Last week, I walked through the house where golf icon Bobby Jones was born in Atlanta. I stood in the bedroom where he was delivered on March 17, 1902. I thought of the cries of the colicky baby that probably echoed off the stone and brick walls and bounced off the 13-foot-high ceilings. I looked at the massive 6-foot-by-10-foot window on the west wall and imagined the afternoon sun shining through, warming the spacious baby’s room. I pictured the fireplace in the corner crackling with heat and energy on a chilly spring night.
Jones’ parents, Clara and Bob, must have fretted immensely over their tiny infant, who weighed 5 pounds at birth and struggled to keep food down. The couple was still devastated from the loss of their first child, William, who died after only three months of life. This time they were determined to keep their boy alive. Terrified of infection and deadly childhood diseases, they kept baby Bobby cloistered in the house during his first year, a virtual prisoner to their fears and concerns. This is how life began for Georgia’s most famous and successful amateur golfer of all time.
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