Tee for Two

What's a handicap? On the course his father built
him, John Espinoza redefines the word‑and himself

He had the gun in his hand and the desire in his heart. Sitting in the living room of his home in Eureka, Montana, Steve Espinoza couldn't think of a reason to keep living. Weighing him down was the string of tragedies that had befallen him and his wife, Juana. First, their 1‑year‑old daughter Malia had died following surgery to repair a heart ailment. Their son John had been born with Cornelia de Lange syndrome, which causes mental retardation. Now their oldest child, Michael, 20, an outstanding student and athlete, had been killed in a car crash. It was more than Steve could bear, until that night when he contemplated suicide—and insists he heard Michael speak to him. "Don't do it, Dad," the voice said. "John needs you."

Steve did put away the gun that night, nine years ago. But the voice was only partly right: It turned out that the family would need John just as much as he needed them. John would be the inspiration for the building of a golf course—of all things—that would offer them a road back to a joyful life. "It gave John something to do," says Juana, 52, "and Steve something to live for."

The whole thing started innocently enough. Not long after his brother's death, John, then 16, was rummaging around in the garage when he found a set of Mike's golf clubs. An idea hit him. "Dad," he said, "teach me how to play." Steve took him out and gave him some pointers. Despite the fact that John is blind in one eye and has very little movement in his wrists, "he did okay," recalls Steve, 55, a Vietnam vet who gets by on disability. But their first trip to a nearby course ended badly. Some of the other golfers berated the Espinozas for John's slow play. Humiliated, John confided to his father, "I wish I had my own course to play on'."

Steve could have gently told him that was impossible—but he didn't. Instead he went home, surveyed his 10-acre spread and decided, "Why not?" He got help, seed and fertilizer from the superintendent of a local course. "In six weeks," marvels Steve, "we had this beautiful green." Building a fairway was a bit harder, but three of John's friends borrowed some machinery and cleared 22 100 foot. pine trees. By the end of 1994, the Espinozas had two holes.

What Steve hadn't counted on was the constant maintenance and specialized machinery that a golf course requires. He started hitting up courses for any spare equipment, explaining that he was building a course for his special-needs son. Some thought he was trying to con them, but, says Brian McCully, who owns a course in Eureka: "Steve never gives up." He finally hit pay dirt with a country club in Palm Springs, which told him that if he wanted to make the trip, he could have a ride-on mower that would cut the greens to the proper height. Steve hitched up a 16 foot. trailer and made the 1,000‑mile journey south.

Soon course superintendents all over the West had heard about Steve and John and were offering to help. By last year, the Espinozas' project—they called it, simply, John's Golf Course—had 10 holes that measured a total of 1,845 yards. From the start, the family opened the course for free to anyone who wanted to tee up, as long as they allowed John to play if he wanted.

It isn't the kind of layout that would make Tiger Woods sweat, but it has done wonders for John's game, and a Hollywood producer has even optioned his story. In June, John, now 26, represented the U.S. at the Special Olympics in Dublin, winning the bronze medal. "It was the best time of my life," he says.

For now, there are no plans to expand the course further, which is just as well as far as Steve is concerned. "I was broke when I started this," he says, laughing, "and I'm broke now." But as he surely knows, that's another thing that's only partly right.

Bill Hewitt
Lorenzo Benet in Eureka