When I started this blog, I let you know that you would be joining me “in medias res“. At the time, I had already played 34 courses that I would count against my journey to play all the public golf courses in New Jersey. Before I continue on writing about the remainder of my journey, I figured having wrapped up 2021 was as good a place as any to go all the way back to the beginning. Sort of like a Christopher Nolan movie… only way slower.

Date: Exact date unknown, but either summer of 1997 or summer of 1998 (we’ll go with summer of 1998)

It’s the summer of 1998. It’s been just over a year since Tiger Woods recorded his first major victory at the 1997 Masters and golf was becoming a bit more mainstream. The Broncos won the Super Bowl, the Yankees are about to become unstoppable for a few years, and Michael Jordan just led the Chicago Bulls to his 6th and final NBA Championship. On the radio, bands like The Offspring, Third Eye Blind, and Our Lady Peace are in heavy rotation. The one hit wonders of the era include Chumbawamba’s “Tubthumping”, “Your Woman” by White Town, and The Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony”.

My friends and I have just graduated high school and are gainfully employed (at least part-time). We can’t stand the heat of our newfound income burning holes in our pockets, so we search for ways to get rid of it. Movie theaters, billiards halls, Dave & Busters, diners, and fast-food restaurants are all adequate outlets that would help unburden us of our money. Then my friend Eddie suggests a new way to spend it.

The driving range.

In the 18 years of my life that preceded that summer, I had never swung a golf club. The closest I had been to the game was likely miniature golf, and I genuinely have no memories of even doing that. I had almost zero contact with golf, and that includes seeing it on television. I have one vague memory of a golf broadcast being on at a family friend’s house, and I don’t think they were all that interested in it either.

Nevertheless, I instantly loved hitting golf balls at the range. Mainly, it was a cheap way to spend time with friends. We could all pool a few dollars, get the largest bucket of balls on offer, and all slice balls into the right-side netting for the next hour or two. Golfers talk about the one shot that hooked them for life. The shot the contact of which was so pure, and the flight of which was so perfect, that it caused them to vow never to leave the game, in sickness and in health, till death do them part.

I don’t think I ever had such a moment. If I did, that memory was quickly forgotten and is now long gone. But hitting golf balls at the range was such a great way to hang out with friends that I had no intention of ever leaving the game. Perfect shot or no perfect shot, I was hooked. Twenty-five years later, that still holds true.

All of this took place some 17 years before I knew I would go about my quest, at a facility called Hillman’s Golf Land, what I’m calling my course “Number 0”. While it no longer exists, Hillman’s was located along the Passaic River in Elmwood Park, New Jersey, featuring a driving range, miniature golf, and a pitch-n-putt course.

The scorecard said it was an “18 hole par 3 short course,” but in 1998, there were only nine holes ranging from 35 to 55 yards. However, it only cost $10 to go around twice for an 18-hole round, and wedges and golf balls were provided to anyone who paid the fee and needed them. The course was lit for night play, something that is a rare find today, and that’s when my friends and I played most of the time. In fact, I can’t recall a round that we played in daylight.

I have 12 scorecards saved, with the names of ten different friends and family members written in them, but unfortunately, no pictures of the course itself. Unlike today, where everyone always has a camera with them in their cell phones, in 1998, the only technology my friends and I were carrying were our pagers. Even if we were to have cell phones – which did exist at the time – they wouldn’t have had cameras.

The lack of pictures has left me with very faint memories of how the course was actually laid out. There are some things I am relatively certain about. The first hole played towards the river, with your back to River Drive, to a flat green. The tees for the second hole were separated from the first green by a tall section of chain link fence, like the backstop of a baseball field in a public park. The second hole was situated at roughly a 90-degree angle to the right (relative to the first hole) and played to a green that was a bit raised and sloped away from players.

Beyond that, everything is kind of a blur. I want to say that the 3rd and 4th holes continued to play in the same direction as the 2nd, and that the 4th green was the furthest point from the start. I have a faded picture in my mind of what the parking lot looked like under the night lights while standing on the course.

Scouring the internet for pictures yielded the same couple over and over again, and both were also from an era well before I had played it.

Whether I have pictures or not, it doesn’t change the fact that Hillman’s is indeed gone. And though the memories are faint, faded, and blurry, it will always be the place that spawned my love for golf. After that summer, my friends and I would soon go on to search for any other pitch-n-putt or short courses in our area, and eventually, I’d make my way onto rated and sloped courses. And some years after that, I’d run into a man named Kermit at the course Hyatt Hills Golf Complex, sending me on the quest that I blog about here.

Bonus time-travel content!