A Pennsylvania Amish family is visiting cousins in Arizona, far from the world they know. They’re traveling with their 3-year-old son and two pre-teen daughters. [1]
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Professional Golfer Mary Bea Porter was born in the city of huge Boeing aircraft, Everett, Washington, and mostly raised in Cost Mesa, California. As a lass she was highly athletic, playing many sports competitively through her youth. She played four varsity four sports in high school and at college. She was introduced to golf at an early age and took to it like it was her second nature. [2]
In Costa Mesa, she had the good fortune to meet LPGA co-founder Betty Hicks, who mentored her. At just 8 years old she conducted a golf-clinic with legendary Patty Berg. She also received occasional instruction from one of the greatest of all women golfers, Kathy Whitworth.
Competing for ASU
She attended one of the nation’s premier sports and golf universities, Arizona State University. In addition to helping ASU golf to national championships in 1970 and ’71, she also played on the softball team, on which she was the starter at 2nd base; they won the NCAA championship in 1973.
Soon after graduation she turned professional and immediately qualified for the LPGA tour by winning the qualification school (Q-school) tournament in 1973. [3]
With Arizona’s year-round golf weather, she made the area her permanent home. After a few moves and a marriage, she settled in Scottsdale, an upscale suburb north-northeast of Phoenix.
After a slow start on tour, given her collegiate record and Q-School performance, she broke through in October 1975, winning the inaugural Golf Inns of America tournament at Rancho Bernardo Inn in San Diego. [4]
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After World War II, the U.S. housing industry underwent a massive transformation. Suburbs—once rare—began to flourish. A booming economy and a desire for independence drove people to move outside cities. Cars made commuting possible. At first, suburbs featured tidy tract homes with white picket fences, spaced evenly along curving streets lined with newly planted trees.
By the mid-1960s the trend expanded. New neighborhoods featured bigger, fancier homes and often had golf courses integrated within them. From above, you’d see golf holes weaving between fenced-off backyards. Many believed the view of open green space behind their homes increased property values. Plus, there was always the chance to see some wildlife—some of it human, judging by the occasional shouted profanity that wafted into the homes’ confines.
Early post-war suburb, and the 2nd Levittown, in PA
As a homeowner, I get the appeal, though it makes the course less appealing to me. Still, it beats living next to a busy road. In hot places like Arizona, backyard pools — “cement ponds,” as Granny and Jethro would say — were common.
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Throughout her career, Porter qualified for three of the LPGA’s four major championships, making the cut several times. In 1975—the year she won in San Diego—she achieved her best major finish: 25th at the LPGA Championship at Pine Ridge Golf Course in suburban Baltimore. [6]
Golf can be fun at any age, but elite-level competition is a young person’s game. Men typically peak between 25 and 35; women several years earlier. It’s not unusual for a teenager to finish near the top of an LPGA leader board. Or even win.
Upscale PGA west course and neighborhood, La Quinta, CA
And so it was with Mary Bea Porter. By 1988, well into her 39th trip around ole Sol, her game was in decline. Still she hung in there, sometimes cashing tournament checks, sometimes doing golf exhibitions – anything to make some money through the sport she loved.
Along the way, she had a child. That motivated her to learn some things about First Aid and CPR. She kept telling herself she needed to learn CPR – especially CPR for young children – but she never seemed to have time to get it done.
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It’s March18th, 1988, and Mary Bea finds herself at the Moon Valley Golf Course in north Phoenix, playing in the Wednesday qualifier for the LPGA’s Standard Register/Samaritan Turquoise Classic. Moon Valley is close to her home. A home town event.
She’s recently divorced, a tragedy that left her nearly broke, and a single mom. Earning a check this week would mean a lot.
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At three-years-old Jonathon Smucker is naturally curious, and many things fascinate him. He and his Amish family know almost nothing of suburban life, let alone Phoenix, so there’s a lot to be curious about. Their world is a simple life, including farming without machines, horse-drawn carriages (oddly equipped with head and tail lights, turn signals and SMV placards), good old neighborly barn raisings, and 17th & 18th century German dialects.
Their hosts are out on a short errand. The Smuckers are inside a strange home with unfamiliar appliances. Outside, beyond a six-foot wrought iron fence, is a green open space with trees and people hitting little white balls.
Within the fence is something new to them: an in-ground pool. The family relaxes beside it. Their three-year-old son explores.
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Standing on the tee of the 12th hole, Mary Bea is one under par — just enough to qualify. But it’s a messy hole for her. Her drive lands on a cart path, and she has to play two balls until a judge can rule later. The whole process takes extra time.
That delay will prove to be life-changing.
At the 13th tee Mary Bea is optimistic. It’s a house-lined dog-leg left par 5; the leftward bend suits her eye, her game and her strength. A good chance to make a birdie and get that shot back.
She tees it high and lets it fly, swinging a tad harder than normal … trying to improve her chances of “getting home in two” and scoring a birdie.
It’s not a good strike, and she again finds herself in a non-optimal situation. She’ll have to play short … “laying up” to a safe spot for her third shot. Her second shot is also poor. It’s a low hook. She’s tried too hard to get the ball to bend left along the dog-leg’s contour. Her ball ends up well to the left of the short grass fairway, among scattered tree, near a fence that separates the golf course from the houses that line most holes … houses with pools.
It’s good luck. The ball is found, and she has an opening to the green. Next task: Mary Bea and her caddie, Wayne Sharp, must determine the exact yardage for the following shot. Not an easy task before laser range-finders. All the markers, sprinkler heads and landmarks referenced in the notes are many yards away. Some notional trigonometry is required, because she’s 20 yards off the fairway. 98 yards, they decide, is the “number.” [Yes, pros and the best players can dial-in the difference between 98 and say 100 yards].
Something doesn’t feel right. What’s up? What’s going on? Mary Bea looks around. Over the fence. That’s curious.
Two young girls are quietly sitting in chairs alongside a pool. In the pool a small body is floating face down in the water.
WOW! A bearded man – is that Amish clothing? – is standing at the pool’s edge. He jumps into the pool and pulls what appears to be a young boy out of the water. The man holds the child upside down and begins shaking him vigorously. The man is obviously panicked. He begins yelling to his wife and daughters to call for help. None know how to use a phone.
Instinctively Mary Bea and Wayne are already at the fence. They ask each other if the other knows CPR. Each replies: “No.”
Still a powerful athlete herself, she offers to boost Wayne over the fence. No, that won’t do: he’s a man-beast at 6 foot 4 inches and built like a linebacker. He boosts her up, practically throwing her over the fence. Parts of Mary Bea’s body scrape across the top of the wrought iron fence, then more scrapes on her knees and hands as she falls awkwardly on the other side (most AZ landscape is xeriscape: no grass, just pebbles).
Sharp can’t get over, too high. He darts down the fence line, to the next yard, where the fence is lower; he clambers over.
The panicked man with the boy has absolutely no idea what to do.
The lad’s face is gray. His skin is a blueish hue He’s very cold. He’s not breathing. He has no pulse.
Mary Bea takes the boy and lays him down.
She’s not CPR certified, but she’s seen it done on TV. She gently turns his head and clears his mouth; vomit and water pour out. As she begins CPR. Wayne dashes inside the house and calls 9-1-1.
Pump, breathe air into his lungs, repeat. Don’t forget to hold the nose clamped. Pump, breathe. And repeat. And repeat. She’s at it nearly a minute.
Nothing.
More cycles of pump and exhale. It’s tiring.
Still, nothing.
Finally, partly in frustration, she pounds on the toddler’s chest.
Something.
Again, another pound.
Something more. A cough.
She continues CPR until an ambulance arrives. He’s gasping and unconscious, but the toddler is still alive!
45 minutes after she and Wayne Smart had vaulted the fence, the ambulance, with Jonathon, leaves for the hospital. The family follows in a squad car.
Mary Bea and her caddie clamber back over the fence and return to her ball. Her group, her playing partners, have left her and Wayne behind long ago, and are now several holes ahead.
Back to golf. Still jacked-up with adrenaline, emotionally and physically drained from the CPR (it’s hard work), hurting from multiple scrapes and bruises, she mishits her 98-yard shot, now into a greenside sand trap. She makes a bogey 6. Instead of gaining a shot, she has lost one.
Mary Bea finishes her round. Her score (one source says 73, another 76) is not sufficient to qualify for the tournament. But, she is the talk of the tournament, the talk of the city, the talk of the tour. A hero.
No big deal, wouldn’t anyone do that? No Mary Bea, not everyone.
What if she hadn’t taken so long to play #12 or hit a poor shot on #13 that brought her so close to the fence? The Lord works in mysterious ways.
Several LPGA players wrote a frantic note to the tournament committee. It explained the day’s adventure, and pleaded for a special exception to allow Mary Bea Porter into the tournament. It was granted.
It would have been a perfect script for Hallmark or Disney she had done well in the tournament – or even won it.
Alas, that was not to be. She missed the cut. She didn’t get a check to cash that week. Again.
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A remarkable coincidence ensued. Jonathon spent that night in a shared hospital room in Phoenix Children’s Hospital. The boy he shared a room with had just been declared brain-dead … from a drowning. That’s when it truly hit the Smuckers how very, very fortunate they were.
Porter heard that Jonathon had survived. A great relief. Months later she learned that the Smuckers were trying to contact her. A phone call was set up where she received a huge thank you and an invitation to visit them in, what I call Amish-land, south central Pennsylvania. They had no address, just a town name.
Another few months went by before Porter could make the trip to Amish-land. Mrs Smucker set up a huge picnic for Mary Bea’s visit, inviting her own large family and neighbors. Porter attended with her own 6-year-old son, Joseph.
Mary Bea and Jonathon, at time of picnic.
Mrs Smucker asked Mary Bea if she knew why Jonathon had such severe purple bruises on his chest. A funny-not funny moment. They all stay in touch to this day.
Mary Bea did finally get First Aid and CPR certified.
Jonathan, all these decades later, has no recollection of the event. He knows it happened. He and his family are grateful. Although no longer Amish, he, his wife and children are deeply religious; the extraordinary experience is knitted into their strong faith.
Soon thereafter, Mary Bea retired from competitive golf. She remained very, very active in golf.
She probably suffered from PTSD from the event. She had frequent flashbacks and unsettling dreams, forcing her to relive that day over and over, … and, in her mind’s imagination, she saw dead little boys and heard sirens. Whenever she really heard sirens those past events overtook her consciousness. She suffered anxiety, was always tired and emotionally wrought. Even with help from sports psychologists she made little progress. It was time to move on.
She re-married, to Charles King, becoming Mary Bea Porter-King. They had met when he caddied for her in a LPGA tournament in Hawaii. They moved to Hawaii, Charles’ home state. There, she co-founded what turned out to be a hugely successful youth golf program: The Hawaii State Junior Golf Association. She also founded the Kauai Youth Golf Program.
A few years later she took another crack at being a touring pro. She just didn’t have the game for it anymore. Time waits for no one. Age takes its toll, year by year, bit by bit. Even though our minds still see ourselves as young, vibrant and competitive.
She also served on the PGA/LPGA rules committee for decades, including serving as a rules official at most major tournaments, including nearly all US located majors for the LPGA and the PGA (and even one British Open) for over 20 years. She served a number of years on the USGA Executive Committee, and as a member of the PGA Board of Directors. She was also a long-time director on the US Junior Golf Championship Committee.
She was inducted into the Arizona State University Sports Hall of Fame in 2001. She was inducted into Hawaii’s Golf Hall of Fame in 2004. In 2011, she was named the PGA’s “First Lady of Golf Award”, awarded to the woman who has made significant contributions to promoting the game of golf.
She’s also in the Southern California Golf Association Hall of Fame, and was the captain of Team USA for the Junior Solheim Cup competition.
In 1989 a new pro golf award was created by the Metropolitan Golf Writers Associated, and named for her: The Mary Bea Porter Humanitarian Award. Per the writers’ description: it honors a person “who, through a heroic or humanitarian act, saves or betters the lives of others.” She was, of course, the first recipient.
Mary Bea Porter-King, circa 2001
As the years went by, her family grew. Her children and grandchildren were on the mainland. So she and Charles, packed up and left Hawaii for southern California … near where she grew up.
Well done, Mary Bea Porter-King. A life very well lived.
Joe Girard © 2025
Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com
Author’s writing note: Tense. I took a gamble and switched to present tense for the rescue part of this essay. If you noticed it, then good for you. And, if you noticed, free to let me know what your reaction was. I’d really like to know.
Footnotes and final note
[1] Yes, the Amish can be permitted to travel by plane. Some sects allow it. And others allow it in special circumstances.
[2] The Boeing assembly building in Everett is the largest building in the world, by volume.
Porter’s athletic prowess came in the pre-Title IX era. Despite this, she competed in Softball, Volleyball, basketball, and, of course, golf. In 1973 ASU won the NCAA championship in softball; Porter was the team’s starting 2nd baseman. The school also won the NCAA golf championship in 1970 and ’71, with Porter competing for the team.
[3] LPGA = Ladies Professional Golf Association. Winning the qualifying school competition is quite a big deal. Many many players, try to get into Q-school. This includes the PGA and LPGA. Making it to the tour qualifying tournament, let alone come out on top over all other competitors, is a gold star in anyone’s memory scrapbook.
[4] This tournament has been re-named several times. It last appeared on tour as the Honda Civic Classic in 1980. Except for Porter, all of the event’s winners were huge golf names: Sandra Palmer, Sally Little, JoAnne Carner (twice) whom most golf enthusiasts and historians recognize. [JoAnne Carner is a gem; I had the opportunity to meet and chat with her in about ’76 or’77].
The runner-up to Porter was Donna Caponi, another very big star of that era. (later Caponi-Young, and then Caponi-Byrnes … I’ve never seen a slower and more deliberate backswing)
[5] Typically professional events have a “cut” wherein over half of the field is eliminated after two rounds of play. [typically low 60 scores, plus ties, in a field of 144 to 156 players]. These “cut” players typically make no money that week.
[6] That tournament was won by Kathy Whitworth, in the last years of her truly amazing career, just before she turned 46 years old. She owns 88 LPGA tournament wins, exceeded only be Annika Sorenstam’s 89. And 98 total pro wins. I saw her at the 1980 Women’s US Open in Nashville. Even at age only 41 she was clearly past her prime. I think she went on to win only one or two more tournaments.
[6] As it’s a par 5, it would be standard to reach the green in three strokes. Allotting 2 putts to get in the hole, that makes it a par 5. By getting “home” in two, a birdie is more much more likely. Or even, getting close to the green in two shots improves the odds.
Final notes:
Other awardees of the First Lady of Golf award of note include: Barbara Nicklaus (Jack’s wife), Annika Sorenstam, Carol Mann, Judy Rankin, and the previously mentioned Kathy Whitworth, Donna Caponi.
The surname Smuckers is a bit unusual, with the highest occurence in the US in Ohio and Pennsylvania — two regions of high Amish population. I assume it derives from German word Schmucker, which can be translated as more fancy or beautiful (schmuck = jewel), or perhaps a ‘jeweler.’
Some resources. A few of the many sites that have details relating to this story.
https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1988-03-24-sp-391-story.html
https://www.globalgolfpost.com/featured/mary-bea-porter-king-saves-lives-and-championships/
https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1988-03-24-sp-391-story.html
https://www.powerfades.com/features/de5e1f31-2b82-457f-aadc-cc6aa8ce7794
https://www.usga.org/content/usga/home-page/celebrating-125-years-of-golf-in-america/hawaii.html
Changing to the present tense provides much more tension, as the situation deserves. Well done!
Thanks Steve! I got ripped a few time in college for doing that. Have mostly always tried to be aware of it since. You called it: it seemed to me to inject more tension, as you say. Reader can feel more in the moment, like the old “You are there” history movie shorts. Be well.
Loved the story of Mary Bea Porter-King. Had me on the edge of my seat for awhile! Yes, a life well lived.