where he sat down with an elderly, regular customer. "How much has she taken you for?" asked the stranger. "Only about a day's wages," came the reply. "How did you know?"
Mary, it turned out, was of a fixture around the place. She was Irish and apparently had been a famous golfer in Europe before turning professional in the US.
She now kept body and soul together by waiting on tables at country clubs. Together, of course, with a little hustling - against strangers, naturally. All of which was acceptable to the management so long as she cleared her tab.
About a month later Bruce had a visitor, a young woman who identified herself as Megan O'Leary whose grandmother, Mary, had died two weeks previously. Apparently, before she died, she had written down the names of all those who owed her a game.
So, Megan handed Bruce an envelope which contained a bill from the golf course. Effectively, he was to pay for losing a game he never played.
"She said if anyone became angry, to take it back," the girl said, gently.
To which Bruce protested: "No. No. I'll take care of it." Then, while turning to the young woman, he laughed and added: "Mary was absolutely right. This would, no doubt, have been the outcome."
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