Around The Block With Joe Dey Jr.

"You were a strong commissioner?" I was thinking of columnist Jim Murray 's line about Dey—that he ran golf the way Charlemagne ran France .

"I don't know about that." He stopped in the middle of the block. "I had a tendency to deal too much with the minutiae of the job. Probably a carryover from my early days at the USGA , when the staff was so small." He turned and looked directly at me. "I recognize"—he hesitated—"I know I was perceived as haughty. Imperious, if you will. But I never thought that golf was a hallowed thing. Sport is for fun, and sure, golf is a show."

"But it's a show," I ventured, "with rules."

"Exactly! What we're really selling is the skill that is necessary to play the game well. You never can sacrifice the quality of the game for more color, in my book."

Looking up from my notes, I noticed that we were standing in front of a large, ranch-style house with a mansard roof. "Hey," I said, "that's Tom Watson 's old house!"

"I know." Dey's ghost looked at his watch again and started walking toward the front door. His shooting stick had vanished, but the clipboard was tucked under his right arm.

My voice rose to a stage whisper: "But Tom doesn't live there anymore!"

Dey looked back. "You really don't know much about haunting, do you?" He then dissolved into the door, leaving a few sparks of luminescence on the knocker and mail slot.

I'll be honest. My feelings were hurt.

For more of John Garrity 's ghosts, go to GOLF.com/garrity.