Turning Grief Into Good

“You never stop grieving.” Conor O’Neil leaned back in his chair, removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. He replaced his cap and stared off into the distance for a few seconds. His silence spoke a thousand words. I could feel his pain, as much as one can being on a Zoom call and six time zones away. 

On the morning of Nov. 2, 2020, O’Neil teed it up at an event on the Tartan Tour, a mini-tour based in the United Kingdom. He had played OK from what he remembers, but he didn’t have much time to review the round, as he had to work that afternoon. The pandemic was at its peak. O’Neil had picked up a job at a grocery store, stocking shelves to earn a little extra money. In the middle of his shift he received a call he had become all too familiar with. For the third time in his life, a family member had taken his own life. This time it was his 60-year-old father, Danny. 

O’Neil, 31, is like a lot of pros in many ways. He grew up in Scotland and became one of the best players in the country. After a failed trip to a college in the U.S., he returned home and turned pro a few years later. He has found success here and there, winning multiple mini-tour events and Monday-qualifying for his national open, but has yet to break through at the biggest tournament: Q school. But O’Neil’s story is unlike any other player’s as he has dealt with tragedy throughout his life.

Danny O’Neil was wildly successful in business at a young age. At 30 he was named chief executive at Britannic Asset Management, a financial firm in Scotland. When he took over, the company was managing a few hundred million pounds, and when he left 11 years later, it was managing nearly 18 billion pounds. The job, however, required him to live in London during the week, away from his family, who lived more than 400 miles away in Glasgow. It weighed on him. At 41, Danny O’Neil walked away from millions and retired to spend more time with his wife, Patricia, and the couple’s four children. Although he worked a couple days a week as the chairman of the GAP Group, a Scottish plant, tool and equipment company, for 15 years, he never went back to full-time work. He also mentored countless people, always lending his expertise to anyone willing to ask, but his family was his life. At the time his father retired, Conor was 9 years old.

One of a set of triplets, Conor O’Neil grew up in privilege. The family belonged to multiple golf clubs around Glasgow and both of his parents were almost always home. Danny and Conor played hundreds of rounds of golf together. “My brother has played football in almost every football stadium in Scotland (Patrick played professionally), I’ve played some of the best courses in the world, and we got to do it with my dad. None of that would have been possible if he worked full time.” 

By his early teens Conor was one of the better players in Scotland, and he was soon being recruited by colleges in the United States. He chose Michigan State. But O’Neil struggled with the culture both on and off the course. There was a divide among international and U.S. players. His strong Scottish accent didn’t make things any easier off the course. “We use the word ‘c—’ among friends all the time here,” he says. “I’d say it to a girl at a party and all of a sudden she was gone.” After just a year he returned to Scotland to play for the Scotland Amateur team. Back home he won the Scottish Golf Union Order of Merit and had numerous high finishes in big amateur events, including in 2010 at the Scottish Boys Championship, where he and Patrick both made match play. Danny was there for every shot, walking nearly 12 rounds over four days. Conor lost in the quarterfinals. 

After winning the 2013 Glasgow Open Am Championship, Conor turned pro. He began his career on the MENA Tour, a mini-tour in the Middle East. Scott Jamieson, a European Tour winner and mentor to Conor since he was 18, says Conor has the game to play at the highest level. “Sometimes his head gets in the way,” Jamieson says. Q school continued to be a hurdle too high, with near miss after near miss. 

Although the highs of tour golf are few and far between for most, those moments are what keep players going. In 2018, O’Neil Monday-qualified for the Scottish Open and was rewarded with the honor of hitting the opening tee shot. Danny was there, of course; he wouldn’t have missed it for the world. “He was so proud,” Conor recalls. 

After an opening-round 72, Conor and Danny were walking to the clubhouse when the CEO of Aberdeen, the sponsor of the event, invited the father and son into a suite. For years, Aberdeen had pursued Danny to work for them. Danny politely declined, as he always had. His family was his full-time job and this was Conor’s day. 

Conor shot a second-round 73 and missed the cut by eight. Danny was there for every shot and for a hug after to help with the disappointment of an opportunity lost. He never visited the Aberdeen suite. 

When Covid canceled Q school, it was tough for players without status; that meant another year on the mini-tours. Conor O’Neil, meanwhile, was dealing with another heart-wrenching tragedy. One of Danny’s brother had taken his own life in 2016, and now Danny was calling in early 2020 to tell Conor that another brother, Steven, had also committed suicide. Steven and Conor were close, so the news hit especially hard. Because of Covid, there were restrictions on gatherings, so there was no funeral or any sense of closure. 

Danny O’Neil was subsequently diagnosed with Polymyalgia, an inflammatory disorder that causes pain and stiffness. Because of his condition, along with the Covid restrictions, Danny lost touch with the very things that made him who he was—a mentor, a friend, and a parent. Conor believes the disorder was a leading cause of his downward spiral. The depression overwhelmed him. Conor had been playing at Glasgow Hills, a course where the O’Neils were members. He was frustrated about the state of his game when he left for the job at the grocery store. That’s when he received the call about his father. Conor has never set foot on Glasgow Hills since, the memory too painful to relive. 

Again there was no funeral, no gathering, no closure. Conor poured himself into teaching. Four days after his father took his own life, he was giving lessons again. If he didn’t stop, he wouldn’t have to face the cruel reality of what had happened. Soon after he was playing the mini-tours again, and in June 2021, seven months after his father’s death, he teed it up at a three-day Euro Pro event. 

After solid rounds of 68 and 71, O’Neil went into the final round four shots off the lead. And when the leader limped home with a 76, O’Neil took advantage. He fired a closing-round 68, highlighted by birdies on 14 and 16, to claim the $15,000 winner’s check. There were tears, so many tears. “I wish my dad was here,” O’Neil told the Scottsman after his round. “He deserved it more than me, for all he did for me.” 

If life was fair, Conor would have gone on to Q school that year and secured his European Tour card. But the events that followed were filled with too many missed cuts and far too few successes. His win and story garnered many more students for his fledgling teaching business, and his schedule was packed on those days he wasn’t away at events. The small amount of free time was spent in bars. “Since my dad died,” Conor says, “I have tried to do three things full-time: play, teach and drink.” 

It wasn’t a way to deal with grief; it was a way to try to forget what had happened. If he didn’t stop, he wouldn’t have to think about it. The hectic schedule took its toll. On the 2022 EuroPro Tour, he made just four cuts in 11 events, without a top 10. Something had to change. 

After talking with his wife, Morven, a corporate lawyer who had dealt with tragedy of her own, having lost her mother to cancer when she was just 23, Conor decided to put his playing career on hold. He has poured himself into his teaching career and became an advocate for mental health awareness. 

O’Neil believes strongly that golf and mental health can go hand in hand. “The culture of golf is different in Scotland,” he says. “We almost never drink when we golf. Tell me the last time you spent five hours with someone without a pint in your hand. I’ve had more meaningful conversations with people I didn’t know on a golf course than I have with my best mates watching football at a pub.” It is the very reason O’Neil doesn’t offer online lessons, as he believes the human connection is a vital part of the sport and of our mental health. He feels strongly that it’s impossible to get to know a person on Zoom and wonders if his dad would still be here if his therapy sessions weren’t done over a computer screen. 

Sometimes the lessons he gives aren’t about golf; sometimes they are people struggling with mental health issues who just want someone to talk to. Sometimes the students never touch a club, instead simply talking with a person who knows they need to be heard. O’Neil has given countless free lessons to people who are struggling. He has helped raise nearly $40,000 for mental health awareness through a campaign he started. It has become his calling. 

In our nearly two-hour conversation, almost every question was met with a long pause before he replied. Except for one. “Is this the healthiest relationship you have had with golf since your dad died?” I asked. “Yes.” The answer came quickly and with confidence. Conor doesn’t believe for a second that his playing career is over, and he talked about a recent round with Jamieson where he played well. For now, though, he is prioritizing his mental health. 

O’Neil continues to write his story. A healthy relationship with golf, working as an advocate for mental health and a promising teaching career lay ahead. Maybe the reset will be the thing he needs to jumpstart his playing career.

In any event, this much is clear: Conor O’Neil is on the right course. 

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