How a rock ’n’ roll writer and a man twice his age bonded over golf
By JIM SULLLIVAN
I have a group of golf friends here around Boston. But when my mother was alive, I’d often vacation in Sarasota, Florida, where she, a Maine transplant, was a snowbird. I’d play virtually every day. Most of my golf friends there were impermanent – and that’s fine, the nature of the game when joining a group – but there was one who was not.
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