My dad was an explorer at heart. Growing up in a dirt-floored cabin in southwest Oklahoma, he hadn’t ventured far beyond the small towns of Siloam Springs, Arkansas to the east, or Hobbs, New Mexico to the west. But that all changed in 1943 when, at 18, he enlisted in the Navy. It was like his world went from black-and-white to full color—just like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz—when he took the train from Oklahoma City to San Diego for boot camp. From that point on, his stories were filled with his Navy adventures, and I always wondered if other farm kids across the country had similar tales from their time in the service.
Dad’s Navy career took him to San Diego and Melbourne, Florida, and eventually back to Norman, Oklahoma. His time in the Navy opened his eyes to the wider world, and when I came along, he made sure to share that sense of adventure with Mom and I. By then, he was working for a national insurance company, which meant he had a company car, perfect for our annual two-week road trips. Every year, it became tradition to pack up and hit the road, camping along the way and staying in those little roadside motels that always felt like an adventure in themselves.
We traveled from Oklahoma to national parks all over the West, and in 1962, we went all the way to Banff, Alberta then over to Seattle for the World’s Fair. I still remember Dad, laid back in his recliner, surrounded by maps, planning out each stop, learning about destinations, and figuring out what else we could explore along the way.
In 1966, when I was 13, Dad asked me where I wanted to go the following year. Without hesitation, I told him I wanted to see the Yankees and Mickey Mantle play a doubleheader at the old Yankee Stadium in New York. And here’s the kicker—he put me in charge of planning the entire trip. I was the manager of the route, where we’d stop, where we’d stay, and what we’d do. I spent a year writing letters to chambers of commerce, gathering travel brochures, and collecting maps, all delivered by good ol’ USPS. I’d walk two miles to the post office every day to pick up stacks of information, then spend hours pouring over every detail.
That trip was my first real lesson in discipline, research, and planning, and those skills have stayed with me ever since. Even today, though I’ve got apps and GPS to help me out, I still rely on the same methods I learned from that trip. Little did I know then, but that trip would set the stage for my life’s work.
Dad always brought along his trusty 35mm camera with Kodachrome slide film to document our trips. He wasn’t obsessed with photography, but he had a knack for capturing just the right moments. And the best part? When we got home, he’d put together a slide show of our adventures, and we’d invite friends over to relive the trip with us. It was more than just pictures—it was storytelling, with Dad narrating the beauty and history of the places we visited.
I loved being a part of those slide shows, sharing my perspective with our audience. But it wasn’t until later in life that I realized how important those moments were. Forty years into my career as a photographer, traveling the world to capture golf courses, resorts, landscapes, and seascapes, I now see that it’s always been about sharing. Exploring new places and sharing those experiences, just like Dad did.
For most of my career, that sharing happened through the eyes of some of the most respected art directors at publishers and advertising agencies. But today, thanks to the digital world, I get to share my work with you directly. It’s like inviting you into my own “virtual living room,” whether you’re visiting www.golfaslife.com or www.shopklemmeart.com. So come on in, let’s pop some popcorn, crack open a beer, and share stories just like Dad used to.
P.S. Thanks, Dad!
