Payne Stewart was describing his winning putt at this year’s U.S. Open in nearby Pinehurst on the end of the tape. It was a cassette grabbed at random Sunday morning before recording nine coaches and a dozen players at the Atlantic Coast Conference basketball media day.

Just more than three minutes remained at the end of the first side. Larry Shyatt finished talking about hisClemson Tigers and I stopped typing his quotes into the computer.

Then there is a break, a garble, and …

“I’ve got to thank my wife for the putting tip she gave me, which was to keep my head still. I kept my head still on that putt and when I looked up it was about 2 feet from the hole and it was breaking right in the center and I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe I had accomplished another dream of mine.”

Winning the U.S. Open Championship was one of the final dreams Payne Stewart realized. He died Monday at the age of 42 in a plane crash still not fully understood. The way the news unfolded — a mysterious plane flying across the country, then its crash, then the revelation that Stewart was a part-owner and finally that he was one of the passengers — was overwhelming.

Had it not been Payne Stewart’s airplane, the world would have noted the crash as odd, as sad, as too bad for the grieving families. But one of the most recognizable golfers in the world died, and again a nation in love with its athletes is forced to mourn.

Stewart finished third on the PGA money list this year, one of four golfers earning more than $2 million. He was en route from his Florida home to Houston for the PGAChampionship, an event that ends the tour season with the top 30 players competing one last time.

The scene in Houston, where the players had gathered to practice, was one of shock. The world knew Stewart as the golfer in knickers and the funny hat. People everywhere are learning for the first time what a tam o’shanter cap actually is — it’s the one Payne wore.

His friends on the golf course knew him as much more than an unusual dresser. Payne Stewart was their friend, a competitor they respected in the U.S. Open, on the Ryder Cup team, at last weekend’s Disney Classic and all events in between.

The lasting memories of the two-time U.S. Open champion were forged in Pinehurst.

While most golfers groused about the tough greens, Stewart called the challenge “fun.” He entered the 1999 event after losing a four-shot lead at the previous Open and looked destined to finish second again before holding off Phil Mickelson’s challenge with a 15-foot putt on the 18th green.

When the putt dropped and the crowd roared, Stewart thrust his arms into the air and his caddy jumped into his arms. Stewart cried at the magnitude of his accomplishment and still was overwhelmed by the time he made his way to the interview room.

Those interviews were transcribed by the PGA and passed around to the sportswriters needing quick quotes on deadline, but some of us still used our tape recorders, just in case. Now I’m glad I used one, despite the haunted feeling that fell over me at hearing a voice no longer a part of this world.

In today’s fast-paced society, it’s easy to forget things like a cassette tape used in June. Had I grabbed another tape Sunday morning, had Shyatt or Bobby Cremins or Herb Sendek spoken a little longer, those 31