Bart’s story begins on the South Side of San Antonio, in a tight-knit Mexican-American community rooted in family, culture, and love. But as a teenager, he started slipping into the wrong crowd, and his parents worried about where he was headed. His father, who served in the military, accepted a job in a small farming town in Oregon — not to leave their roots, but to give Bart a chance to reset his direction.

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In Oregon, everything shifted.

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Bart discovered golf when he was 13, and his high school launched a team during his sophomore year. He joined immediately, and by his junior year he and his best friend Ian were the top players — outperforming schools with bigger budgets, full coaching staffs, and brand-new equipment.

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What made their success remarkable was what they didn’t have.

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Bart and Ian played with clubs they bought from Goodwill.

They had no rangefinders, no training aids, and no real practice facilities.

Their only course was a 100-year-old, community-run honor-system course — a nine-hole sand-greens layout that cost five dollars to play. No driving range. No clubhouse. The greens were sand: uneven, unpredictable, and smoothed by hand after every putt.

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But they treated that little course like their own academy.

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They walked there after school, played on weekends, and showed up every chance they had. When they couldn’t afford the five dollars, they left IOUs — and the older man who maintained the course on his tractor always waved them through. That rugged little course shaped them. It taught feel, creativity, discipline, and grit — instincts you only develop when nothing comes easy.

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But access was still a barrier.

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Their school served a hardworking, largely immigrant community, and stronger programs were often given priority. When major tournaments came around, better-resourced schools advanced while Bart’s team stayed behind with explanations tied to budgets or eligibility. It wasn’t about talent — it was about access.

Then everything changed.

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Right before Bart’s senior year, the district cut the golf program entirely. With no coach, no tournaments, and no structured path forward, competitive golf became impossible for families covering the costs alone.

Bart and Ian kept playing — still walking to that sand-greens course every afternoon — but they quickly realized competing was no longer an option. Not without access to be seen. Not without guidance, a pathway, or the resources required to move beyond casual play. And not without the money needed for equipment, lessons, and tournament travel.

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Their love for the game was bigger than the system that failed them — but love alone couldn’t close the gap between talent and opportunity.

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That truth stayed with Bart. Not as regret, but as clarity.

He knew exactly how many young golfers are still facing those same barriers today.

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Future Golfers of America was created for them — for the kids who remind him of himself.
The ones who walk to the course after school.
The ones with borrowed clubs and big goals.
The ones shaped by grit, not privilege.
The ones with the talent and drive — who simply need someone to help them stay in the game.

 

Your support is what fills that gap. It creates the access, guidance, and opportunity that talented young golfers cannot get on their own — and it keeps them in the game.