At first, our Grant Boone wasn't all that outraged when friend and colleague Kelly Tilghman uttered her now infamous lynching remark on GOLF CHANNEL. Then he talked to another friend and realized that he was wrong.

By Grant Boone, Special to PGA.com

First off, a confession: I didn't recoil in horror when I heard Kelly Tilghman use the L word. That now-infamous ad lib, uttered in the closing moments of GOLF CHANNEL's second round telecast of the Mercedes-Benz Championship, has made Tilghman a bigger celebrity than she ever dreamed (or had nightmares) she'd be.

I cringed for a colleague, a woman I've known and worked with at GOLF CHANNEL for the last 8 years, who surely violated one of the standing rules of comedy we've set for our kids: never use inappropriate words in an attempt to be funny.

I empathized with Tilghman, knowing full well what it's like to tiptoe along the verbal fault line of unscripted live television where every syllable spoken is both final and irreversible.

But I wasn't outraged.

Those six words and the ensuing imbroglio continue to make headlines this week -- a week which began ironically with a national holiday to honor Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. -- as Tiger Woods makes his season debut and Tilghman returns from a two-week company suspension at the Buick Invitational. The controversy has engaged me on an intellectual level. I considered what Tilghman said, the denotation and connotation of the L word, the various reactions of the principal characters (Tilghman, Woods, Golf Channel), and the subsequent media hullabaloo.

But I didn't shed a tear. Didn't run the moneychangers out of the temple. For me, this was a controversy of the head, not the heart. Maybe that's because I'm a 38-year-old white guy. And though a child of the American South, I'm also a product of desegregated schools, busing, and The Jeffersons' Tom and Helen Willis. For me, the L word itself has been merely a vestige of bygone atrocities, even if very little time had gone by since those atrocities were disturbingly frequent. I make that confession neither proudly nor in self-flagellation. It's just the truth: however heinous, the word evoked no more of a visceral response in me than any other cruel form of execution.

Peggy Rhodes-White isn't so fortunate. She can't hear the L word and casually go about her business. For one thing, she's neither 38, white (except in name), nor a guy. For another thing, "her business" is trying to make right, in her own way, some of what went wrong in the days when the L word was such a terrifying reality for African-Americans. Like MLK. And like her father, pioneering black golfer Ted Rhodes, who not only won more than 150 tournaments in his day but also helped blaze the trail that eventually opened professional golf to African-Americans.

Rhodes-White was kind enough to contact me after a piece I'd written on MLK Day 2007, which included a tribute to her dad. Now living in Chicago, she heads up the Ted Rhodes Foundation, which exists to honor her father's accomplishments, on and off the course, and introduce young people of all races to the game of golf. Rhodes-White and I have gotten to know each other via e-mail over the last year, and I thought of her when all of this went down.

"We must think before we speak," Rhodes-White told me. "Race is volatile and it will continue to be until we truly learn to respect and appreciate the individual, both internally and externally. The word, which I don't even want to repeat, is quite emotional to African-Americans. It should not be taken lightly. There is truly history behind the word. It invokes fear and anger and frustration and, for some, even revenge. I had hoped we would not hear this word in the new century, but unfortunately it has been carried over."

While I'm busy not being outraged, Rhodes-White can't even bring herself to say the word. I suppose it's difficult to get past the etymology of a term when the anthropology behind it is so gruesome.

And personal.

Death threats were a way of life for black leaders in every arena, including those in which MLK and Ted Rhodes challenged the status quo. Yet both men practiced and preached nonviolence toward individuals, sparring instead with systemic injustice. After Rhodes and another African-American, Bill Spiller, finished high enough at the 1948 L.A. Open to earn a spot in the next open tournament, they were told they couldn't play because they were black. When they threatened legal action, the PGA -- which at the time oversaw all professional golf, including what is now the PGA Tour -- agreed to let black players compete in open events. In turn, many tournaments conveniently took on the oxymoronic title of "open invitational" to make sure their fields remained lily white.

By the time the PGA, under the threat of legal action, dropped its Caucasians-only clause in November 1961, Rhodes was nearly 50 and his best playing days were behind him. A year after MLK was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee, Rhodes died in his native Nashville. Rhodes-White still feels the kinship between her father and Dr. King, especially this week.

"It's interesting to think that when Dr. King was killed, some folks thought they had gotten rid of him," she said. "Not so. Look what we have today! The celebration of his birth is just a reminder of his life, work, commitment, sacrifice, and involvement to make all of us better so we can be what we should be. Peace, love and social justice start with each one of us. Individually, personally. We must think that way for there is still much left to be done. My dad would surely be in tune with Dr. King because of his experiences and accomplishments. He too was a trailblazer. He did it for those coming after him. He understood that his sacrifices and struggles were not only for his benefit, but for others also."

For that reason, Rhodes-White's work continues. Each year, she organizes the Ted Rhodes Legends Tour in major metropolitan areas to further her father's legacy and promote golf as a vehicle for bringing people of diverse backgrounds together. She's currently looking for a major sponsor for this year's tour. I'd like to help her find one. (E-mail me if you have any ideas.)

In the meantime, I'm beginning to get a better understanding of why certain words carry more weight than others. Not because someone told me I should be offended. But because it offends Peggy. And Peggy's my friend.

Grant Boone is a husband, father, golf broadcaster, and sports journalist based in Abilene, Texas. His column appears on PGA.com each Wednesday and every day during major championships and other big events. He can be contacted at pgagrant@hotmail.com.

The views and opinions expressed here do not reflect those of PGA.com or The PGA of America.