One thing that for me best defines Louisville is the scarcity of celebrities. We can pin all of our star power on Rick Pitino, but he seems less eager these days to feed the entire city’s hype hunger. Or we can, as the Courier-Journal is wont to do, flash the spotlight on every local wannabe who makes an appearance on reality TV. I instead prefer to embrace the anonymity of our low-/files/storyimages/status on the celeb spectrum. It’s an opportunity to take — or better yet, leave — the cult of personality on our own terms.
Are you searching for a true local star fit for the international stage? I’d offer up Wendell Berry. From his plot in Henry County, he’s penned novels, essays and poems of such common sense and allegiance to his Kentucky community that readers around the world admire him from afar, many wondering what it would be like to meet him at the working farm where he creates his literature. Unfortunately, serious readers with a concern for our rural heritage are far outnumbered by television and Internet gazers fascinated by the bright lights of the entertainment and sports industries.
I’m pretty tone-deaf to pop culture these days, so living in luminary-less Louisville suits me just fine. While others line up behind the ropes to catch a glimpse of Derby Week glitterati, I puzzle over the fascination-from-a-distance with the likes of Tommy Lee or Jennifer Love Hewitt. What they’re wearing and who they’re dancing with at Barnstable Brown, which horse they bet in the big race — it all interests me about as much as whether Yum! or Burger King will sponsor the next Derby.
But the celeb-satiated cynic in me took a rest in August when Bill Murray came to Sellersburg, Ind., to play in Fuzzy Zoeller’s charity golf event, the Wolf Challenge. The comedian and actor was expected on the Covered Bridge course on a Monday, when he and Kevin Costner would be matched with Zoeller and big-hitters John Daly and J.B. Holmes in a high-powered "fivesome" for the featured round. However, both Murray and Costner surprised a number of us by arriving at the course a day earlier for the low-key, "pro-am" competition.
My wife Grace and I happened to be there for an open house given by friends whose back yard looks over the 10th fairway. When I heard the unforeseen news that the two film stars already were out on the course, I felt a, for me, highly unusual urge: the desire to rush over and see Bill Murray play golf. (Costner, the Tin Cup star who carries an 11 handicap, was more of a draw, I suspect, for the women in the crowd who’d seen him ooze masculine vulnerability in Bull Durham.)
Murray, on the other hand, is considered a comic genius around my house. My sons went through a Ghostbusters phase that lasted three or four times as long as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles era, thank God, because I could watch that Murray-Dan Aykroyd classic over and over. Then, during the boys’ elementary and middle school years, What About Bob? became our family favorite. Murray’s nuts-but-not-really character, Bob Wiley, had so much comedic depth that all of us, whether in our early teens or mid-40s, could see something new each time we viewed the film, and we viewed it a lot.
From watching reruns of his rollicking cast-member years on the original Saturday Night Live to marveling at his emotional depth in Lost in Translation, we developed an admiration for Murray that transcended what he’d wear to a Derby party. That’s why Grace and I were rushing to the second hole at Covered Bridge to see how he handles a game that can undress anyone in public, even the top touring pros.
Murray’s handicap is 7, which means he generally shoots in the high 70s or low 80s — excellent by celebrity, or any other, standards. You can look up his handicap if you know his home state and course, just as you can look up Pitino’s (11) and mine (14). What did I say about public undressings?
The fun for me was discovering how, in contrast to my exhausting search for focus on the course, Murray strolls along without concern for the potential failures awaiting each shot. He casually cracks jokes, plays to the crowd around him and then steps up with a smooth swing and delicate touch around the greens. The man enjoys himself immensely and he makes a lot of nice shots.
His ease and accessibility provided me with my star-watching moment for 2006. I’d love to have a similar encounter with Wendell Berry, but when I searched for his handicap all I got was this message: "No records found."
