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Caddys
My brother Ernie and I were always looking for the next mission. Our Dad had been a talented golfer in better times, so it felt natural when Ernie used his 'born salesman' charm to land us jobs caddying at the Itasca Country Club, in Itasca, Illinois, not far from Wood Dale.
Ernie was a natural. He didn't just carry bags; he managed the game. He'd advise golfers on club selection and distance, reading the greens like a pro. Soon, he was out-earning me two-to-one. It wasn't until he shared his 'sales secrets' with me that the scales balanced, and our friendly contest truly began.
Eventually, we were promoted to the locker room—the 'inner sanctum' of the club. We made more money in tips, shining shoes and prepping the membership for their dinners and board meetings. It was a lucrative season until one late summer evening.
Red, the locker room manager, offered me a ride home. He took a detour down a deserted backroad, stopped the car, and made an unwanted advance that changed everything. I didn't wait for an explanation; I kicked the door open and ran the rest of the way home. That was the end of our time at the country club.
Standing on that dark road, I realized for the first time how vulnerable we are without a way to call for help. I wish the 'invisible tool' of the cell phone had been in my pocket that night. Oorah!
Ace the expert Caddy
Ace the expert Caddy
He could cut your strokes for sure!
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