Earlier in the week I talked about one of the important firsts people usually remember quite vividly is their first kiss. Another first people usually remember quite well, but without all the drama of the first kiss, is their first real job. Now, I’m not talking about mowing the lawn, raking leaves or shoveling snow for your parents or neighbors, or even those few scattered babysitting opportunities, I’m talking about where someone hires you as a part-time employee and pays you for some service you perform. For me, it was working as a caddy at Brynwood Country Club.
Brynwood was the premiere country club in southeastern Wisconsin with a predominate portion of members being Jewish doctors, lawyers and business executives. Cousin Jim, our mutual friend Greg, and I decided to become part of the growing number of less affluent Jewish boys from the Westside of Milwaukee to serve these men and women in their leisure time pursuit.
We waited patiently in the caddy shack playing cards and eating sandwiches called torpedoes that were cooked in a radar range, a predecessor to the microwave oven. When our turn came we went to the first tee and made sure all the clubs and balls were ready for the member we were assigned. Then, our golfer would come over, take his driver and let us know whether we would be covering the course in three, four or five hours by either hitting the ball a couple hundred yards down the fairway, bouncing it along the grass, or slicing it so it rattled down through a number of well beaten oak trees.
On days when we were fortunate enough to work for golfers who routinely hit their balls straight down the fairway we could get back on time to make a second trip. There also seemed to be an unwritten rule that said a better golfer was more likely to give a tip beside the required three-dollar fee for eighteen holes. Less proficient golfers, or duffers as they were often referred to in the shack, would smile and lay six Washingtons in the caddy’s hand, two-dollar bills and four shiny quarters.
As we became veteran caddies it was not unusual to be sent out with doubles, or two golf bags, one on each shoulder. Doubles most often were done only with men or women with low handicaps. Previous scores determined a handicap, so if the member usually shot an average of one over par per hole she would have an eighteen handicap. Anyone having a lower handicap would be considered proficient.
Caddies prized golfers with single digit handicaps even if they were known to have a temper. Most of these men and women had clubhouse reputations and it was not uncommon to see them bet on their game. Even losers would tip a couple of extra dollars, while winners might double the five dollars a caddy received for carrying two bags. Therefore, on an extremely good day a veteran caddy could make as much as twenty dollars compared to the three he made as a novice.
Sometimes we would hitchhike to and from the country club, which was actually on the Westside, but a couple miles north of where we lived. During the weekend I liked going over to the polo grounds across the street from the club to watch Bob Uihlein the president of Schlitz Brewery smack around the chucker before we put on our green caps with the B on it and hitched home.
That summer, because I decided to follow in my sister’s footsteps and graduate a semester early, I had to take a summer school class at Custer High, which was east of the club. After class I stuck out my thumb and a Bentley pulled over and picked me up. The driver was a member with a single digit handicap who dropped me right at the front door of the club. Of course I had to walk back to the caddy shack, but that was all right.
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