By James Banakis

February 28, 2025

My father loved to fish.  He grew up in Mason City, Iowa, and would tell us stories of spending blissful hours in a rowboat on Clear Lake.  He had 4 sons. Chris and I are the oldest two years apart. Then there was a six-year gap and there was Ted and Mark. He referred to us as the big guys and the little guys. Well, the big guys hated everything about fishing. We’d rather play baseball, go water skiing, and later, chase girls. I always enjoyed hanging out with my dad, just not trapped in a fishing boat for hours.  The little guys received the fishing genes. They happily joined him on fishing trips all over the Great Lakes states. The two of them continue to enjoy the sport.

The old man’s favorite TV show was “Bonanza.” The four of us knew it was because he saw himself as a Greek American version of Ben Cartright, the father. On evenings when my mother was out, he’d cook and serve us army style.  The four of us would line up and he’d slop food on our plates. He was a good cook.  His greatest joy and accomplishment in life was raising his boys.  He left us too soon. His legacy was the love and funny delightful advice he showered on us. “If you guys get drafted, tell them you’re cooks. That’s what I did. You’ll eat good and nobody is going to shoot at you.”  There were hundreds of life lessons, and they all proved to be prophetic.

Throughout my life I always ask myself what would the old man do? One of our favorite life lessons was, “Always stay together. Find something you can do without the wives. I know it’s not going to be fishing, but find something, and don’t fight!” Why you might ask did he add, “don’t fight?”  Well, we have always been a highly competitive quartet. Any type of competition, even an innocent tabletop hockey game, could result in flying fists and insults.  Our father, like a referee in a prize fight, would be the guy yanking us apart while pleading, “Play nice, don’t fight.”

The years passed. We all married, raised kids of our own, mostly girls, and pursued careers. Then sometime in our forties something profound happened. That thing that our old man was unable to envision but encouraged turned out to be golf. Now you may think golf has so many rules and is highly competitive how would that work?

Two of my brothers played golf as a requirement in their business careers. They didn’t care for it too much because let’s face it the essence of the game is humiliation. One day Ted told us a story of playing in a company tournament at Pinehurst. The second day out after a terrible first round, he told his caddie to always pull his ball out of any sand trap he found himself in and place it on the fairway. When one of the players confronted the caddie, the caddie confidently responded, “My man don’t play sand.” Ted said that the rest of the golfers allowed just him to pull his ball out of the sand whenever he found a trap. Hearing this the three of us thought it was brilliant. Ted overcame the pain and mortification of golf hazards by openly cheating. He defiance became our inspiration.

One of the things that we brothers have always been good at was customizing the rules and fundamentals of any game to make us happy. We did it with board games like Monopoly, and contact sports. I still don’t understand why our idea of short guy basketball never took off. We even created miniature golf course in the apartment Chris, and I shared after college. So, after Ted’s escapade, we went to work on making golf work for us. After all, we were a natural foursome.

The first thing we did was throw away the silly rule book and scorecards. There would be no gambling or keeping score, thus no arguments. Cheating is not only tolerated it’s encouraged. After chunking a fairway shot for example, everyone encourages you to hit another one. Weather you do it or not is up to you. We don’t play against each other; we play to have fun and feel good about ourselves. On the putting greens, there are always a lot of generous Give-Me’s. If there happens to be a tree in the way, move the ball so you have a better lie. Always look for the best lie. Our favorite golf word is forgiving.

We play with only the most forgiving equipment, and only with forgiving partners. We celebrate natural pars and birdies, but unnatural ones are granted and recognized. Over the years we’ve added players to our fraternity, but only if they play by our rules which is of course, no rules.

An important part of our game is laughing and mocking each other’s terrible shots. Much like the famous Seinfeld episode, we usually do the opposite of what the correct golf etiquette would be. In real golf honors on the next hole goes to the person who had the best previous hole. We grant honors to the worst performance.  Since we are all now seniors, we play the senior tees, and demand all the respect, deference, and discounts due the senior golfer. We medicate with Advil, pain creams and arm braces protecting our senior bodies. While golfing we call ourselves, the Senior Brotherhood.

If you happen to be a golfer who thinks of yourself as a traditionalist and a good golfer, a golf snob, you of course will hate the Brotherhood. That’s OK with us. The four of us refuse to play with serious elitists.  We also hate but sometimes accept clothing rules if it means we get to play on a great private course.

During the season we sometimes add friends to our group. Only the best of the worst makes the cut. We begin by explaining that there are no rules. We allow the guest 9 holes to adjust to our game. If they’re still uptight after the turn, we vote them off.  They also must amuse us with funny stories and self-deprecating remarks.

One of our favorite golf fraternity brothers is Ken the dentist. Ken is a good golfer who prides himself in only buying his equipment at Play It Again Sports. He has an old metal Big Bertha driver that has something loose inside it and rattles when he swings. Despite this, his drives are always straight and 200 yards. His putter is so old it has no trademark, but it works for him.  I almost forgot. He’s funny too. Ken is one of our legends.

We have found that players that have brothers are much more likely to want to enthusiastically join us. They get it. One of our guests asked if my custom-made hockey stick putter was legal and approved by the Tour. I asked him, “why are you on the Tour?” That was a fatal mistake. He wasn’t Brotherhood material. If you take too much time lining up a putt, you’re not Brotherhood material. If you discuss business or sad and serious stories on the course, you’re not Brotherhood material.

Our sons and son-in-law’s have been completely indoctrinated and have surrendered to our Brotherhood. Even my granddaughters, both on their high school golf teams get it. One of them confessed to me as we rode together in our cart playing a round, “Popou, sometimes I don’t feel like playing 18 holes and quit after 12.” I’m so proud of that kid.

As I sit writing this, we’re in the vice like grip of our Chicago winter.  We usually try and book a warm weather trip in February or March. In late March our season begins and hopefully continues until

Thanksgiving. Between now and the start of the upcoming season we get together and recount highlights of the past season over dinner and family parties. The miracle is that through distain of the rules and norms we’ve become much better more self-confident golfers.

This past season, my son-in-law George, the talented periodontist, suggested I join him and 80 other golfers on a trip to Greece. On the beautiful western coast of the Peloponnese, in Costa Navarino, an enlightened entrepreneur has built 4 beautiful world class courses and resorts. Four more are under construction. I told George that I was of course going to play by my rules, and I did. Here’s the secret, if you play confidently with no rules, other golfers become deferential and even sometimes envious. I’ll suggest to anyone who loves golf to play these four courses carved into the ancient mountains, surrounded by indigenous fruit trees overlooking the deep indigo Ionian Sea. It was the trip of a lifetime. God willing the next trip will be with the Brotherhood.

Every year on August 3^rd the old man’s birthday, the Senior Brotherhood plays a mandatory round in his honor. The entire day is spent telling stories and recounting all the life lessons he left us with. Like the time in 6^th grade, I was going to attend my first dance. He explained to me to politely approach the girls introduce myself and say, “Hello Helen, Hello Ruthie. May I have this dance?”  I said that there were no girls with those names in my class, and he said, “OK, Bessie then.”  He wouldn’t have been able to tell a putter from a curtain rod, but he had the foresight to keep us together, play nice, and not fight.

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Jimmy Banakis is a life-long restaurateur.  He was an honorary batboy for the White Sox in 1964. He attended Oak Park River Forest High School, Nebraska Wesleyan University, and Chicago-Kent Law School.  He claims the kitchen is the room he’s most comfortable in anywhere in the world. He published an extremely limited-edition family cookbook. He’s a father and grandfather, and lives in Downers Grove Il.