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Rob Carr, AP Mark Calcavecchia, left, promised friend and caddie Eric Larson a job after his 2006 release from prison after serving nearly 11 years for distributing drugs AOL Augusta, Georgia During his 11 years in federal prisons scattered throughout the United States, Eric Larson often imagined the second chance pledged to him by a dedicated friend.
His promising career sabotaged by his moonlighting middleman role in drug deals, Larson yearned of once again toting Mark Calcavecchia's 45-plus pounds of equipment for miles on some of the world’s most exclusive real estate.
Yet Larson didn't dare fantasize about carrying his friend's bag at the most sacred place of all, Augusta National.
"It's a dream," Larson said Wednesday of his first time caddying at the Masters. "I'm very fortunate to be here. Everything is going as I had hoped for, and then some."
Larson's life has been one birdie after another since his release from a halfway house on June 16, 2006.
He caddied for Calcavecchia at the Western Open last summer and plenty of other tournaments. Then, last month, Calcavecchia won his first tournament in six years at Innisbrook Resort and Golf Club in Tampa Bay. The PODS Championship came with a check for $954,000, providing Larson with a cut approaching six figures.
"I had nothing," Larson emphatically said. "Actually, I had a fine I still had to pay the government."
Then, last week, Calcavecchia learned that he earned a spot at the Masters because he finished in the top 10 for money winners.
"I ended up ninth," Calcavecchia said Wednesday morning. "I made it by one guy."
To say that Larson has gotten his life back on track because of Calcavecchia would be a disservice to several other friends and relatives who remained close to him. But Calcavecchia, the 1989 British Open champion, certainly proved himself a worthy friend.
After he was sentenced to 11 years for his role in a cocaine transaction, Larson said Calcavecchia immediately provided him an incentive to endure the lost time behind prison bars.
"From day one he told me, 'When you get out, don't worry. I'll put you back to work and get you back on your feet. Hopefully, I'll still be playing OK by then.'"
Calcavecchia never wavered in his support, despite his connection with a convicted drug dealer.
"When I first met him, I knew I liked him," Calcavecchia said of his friend of more than 20 years. "What he did was wrong. But he got screwed on the sentence, something fierce. There are people raping and murdering getting out faster than 11 years. So I just wanted to try and keep his spirits up when he was in there.
"He got in a bind, and he made a mistake. I was going to get him back on his feet," Calcavecchia said. "Nothing else crossed my mind than doing that for him. Like I said, he's my friend."
And during those 11 years, Calcavecchia made sure to visit Larson as often as he could, at every prison he was at in Florida, North Carolina and California. One of his ex-wife's friends had been incarcerated for two and a half years, and he visited him once in Duluth, Minn. Calcavecchia recalled how much that meant to him, and he wasn't surprised when Larson had a similar reaction on his initial visit.
"We talked for six hours, and I actually felt bad about leaving after six hours," Calcavecchia said. "It just means so much to the guys in there, when they get good visits from friends, to know that people on the outside are still thinking of them."
Once, Calcavecchia flew to Bakersfield, Calif., stayed overnight, and then rented a car to drive to the prison Larson was at.
"Sometimes it wasn't easy to get to where he was at," Calcavecchia said. "But just seeing how much it meant to him to visit him, and that sort of thing, made it all worthwhile."
Larson said that inspired him to stay on a positive track in prison. Larson turned his two-year degree into a bachelors degree in business management, and he also took classes in horticulture and woodworking. He also never got any incident reports and maintained contact with the judge who sentenced him.
When he was released to a halfway house in West Palm Beach in December 2005, Larson got a job at a local course and caddied for Calcavecchia at a local event. Then, when he was released from the halfway house in June, Larson worked almost exclusively for Calcavecchia.
They often hang out off the course, going to putt-putts together and with Larson devouring 40-ounce steaks at an alarming pace.
Larson, 46, still lamented the length of his sentence, but he isn't at all bitter and accepts responsibility for his actions.
"I did wrong, and I got what I got," Larson said. "But it's over and done with. It's behind me, and here I am. So I try not to talk about it, because I'd just as soon move on.
"Life's too short."
There are still obstacles, like travel restrictions and five years of probation. But Larson can apply to get that reduced at the end of this year, and he has been allowed to make every trip he's requested.
Larson, though, isn't complaining, taking comfort in his girlfriend and his true friends.
Calcavecchia wondered if there's something more to his and Larson's fortunes.
"Maybe it's just payback for the time he shouldn't have spent in there," Calcavecchia said.
So is Calcavecchia in a green jacket fathomable?
Why not, Larson said.
"I hope we have a good week," Larson said. "He's playing very well. I'm excited, to get the ball in the air.
"But we've had a lot of fun," Larson said. "And that's what it's all about."
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