Dear Madame First Lady: My name is Brad Woodger. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. I was the lead cartoonist in the June 1974 issue of the Williams Elementary School mimeographed newsletter. I was also the only child in the entirety of the 1970s to break his own nose throwing a baseball to first. Admittedly I’ve done little of note since those achievements, so it’s understandable if my name fails to ring a bell. I am writing today in my present capacity as manager (and past owner) of the Royal and Ancient Chappaquiddick Links. I understand that your husband enjoys a bit of golf while he is on holiday, so I would like to extend an invitation for him to join us at our esteemed Links.

I am writing to you rather than Mr. President because I find it rude to circumvent the proper channels of authority when proposing an offer — Dad may be in charge in office, but Mom rules the vacation. The last thing that I’d want is a happy President strolling the Links, while you and the kids grumbled and huffed your way around. So I’m appealing to your obvious good taste and cultured sensibilities in considering the merits of my humble offer.

Perhaps I should first state that I don’t lean strongly either left or right. I’ll confess to some naïveté when it comes to politics, and I feel that one should be well informed on any subject in which they profess a particular bias (darn, I hope that sentence didn’t make me sound un-American). I welcome all comers to my course, whether blue or red or green.

I also am aware that security may be an issue. Hopefully I can alleviate some of this concern by assuring you that we are a very private course, played by an average of 2.7 people per day. You would of course be welcome to bring your own security but the irritable skunks that lurk just off the second green, and the ubiquitous swamp rats neighboring the ninth green do a superb job by themselves in dissuading chicanery. Add to the mix the rowdy crows on the fourth fairway (note to self: pitch RCFF to NBC), and you’ve got yourself a top-flight security detail. I would be willing to offer my services as well (although if I had my druthers, I’d prefer talking into my sleeve rather than my collar). I feel confident that you would find my background uncheckered, with the possible exception of being detained briefly in 1979 for being an overly polite and exceedingly inebriated passenger in my friend John Augustine’s 1972 Vega. (We rarely compliment our police officers adequately, and I thought he should know that he had really pretty eyes. Those lashes!)

Now a little bit about the Links, before you pack a boxed lunch. RACL was founded by my great, great-grandfather (the first adjective describes his coolness, not age) Frank Marshall in 1887. I know, right? That’s a really long time ago, but that’s the year that I’ve printed on my hats, and I’m sticking to the story. You may guess that there would be a rich history with a course of this provenance, and you’d be right. Did you know that President Lincoln got a hole in one on our hole seven? Neither did I. In fact, RACL has always been known as a presidential facility — every president from Dewey to Gore has played a round of nine here. Dan Quayle had his very first potato farm right here behind the sixth green. Lesser known perhaps is that the second cedar on the left of the fifth fairway witnessed a very passionate kiss beneath its boughs in 1982 between myself and a smoking hot freshman from the University of Michigan, who may or may not have been led to believe that I was a Kennedy.

So how does one get to Chappaquiddick to play golf? That’s a good question, thanks for asking. Depending on where you’re staying on-Island, you can take any number of buses to Edgartown. From there its a short walk to the Chappy Ferry, and an even shorter trip across the harbor channel (unless there’s a whale in the way). Once Chappy-side, I will be there in my 1971 VW bus, doors open in welcome. There’s seating for four, three in the back and one in the front. I’d suggest that Mr. President and the kids sit in the back, and you sit up front with me. We can shoot the breeze — no serious talk, just maybe a promise that you’ll ask your husband to have Roger Goodell fired.

We have rental clubs at the course, but I wouldn’t charge you guys for their use. I sold both my golf carts to my neighbor, but I have a utility cart that could accommodate all of you if the kids were willing to sit in the dump bed. I’m guessing that you could play the course in two to five hours, depending on whether you stop at the casino on hole four. Either way, you’d be home in plenty of time for dinner with the Putins.

Thanks so much for indulging my generous offer. I think you’ll find the Royal Links right up your alley, and a nice antidote to hullabaloo of the big Island.

Sincerely,

Bruce Bradford Woodger

Brad Woodger writes the Chappaquiddick column for the Gazette.