Random Thoughts on the U.S. Open and Wealth From a Crappy Old Car

The clubhouse at Shinnecock Hills GC is among the ultimate symbols of wealth in America. | Brad Penner-Imagn Images

DRIVING IN LONG ISLAND, N.Y.—We’re on our way to the U.S. Open at Shinnecock Hills Golf Club from Montauk via some backroads that take us through Sag Harbor. “The Show Goes On” by Lupe Fiasco plays in the car. The first round of the tournament is less than 24 hours away. We just played golf. Vibes are high. 

We arrive at a stop sign in Sag Harbor with the bay on our right. There's a few cars in front of us so we sneak a peek at the water.

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“Man, those are some expensive looking yachts in that marina.”

I look back ahead. We're not at the intersection. A woman in a flowing white linen dress walks across the street holding her son’s hand. I have waved them accross.

The boy, who I estimate is around eight years old, looks at my grey 2012 Prius C. The engine sounds a little choppy. Then he looks at me. Then he looks back at my car. He makes an “ick” face. Pity is in his eyes. 

That’s when it hits me. There are levels to things out here. 

Crossing Over

The first round of the U.S. Open is about an hour from starting. We’re creeping along in traffic on Highway 27 on our way to the media parking lot next to Southampton Golf Club. It’s 5:15 a.m. The sky is dark. It’s foggy. “Good Day” by Nappy Roots is playing. 

I notice police lights in my left sideview mirror. The cop is driving up the left side of my car. He's on the grass median. Two more cars are behind him.

The first cop car passes. A courtesy car undoubtably transporting a player to the course passes next. A second cop car follows. 

They turn left at a crossover and start driving the wrong way down the highway, east on the westward lane. The lane is coned off, clearly created to allow players to avoid the traffic that always plagues this stretch of road, created by what locals call “the trade parade,” in reference to all the trade workers who come and go from this affluent area. The traffic the trade parades causes is a topic of conversation in these parts. It seems the people are annoyed by it.

“Wish I could get into that lane.”

We can’t. A sign by the crossover reads “USGA Authorized Vehicles Only.” This lane is for the elite.

Canceled Tee Time

The first round of the U.S. Open is over. We’re driving back to the rental house. “Roses” by Outcast is playing. Thankfully, there’s no traffic. Suddenly, I remember something from 12 hours earlier. 

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"Wonder if she played."

We arrived at the top of the 12th hole grandstands at Shinnecock around 6:30 A.M. to write a story about how hard the 10th and 11th holes are. You can see those holes from the right side of the 12th grandstand. I start chatting with an affable woman wearing a Shinnecock quarter zip. She’s a member. 

We discuss my story about Janet and Beatrix Hoyt, who were influential women in Shinnecock’s history, which she tells me she’ll read. I wonder if she did. 

Today is supposed to be windy, so we talk about wind directions and how the course can change based on Mother Nature’s will. The wind isn't as bad as forecasted, but the weather isn't great. We have a lovely chat. 

After an hour or so, she says she has to go. 

“I’m playing next door in the afternoon.”

I don’t ask if she means National Golf Links of America, Sebonack Golf Club or Southampton Golf Club. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. Like Shinnecock Hills GC, they’re all amazing courses designed by legendary architects, nearly impossible to join, and quite costly even if you do get the look. It’s nearly impossible to play one of those courses unless you know someone. Then she adds: 

“I really wish I could cancel.” 

Pardon me, what?! I’ve been lucky enough to play all four courses and would probably skip my son’s preschool graduation if I got invited to play one on the same day. And she wants to cancel. 

What world am I living in right now? 

Also, relax, it’s only preschool. 

$35,000,000 House Party 

We’re in a minivan leaving the media parking lot after Wednesday's practice round. It’s a rental car for Dan Evans of The Dan Evans Show. Some country music is playing. As I said, not my car. 

We’re headed to a party at Malbon House. Malbon, the golf/lifestyle apparel company noted for Jason Day's bold outfits at the Masters, hosts gatherings at Augusta for the Masters. This is their first at a U.S. Open. The party is in Easthampton. 

We’ve turned off the main road and are in a residential area. Mansions line both sides. One, which you can’t see from the road and has a gate blocking the entrance way, has sprinklers watering a long stretch of grass in front of the hedgerows blocking our view. 

“How rich do you have to be to have sprinklers for a patch of grass you only see when entering your house and leaving?” I ask.  

“That’s insane. How much do you think that costs?” Dan says. 

“I bet $15-$20 million.”

“That’s it?” 

We turn left at the address provided for Malbon House. A long driveway framed by trees on each side is ahead. On our right is a small orchard with lines of wine grapes growing. Nothing big, but my god, you have wine grapes growing on your property? 

We continue up to the valet. Beyond the workers are hedgerows obstructing the view of what appears to be a 10,000 square foot brown shingle mansion. A massive sculpture of what looks like the Statue of Liberty’s head sits on the grass. There’s another brown shingle barn on the right and another smaller white barn on the left. I’m sure neither is used for farming. 

The party is lovely. A country music band I don’t know performs live. There’s a mobile wood fire pizza stand and a soft serve ice cream truck. There are bartenders serving drinks and a golf cart filled with nicotine pouches, if that's your thing. The smell of marijuana being smoked nearby lingers in the air.

We wander around the property a few times. The detached pool house is about 1000 square feet. There's a massive outdoor grill area.

We get back in the car and first first question is obvious: How much do you think that place costs?

“$25 million,” I guess. 

“$30 millions,” says Dan. 

I looked it up on Zillow. It was listed for sale in 2017 for $35,000,000. 

Westward Home

The third round of the U.S. Open is long over. We’re back in the Prius headed home to Montclair, NJ. I left early to spend Father's Day with my two sons and wife. “All of the lights” by Kanye West is playing. It’s 10:30 p.m. 

When I bought my Prius in 2013, it was a big moment for me. It was the first new car I owned. The others were all used clunkers, max price $2,000. They served a purpose, but all ultimately broke down. One I left abandoned in a parking lot by Elon University for three months before finally donating it. I hated that car. 

This purchase was practical. I was living in Hoboken, where parking is a pain, and the Prius C is compact. Plus, I drove a lot to cover sports and it got great mileage. 

The Sag Harbor kid flutters back into my mind. He did nothing wrong. Kids are just honest. They can't help it. And the way I interpreted his look was more about my own insecurities of being in this wealthy area of the country and driving a bit of a clunker. 

Then I remember all the great trips I’ve taken in this car. When I got it, it had eight miles on it. It’s now up to over 160,000. It's been from as far north as Acadia National Park in Maine, as far south as Miami, Fla. and as far west as Cleveland, Ohio. It's never broken down. It’s been good to me. 

Exclusive golf courses and communities like the one we are now leaving showcase the wealth disparity in this country. The “trade parade” workers who come to fix the rich people’s houses are scapegoated as the ones creating the traffic. Really, it’s the wealthy homeowners who demand their services who create it. Then they complain about the traffic. Whatever.

I spent a lot of time around people wealthier than me during this week in Southampton. None of them came across as rude or entitled. In fact, they were quite lovely. Being a good talker helps, which has never been a problem for me. 

We arrive home at 12:30 a.m. The house is dark and the family is asleep. It’s officially Father’s Day. I’m excited to see them in the morning. 

Then I’m reminded of a simple truth: happiness is not derived from money. It comes from within and with the people we choose to spend our lives with. I feel lucky and happy. The Prius has gotten me there and back again. It’s still kicking. I don’t need yachts or $35 million mansions or special treatment to avoid traffic. I have everything I want already. 

Though, I wouldn’t mind another tee time at one of those courses.

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