Wil Barnes, Red Wine, and the Proper Speed of Golf

Before I met Wil Barnes, my knowledge of golf had considerable room for improvement. Considerable, in this case, meaning you could have built a championship course in it.

Wil was our editor and chief writer at Affluent Golfer, and working with him became my education in the game. He seemed to carry an entire golf reference library around in his head. Scores, courses, people, memories of Augusta. Mention a par five somewhere and he could describe it with the familiarity most of us reserve for the route to our refrigerator.

I was still learning which end of this world I belonged in. Wil already knew everybody in it.

Some mornings, I’d pick him up in Newport Beach and we’d drive out to Palm Springs to cover the Bob Hope Classic. Once we got there, people would walk up and start talking to him. Then more people. Watching Wil at a golf tournament was an education in just how many friendships one man could accumulate without maintaining a spreadsheet.

He enjoyed people, and people clearly enjoyed him. I got to come along, listen, and slowly understand what made this game such a wonderful excuse to spend time together.

We took a trip through Northern California, visiting courses I’d never heard of. That sounds impressive until you consider how short my list was at the time. Wil introduced me to places, people, and the small courtesies that keep golf from becoming four strangers arguing over whose turn it is.

Who tees off first. Who putts first. How to behave on a course.

And no running.

That last one was useful. Apparently, golf had already developed a perfectly acceptable pace centuries before I arrived, and nobody needed me introducing a track-and-field component.

One of my favorite memories is playing at Wente, then going in for wine afterward. Back then, I leaned toward white wines, particularly the sweeter ones. Muscat. Ice wine. If it tasted vaguely as though dessert might be involved, I was interested.

Wil introduced me to red wine. He explained it, encouraged me to appreciate it, and gave me something else to learn about besides my golf swing. We explored Napa and its wineries together, extending my education into a subject where, mercifully, nobody was keeping a scorecard.

He was simply a lot of fun to spend time with. Looking back, the courses and wineries are part of those memories, but the pleasure was being there with Wil.

We lost him a few years ago. His place in Affluent Golfer remains.

Whenever I pick up a bottle of red wine, I think of him and quietly thank him for expanding my horizons beyond the sweeter end of the wine list. Whenever I step up to hit a ball, some piece of his advice tends to come back.

Whether I manage to follow it is another matter. Wil supplied the instruction. The execution remains my department.

He helped me understand golf, enjoy wine, and appreciate the people who make both worth the time.

Thank you, Wil. I’m still learning.

And I’m walking.