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"Yes, a courier."
I imagine a man on a thin-wheeled motorcycle, in a leather jacket, a pouch over his shoulder. I try to block out images of the Nazi swastika.
Langer describes his father as a workaholic who built the house where Langer grew up and where Langer's mother still lives.
"My father was a great dad," Langer says. Erwin died three years ago, at 86. "He knew nothing about golf. My mother knows less." There is the hint of a smile on his thin lips.
As Langer describes his parents, there was no time or money for fun and games. Work and church filled their lives.
I leave his house still wondering about the roots of the emptiness he felt on that drive from Augusta to Hilton Head, but you'd need more than a morning to get to the bottom of golf's international man of mystery.
Here are a few names culled from the senior club championship plaque in the Woodfield Country Club clubhouse: Steve Bronstein, Sheldon Rose, Howard Saperstein. The Publix where the Langers do their grocery shopping is filled this time of year with Manischewitz kosher-for-Passover macaroons and other unleavened treats. Also many jelly beans, in all the colors Langer likes for his pants. In that morning interview Langer says, "It is interesting that I wound up in Boca, which is 80 percent Jewish."
Langer is three years older than I am. His parents and my parents are roughly contemporaries. When I lay out the broad similarities, Langer says, "Your parents were persecuted by Hitler and the Nazis. In a different way mine were too. And we were both drawn to golf. It is interesting."
At one point Langer raises his upper lip with his tanned fingers and shows me where a dentist had shaved a gum to accommodate a disobedient tooth. (Langer has no tolerance for disobedience of any kind.) He was slightly dubious about whether the procedure would work, despite the dentist's assurances.
"I told him, 'From your lips to God's ear,'" Langer says.