Last Monday evening, Carter Jenkins was at home with his parents in North Carolina when a message came through 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, skill and endurance, Jenkins went through 36 holes and then a seven-man playoff. At the end of it all, the world number 294 – who competes on the Korn Ferry Tour – had achieved a first major championship.
But he was still conflicted: Hours earlier, while on the course in Durham, his parents were in nearby Raleigh celebrating the life of another young golfer. Grayson Murray, the two-time PGA Tour winner who committed suicide just nine days earlier. He was thirty. “Devastating,” says Jenkins.
Jenkins and Murray grew up together. They were teammates in 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 out of pride; we were always just trying to take a few dollars from each other,” Jenkins recalls. “He whipped my tail in seven directions through Sunday.”
Carter Jenkins, who grew up with the late Grayson Murray, is playing in his first major this week
Murray, a two-time PGA Tour winner, recently tragically took his own life at the age of just 30
But until his suicide, Murray was locked in a battle with himself for years. He was open about his struggles with alcohol, anxiety and depression. Jenkins ran into him a few weeks ago; they chewed the fat, as they always did.
“It seemed like he was excited about the opportunities he was getting,” Jenkins recalled. “We talked about it this week, whether he would play in the Open or not… we went our separate ways and that was that.”
That was that. “I felt terrible that I couldn’t be at the funeral in person for his family,” Jenkins said.
Luckily his family was there and they recorded it on TV. So after booking his spot in Pinehurst, Jenkins went home and sat alone. “I went ahead and looked at it,” he explains. “Just when it was still on my mind.”
It didn’t take long for that text message to arrive. “Grayson’s dad sent my dad a message congratulating me,” Jenkins said. “He had had a funeral for his son – a few hours earlier.”
Jenkins and Murray, pictured in 2013, were high school teammates in North Carolina
The 28-year-old added: ‘They are great people and I think it speaks volumes about who they are.’
The message also served as evidence of something Jenkins had felt that day.
“I knew Grayson was looking down on me,” he says. ‘It’s difficult to put into words. It’s more like feelings, emotions. I knew he was there… I felt he would have been as proud of me as his parents were. And I think it manifested itself later.” With that text.
Jenkins had contacted Murray’s parents shortly after their son’s death. “It took me a few days to even think about what I was going to say until I got to the point where I realized, there’s nothing I can say.”
This Monday, Jenkins arrived at Pinehurst No. 2 for the biggest week of his career yet. He felt “emotionally revitalized.” These are uncharted waters, but familiar territory. He has played here many times. It’s about an hour’s drive from Wildwood Green, where he and Murray spent their childhood.
“The best memories are how much better he was than everyone,” Jenkins said. ‘The things he could do at the age of 14, 15…’ On the course – the control, the consistency – and on the distance, where Murray would fly, he drives from one side to the other – while others could only watch.
“He was a very, very special individual.” And he made them all better. The only problem? “He was a competitive son of a gun,” Jenkins said. “You wanted to punch him in the face every now and then!”
Jenkins, 28, ran into his childhood friend just a few weeks before he committed suicide
Last week, the Memorial Tournament paid tribute by putting Murray’s name on the board
As children they did nothing but play golf. Their daily routine took them to school, the course and to bed.
They never talked about those demons. ‘Everyone has them. If you say it isn’t, you’re either blessed or you’re lying to yourself,” Jenkins said. ‘He never tried to hide who he was. He never tried to hide from anything.”
And the tragic truth? “He had become that happy kid again,” Jenkins says. ‘I tried to avoid the general question: why? I’m at the point where you’ll never know.’ Instead, there is only one consolation. “I feel better knowing that he is now at complete peace,” he adds.
On May 25, Jenkins was away from here – at home in Raleigh. He had just finished training when he received a few text messages. One of his caddy’s, which said, “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. “The next message I opened was in a group chat of my friends. And it was the article.” Now he knew.
“It was like my mind went blank,” Jenkins explains. ‘It was like a complete out-of-body experience. I didn’t even know what to think. What to say. What must we do. I was only there for five minutes.” Jenkins eventually found a way through all the shock and disbelief. ‘The only thing I could do at that moment – try to clear my head – was to practice. To try and get into my own little bubble,” he says. Golf has become a refuge.
Murray, who died aged 30, is celebrating after winning the Sony Open in Hawaii earlier this year
Murray’s golf bag – and a bib with his name on it – will be on display at the Raleigh Country Club in May
“It just puts everything into perspective: golf is already a game of life. And now it feels even more,” he explains. “You really understand how golf has its highs and lows…just like life.”
But? “It doesn’t define you. It doesn’t make you who you are. It’s not what people remember.
“Everyone remembers Grayson as a phenomenal golfer, yes. But I also remember him as a genuinely happy, kind-hearted child and friend. That’s what I care about more.’
Golf has therefore allowed Jenkins to ‘extricate himself’ from some of the tragedy. “But it’s also nice to know that… this game isn’t what life is really about.”
Fortunately, Jenkins is surrounded by the ‘comforts’ of home during this terrible time. Friends and family have been in the area. Some have come out to watch him. He saw his nieces and his nephew. “I get some mom’s home cooking,” Jenkins adds. “Again, perspective…” Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs – or her Mexican chicken – bring childhood memories back to the surface.
That includes weeks like this, when Jenkins will compete in a first major on a course he has been to “countless” times.
It has been one of those times: juggling old experiences and new ones. Golf is a game of life.
A locker in the Pinehurst clubhouse is dedicated to Murray and his ‘achievements’
“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 is dedicated to him and his “achievements that earned his place in the 124th U.S. Open Championship.”
Instead, Jenkins will tee off without his old friend. Fortunately, he adds a new companion: ‘perspective’.
“Of course, if you want, you can look up and down and see any number of players who have achieved significantly more than me,” he says. “You can be intimidated by it, but you can also understand that we’re all playing the same game.”
Jenkins added, “Me and my caddy… we’ll go over our routines and our business. But above all, we’re just going to enjoy the week and get through it with a smile.’