Last Monday night, Carter Jenkins was sitting at home with his folks in North Carolina when a message arrived on his father’s phone. It had been a long week even before the arrival of Golf’s Longest Day: US Open qualifying.
In this annual test of nerve and skill and stamina, Jenkins went through 36 holes and then a seven-man playoff. At the end of it all, the world No 294 – who plays on the Korn Ferry Tour – had reached a first major championship.
But still he was conflicted – hours earlier, while he was out on the course in Durham, his parents were in nearby Raleigh, celebrating the life of another young golfer. Grayson Murray, the two-time winner on the PGA Tour who – just nine days earlier – had taken his own life. He was 30. ‘Devastating,’ Jenkins says.
Jenkins and Murray grew up together. They were teammates at high school and partners in crime on the golf courses around here. Murray caddied for Jenkins once. More often he emptied his friend’s wallet.
‘We never played for pride – we were always just trying to snag a buck or two from each other,’ Jenkins recalls. ‘He beat my tail seven ways to Sunday.’
Carter Jenkins, who grew up with the late Grayson Murray, will play in his first major this week
Murray, a two-time winner on the PGA Tour, tragically took his own life recently – he was just 30
For years until his suicide, however, Murray was locked in a battle with himself. He was open about his struggles with alcohol, anxiety and depression. Jenkins bumped into him a few weeks back – they chewed the fat, as they always did.
‘It seemed like he was excited about the opportunities he had coming up,’ Jenkins recalls. ‘We talked about this week – whether he was going to be in the Open or not… we went our own ways and that was that.’
That was that. ‘I hated that I was unable to be (at the funeral) in person for his family,’ Jenkins says.
Fortunately his family were there and they recorded it on TV. So after booking his place at Pinehurst, Jenkins headed home and sat by himself. ‘I went ahead and watched it,’ he explains. ‘Just while it was still at the forefront of my mind.’
Before long, that text message arrived. ‘Grayson’s father sent my father a message, saying congratulations to me,’ Jenkins says. ‘He had – just several hours earlier – had a funeral for his son.’
Jenkins and Murray, pictured in 2013, were teammates at high school in North Carolina
The 28-year-old adds: ‘They are wonderful people and I think it speaks volumes to who they are.’
The message also served as proof of something Jenkins had sensed that day.
‘I knew Grayson was looking down over me,’ he says. ‘It’s hard to express in words. It’s more feelings, emotions. I knew he was there… I could feel that he would have been proud of me the same as his folks were. And I guess it manifested itself later.’ With that text.
Jenkins had reached out to Murray’s parents shortly after their son’s death. ‘It took me a couple of days to even figure out what I was going to say, until it hit the point that I realized: there’s nothing that I can possibly say.’
This Monday, Jenkins arrived at Pinehurst No 2 for the biggest week of his career so far. He felt ‘emotionally revived’. These are uncharted waters but familiar territory. He has played here many times. It’s an hour-or-so-drive from Wildwood Green, where he and Murray spent their youth.
‘The best memories are just how much better he was than everyone,’ Jenkins says. ‘The things that he could do at the age of 14, 15…’ On the course – the control, the consistency – and on the range, where Murray would fly drives from one end to the other – while others could only watch.
‘He was a very, very special individual.’ And he made them all better. The only snag? ‘He was a competitive son of a gun,’ Jenkins says. ‘It made you want to punch him in the face every once in a while!’
Jenkins, 28, bumped into his childhood friend only a few weeks before he took his own life
Last week, the Memorial Tournament paid tribute by putting Murray’s name up on the board
As kids, they wouldn’t do anything but play golf. Their daily routine took them to school, the course and bed.
They never discussed those demons. ‘Everybody has them – if you say that you don’t, then you’re either blessed or lying to yourself,’ Jenkins says. ‘He never tried to hide who he was. He never tried to hide from anything.’
And the tragic truth? ‘He had gotten back to being that happy kid again,’ Jenkins says. ‘I’ve tried to wrap my head around that overall question: why? I’ve come to the point that you’re never going to know.’ Instead, there is only one solace. ‘I feel better knowing that he is completely at peace now,’ he adds.
Back on May 25, Jenkins was down the road from here – at home in Raleigh. He had just finished a workout when he received a couple of text messages. One from his caddie, which read: ‘Do you know what happened to Grayson?’
All Jenkins had seen was that he had withdrawn from the Charles Schwab Challenge in Texas the day before. ‘I don’t know why,’ he told his caddie. ‘Then the next message I opened was in a group chat from my friends. And it was the article.’ Now he knew.
‘It was like my mind blanked,’ Jenkins explains. ‘It was like a complete out-of-body experience. I didn’t even know what to think. What to say. What to do. I just sat there for five minutes.’ Jenkins eventually found a way through all the shock and disbelief. ‘The only thing I could do at that point – to try and clear my head – was to go practice. To try and go into my own little bubble,’ he says. Golf has become a place of refuge.
Murray, who died aged 30, celebrates after winning the Sony Open in Hawaii earlier this year
Murray’s golf bag – and a bib carrying his name – is displayed at Raleigh Country Club in May
‘It just puts everything in perspective – golf already is a game of life. And now it just feels even more so,’ he explains. ‘You really understand how golf has its highs and its lows… just like life.’
But? ‘It doesn’t define you. It doesn’t make you who you are. It’s not it’s not what people remember.
‘Everyone remembers Grayson as being a phenomenal golfer, yes. But I also remember him as being a genuinely happy, good hearted kid and friend. That’s what I care about more.’
So golf has allowed Jenkins to ‘tune out’ from some of the tragedy. ‘But it’s also nice to nice to know that… this game is not what life is really all about.’
Thankfully, during this awful time, Jenkins has been surrounded by the ‘comforts’ of home. Friends and family have been nearby. Some have come out to watch him. He has seen his nieces and his nephew. ‘I get some of mom’s home cooking,’ Jenkins adds. ‘Again, perspective…’ Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs – or her Mexican chicken – bring childhood memories back to the surface.
So do weeks like this, when Jenkins will compete in a first major at a course he has been to ‘countless’ times.
It’s been that sort of period: juggling old experiences and new. Golf is a game of life.
A locker in the Pinehurst clubhouse has been dedicated to Murray and his ‘accomplishments’
‘I’m really just trying to embrace it,’ Jenkins says. ‘It’s not like I was supposed to be here.’ Murray was. A locker in the Pinehurst clubhouse has been dedicated to him and his ‘accomplishments that merited his place in the 124th US Open Championship.’
Instead, Jenkins will tee off without his old friend. Thankfully he does a new companion: ‘perspective’.
‘Sure, you can look up and down the range, if you want, and see any number of players who have accomplished significantly more than I have,’ he says. ‘You can be intimidated by it or you can understand that we’re all there just playing the same game.’
Jenkins adds: ‘Me and my caddy… we’ll go through our routines and our business. But above all, we’re just going to enjoy the week and smile our way through it.’
