Lessons Learned
Starting in 1962 at age 13, I became a regular caddie at the Wayzata Country Club. As in any club there were members with “interesting” conduct and personalities. Throughout my mid teens I watched these people. It was a period that shaped my life.
Until age 22, unless I was playing somewhere, I went to the club to work in some capacity. Wayzata was and still is a small town. I could ride my bike and be to the club in 15 minutes. However, more than likely I would hitch hike. I would stick my thumb out and in just a few minutes someone would stop and I would jump in the car.
As I got older I worked the bag room, picked the range or worked up front in the shop. One summer I worked on the grounds crew, cutting greens and changing hole locations.
“What do you want to do this summer?” Homer, the golf professional would ask, as spring rolled around. In being at the club all those years I learned that opportunities appear for those that can be counted on to show up for work.
As a “fly” caddie there was no flexibility in the loop assigned, you were just lucky to get a bag. However, by the 3rd year of caddying I could pick my loops. This wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but on Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday, peak days for play, it was possible.
The criteria for who I wanted to caddie for was probably not unique. I wanted fast players, good guys, decent golfers. Money could also have an impact. The rate for 18 holes, carrying 2 bags or 18 double, was $5.00, but was increased to $6.50, for most of my caddie days. Of course the only rule the members never broke was the “no tipping” rule for caddies.
However, there were always a few that were generous and would tip. The best loop in this regard was JB Hawley and his son in law Drew Simonson. JB owned the munitions plant in Minneapolis that sold to the government in WW II and the Korean Conflict. Rumors flew about his wealth.
If JB was on the starting sheet on Sunday morning, the only day they played, it was always a race to see who could get to the club to get the loop. They were off at 7:30, just a twosome, tore around the course in less than 3 hours and paid $10, a king’s ransom. In addition they paid for anything you wanted to eat at the halfway house. The best! They were not particularly good players, but because there was no looking for wayward shots, who cared if they couldn’t hit it straight! In the caddie yard, as in life, the lesson is, money talks.
Sunday was a good day to get 2 loops, particularly if I caught JB Hawley in the morning. The Torpedo Stewart Sandwich from the caddie shack, would be the reward for getting JB. Hot from the small Stewart Sandwich oven, the ham, melted cheese and mustard on a nice bun always hit the spot. Careful not to burn the roof of your mouth, on that first fabulous bite! Wow, it was good. Although I never tried, I know I could have eaten 6 of them.
Sunday morning was a dangerous time for card games. With all the caddies waiting for the afternoon couples play, what was there to do but gamble. The caddie shack provided a great learning experience for the lessons of gambling. A hearts, black jack or whist game could be found pretty much any time. Three or four groups of caddies sitting at makeshift tables, with that many again standing and watching was a standard sight inside the caddie shack. It only took me a short time to learn that losing 4 hours of work caddying in a 1/2 hour card game was not fun. I think it was this experience that has kept me away from gambling the rest of my life.
“Want to play one more game?” Jim Vesselman said to me after I lost $4 in a hearts game. Jim was an older kid who would rather make his daily wage from another caddie’s pocket than carrying bags for 4 hours. Two lessons learned from Jim Vesselman; don’t gamble and don't sit with the queen of spades in a hearts game.
“I’m out,” I said, slinking off with my tail between my legs, mad as hell that I lost my money.
Smoking was a common habit among many of the high school age caddies. I was sitting next to a smoker early in my career. As some of the young caddies do, I had a foam rubber pad that I put under my shirt to protect against the piano wire bag straps. Pretty much the move of a fly.
“Let me see that thing,” the older kid said.
With that I gave him my pad, at which point he took a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled directly into it, leaving an ugly yellow stain and a horrible smell. That was the last time I used my foam pad.
Just like in life, in the caddie yard, not all people are nice.
My favorite loop was a Wednesday afternoon and Sunday morning, when JB wasn’t playing, with John Palmer, Bill Bloomer, Craig Shaver and a rotating 4th. They were local businessmen that I liked and respected immensely. All were mid single digit handicaps, they loved the game and had fun playing.
One Sunday morning I had the Shaver-Palmer loop. As they were playing the 4th hole, Bill Bloomer started his back swing with a 5 iron on the slightly uphill par 3 hole. Right out of nowhere John Palmer blasts the loudest, longest fart I had ever heard, a real pant filler.
“What in the world was that?” exclaimed Bill, as he nearly missed the ball. John, Bill’s opponent in the $1 high ball low ball nassau game, feigned innocence.
Really, is there anything funnier to a 15 year old than a huge fart? Well, I started to laugh and could not stop. Pretty soon the whole group was laughing so hard we could not continue. Some were laughing at John’s perfectly timed bomb, while others were laughing at me uncontrollably laughing. It was one of those events that 2 or 3 holes later, someone would break out laughing, thinking of it. Another lesson learned, bathroom humor is always funny in a men’s group, and I still laugh remembering.
The real highlight of the round on Sundays was the 12th tee. Adjacent to Long Lake Road, John’s wife Ede, would park on the road and bring up a pan of moist, warm blueberry muffins and cold milk to the tee. Out of this world good! Still the standard by which I measure all blueberry muffins. 4’ putts were always conceded on the 11th green when Ede was waiting on the 12th tee. Just another lesson, there are always nice people.
One Wednesday afternoon I had Don Palmer, John’s brother, along with Bill Cragg, a local attorney. John Palmer and Bill Bloomer filled out the group. On the 10th hole Don very clearly made a 5. He reported to Bill Cragg, keeping score, that he made 4. This was not the first time this sort of thing had happened, it’s just that this was so flagrantly obvious.
“He didn’t make a 4, he made 5,” I said quietly to Mr. Cragg. “How can he do that?” Bill Craig was a serious player and certainly knew what was going on. He said nothing. It was probably the reason Don Palmer played with the group infrequently.
It is similar to a situation my group had at Desert Mountain. A man who none of us really knew started to play in our group of 12 or so players. He was the most flagrant cheater I have ever seen, picking up his ball and moving it everywhere.
What did we do? Nothing, other than talk about it. Confrontation is not a fun thing on the golf course. I believe that is the feeling that Bill Craig had when dealing with Don Palmer. It’s hard to confront cheating in golf, but everybody knows about it.
Men’s guest day was the biggest day of the year. Played on a Wednesday, the para mutual betting pot would be the largest of the year. It was a free ticket for the men to drink excessively and gamble freely. Arriving at the club the following morning was always an interesting time. Who’s car was still in the parking lot? Who lost a lot of money playing gin rummy or dice?
Whenever there is gambling at a club, the cast of characters is the same. One person is trying to supplement their income, one person is the sucker and the others wash around in the middle. As the saying goes, if you don’t know who you are in the group, you’re the sucker. An important lesson for me to know if gambling with others.
It was that way at Wayzata. “Who’s did pocket did Lybeck ease into last night?” I asked Homer, one morning after men’s guest day. Ron Lybeck was the one supplementing his income playing gin rummy. An aluminum siding salesman, Ron’s mantra was, “if you can’t trust your siding salesman, who can you trust?” Not Ron, for sure.
“Well, Al Reynolds had a little too much to drink and lost,” he reported.
In their haste to get dues paying members, sometimes the screening committee failed in their duties. So it was with Bob Leaman, one of the rudest, most obnoxious people I witnessed. Bob didn’t like to play after 3:00 because “that’s when the workies come out.” Nobody would play with Bob more than once, with several people retiring in the middle of a round.
Bob showed up one fall day in a baby blue polyester jump suit. “Home, Home,” (that’s what he called Homer Martinson, the pro), “come down here I want to show you something.”
We walked down to Bob’s car and watched as he opened the trunk of his white ’68 Cadillac Eldorado. Inside was filled with cash and a rifle laying on top of the pile.
“What’s this all about?” asked Homer.
“I sold everything and I’m going to Vegas,” said Bob.
“When are you going to do this?” inquired Homer.
“I’m leaving right now. I just wanted to say good bye,” said Bob.
And he got in his car and drove off.
I never heard what happened to Bob. Did he get killed? Lose it all? Make a fortune? Nothing would surprise me. I learned that there is a reason for character references when someone is joining an organization. The ball was dropped when Bob Leaman applied.
Wayzata Country Club had some big fundraisers as members. Wayne Jimmerson was a significant operative in the State, along with Ken Dahlberg on a national basis, mentioned in a book on Watergate. Jimmerson and Jaye Dyer, wanted help the University of Minnesota athletic department raise scholarship dollars. So was started the Wayzata Sportacular.
Copied over and over today, it was one of the first of its kind in the 1960’s. The model is well known. Bring in a high profile athlete, have a breakfast or lunch, play golf and have a dinner. I watched year after year as they brought in Al McGuire, Bart Starr, Fran Tarkington, Jessie Owens and others for the day. It was a great thrill for me to see these huge sports names right at Wayzata. It taught me that fund raising could be fun and that people will respond with charitable contributions when they get something in return, like having a picture taken with a great athlete.
One year Bart Starr was scheduled to appear at the event. At the last minute he got very ill and could not make it from Green Bay. An emergency call was made to Bud Grant, then Vikings head coach.
“Sure, I’ll come over,” said Bud.
Upon arrival he was greeted by Wayne and Jaye, chairs of the event.
“Really appreciate you doing this for us, Bud, “ said Jaye.
“No problem.” said Bud. “Say, how much were you paying Bart for his appearance?”
“5,000,” said Wayne.
“Ok, I want $5,000, in cash. Can I get it by the end of the day?” said Bud.
And Bud was given $5,000. Do you suppose he declared the income?
Another year Al McGuire, coach of the NCAA Championship Marquette basketball team was scheduled to speak at the noon luncheon, hang around for the afternoon, then speak at the dinner. Nobody had heard from him following a confirmation phone call days earlier.
“I know he got on the plane in Milwaukee last night,” said Harold Olson, who had the contact to him.
“Well, it’s now 11:00 and he is on in 45 minutes,” said a panicked Wayne Jimmerson.
I was directing traffic in the lower parking lot when a Yellow Cab raced up, the driver flew out and came running over. “I’ve got a guy in here, drunk as a skunk, who told me he was supposed to be here to give a speech. He passed out on the way over,” said the cabbie. “Help me wake him up and get him out of my cab, the SOB.”
We struggled to get him out and up the path to the clubhouse where a crazed luncheon committee waited.
“Get him in the shower and functioning,” Wayne said. And off they went to the men’s locker room. I was told it wasn’t a great speech but he got through it. Al McGuire had some demons that appeared on the day of the Wayzata Sportacular. Not all celebrities matched their wonderful hype, another lesson.
Watching the men and women raise large amounts of money for the athletic department of the University of Minnesota was the platform for my involvement in fund raising for the Children’s Cancer Research Fund. In the early 90's Jim Lehman, Tom Lehman and I founded the Dayton’s Challenge Golf Tournament, which raised $4.2 million for CCRF in the 8 years that it ran.
There were life lessons with every experience at in the caddie yard, on the golf course and as I watched adults around me. Those lessons evolved into A Life In Golf.
