Schuckman: Dennis Guthrie appreciated being a golf dad, but his real gift came as a fun-loving family man

QUINCY — I laughed. Dennis Guthrie didn’t.

My mind immediately began thinking, “What’s wrong?”

Seated together on a bench near the 18th green at Quincy Country Club as the Quincy High School and Quincy Notre Dame boys golf teams neared the end of their Ryder Cup match early in the 2007 season, Guthrie and I chatted about golf, his sons and of course the St. Louis Cardinals.

The subject eventually rolled around to recruitment of his son Luke, the Blue Devils’ defending state champion and one of the Midwest’s most coveted prospects.

Luke had whittled his list of potential college choices to a handful of top-flight schools. Dennis let me know Luke had made a verbal commitment. 

When I asked which school he chose, Dennis responded by saying, “I can’t tell you.”

I laughed. Dennis didn’t.

In the moment, I replayed a myriad of conversations between Luke and I, wondering what I said or did wrong. For what seemed like an eternity, Dennis sat there stonefaced, letting me twist in the wind with my mind racing.

It wasn’t too long before he cracked a smile.

“I want him to be the one to tell you his news,” Dennis said, chuckling and knowing he had gotten the better of me.

After the match was over, Luke Guthrie told me had verbally committed to the University of Illinois, where he went on to have an All-American career and developed into one of the best golfers in the history of Illinois’ acclaimed program.

A couple months later, after Luke had won his second state championship and finished his senior season at QHS by shooting a 5-under 67 and winning by five strokes, Dennis and I found ourselves sitting on a golf cart chatting about Luke’s. I told him that day I would be there the day Luke made his PGA Tour debut.

There were no guarantees it would happen, but Luke’s game, demeanor and work ethic gave everyone a strong inkling a professional career was within reach.

Nearly 4 ½ years later, on a bright, sunny Thursday morning in June, Luke Guthrie stepped to the first tee at TPC Southwind in Memphis and had his name announced.

“On the tee, from Quincy, Illinois, Luke Guthrie,” the starter bellowed.

The crowd was meager. It was an 8:48 a.m. tee time in the opening round of the FedEx St. Jude Classic, but a throng of family and friends had made the drive from Quincy to witness Luke in his PGA Tour debut. As promised, I was there, too.

Several months later, with Christmas looming, Dennis called me and asked if could stop by the Herald-Whig newsroom so he could share something with me. It was a custom metal print of a picture taken by his wife, Cindy, of Luke and I sitting on a bench near the TPC Southwind clubhouse chatting.

Etched onto the picture were the words “I told you I’d be at your first PGA tournament.”

That photo now sits on my desk, a reminder of a relationship and friendship I have always appreciated to the core, not just with Luke, but with his entire family.

It’s why my eyes filled with tears the first time I sat at my desk and looked at the photo after learning of Dennis Guthrie’s passing. He died August 12 from a medical emergency at the age of 66. He will be laid to rest Thursday in Ponte Vedra Beach, Fla.

He was the quintessential golf dad, supportive from the background and always there. He walked the fairways with both of his sons — Luke and his older brother Zach — but never interfered with their game. He defended them when needed, applauded them often and showed them unconditional love.

Every conversation I had with Dennis, even when he was unsure about some of the attention Luke was receiving early in his professional career, had a positive tone to it. Everything was done in the best interest of his family above all else.

It’s a trait I now see in his sons and the way they are raising their kids.

That will be Dennis Guthrie’s legacy. He may have seemed a quiet bystander on the golf course, but his presence in all other aspects was resounding.

As I sit here recalling many of our conversations, I harken back to that day at Quincy Country Club when he showed he’d become comfortable enough around me to needle me just a little.

It makes me smile and laugh. I truly believe Dennis would laugh about it now, too.