After we got jobs and learned to drive, our choices for golf courses weren't limited to the city. We played exotic sounding places like Dubs Dread, now the site of the Western Open on the PGA Tour, Hickory Hills, St. Andrews (not the one in England), or White Pines. We drove to Peoria and Wisconsin. We ranged far and wide searching for the perfect round, which somehow we were never able to find. We knew no bounds except an out of bounds marker on a fairway.
Still, though we loved the game, and played it often, we just couldn't connect always. One of us would have to work, to be somewhere else, or have another commitment. We would try to get together every weekend, but even that didn't always work out. Somewhere in the back of our minds we knew that we would never really be another Palmer or Nicklaus or Player, and, just like the Big Three of that era never could always play a round of a tournament together, it wouldn't be long before we could no longer play together.
It was around this time, in our high school years, that the idea of the Cragin Open originated. Although the Bear and I played equal roles, it was always Dennis who constantly brought up the subject. Somehow or another, probably because of his perpetually wiry frame, Den became Weasel. Every time we got together for a round, Weasel would say, usually around the 14th or 15th hole of whatever course we were playing, "You know, we oughta have a tournament or somethin'. We could buy trophies and everything." Gregg, who by now had become accustomed to us calling him Bear would say something like, "Well, if we do, we gotta have a name." I had become Moe and would chime in with, "Maybe we should call it The Cragin. I mean they have The Masters, don't they?"
We bandied back and forth like that throughout high school and into our college years. We worked more during the summers. We played less together, hung out with each other less, met new friends, different girls, had different interests. Still, it was always Dennis who always brought up the idea of The Cragin. It is right to say it was his brainchild.
Other friends and relatives started to join us in golf. Bob "The Booming Hunter" got his nickname from his huge errant drives that found him exploring woods more than fairways. He usually rounded out our foursome. Others from Cragin took up the game. "The Leech" and "Spar" joined us. Weasel's brother and his friends joined us. We would have entire caravans traveling to courses. And always, somewhere around the 14th or 15th hole, Weasel would say, "You know, we oughta have a tournament or somethin'."
Weasel got married first. I succumbed to the lure of marriage next. The Bear waited a while longer before finding the woman of his dreams.
I moved to Wisconsin. Weasel moved to Oak Park. Bear remained several more years in the old neighborhood, still going to Hanson occasionally to practice his shots. Pretty much, however, time and distance broke up the memories of our youth. Bear and Weasel still got together, but not nearly as much. Married in Wisconsin, I hardly ever got down there to play.
Then came 1974 and the first Cragin Open. Weasel said, "You know, we oughta have a tournament or somethin'." We've been playing one ever since.