As my illustrious caddie career (
) was nearing it's end and I couldn't stretch my college experience any longer the head pro at Pine Valley gave me an extension on my childhood. To my surprise he offered me a job as as assistant pro and I readily accepted. I thought with an opportunity to practice and play at the best golf course I had ever seen I could get pretty good.
My job there was wonderful, other than the fact I took a quantum pay cut from my job looping. I continued to live In Ocean City, NJ , renting an old beach house with my friends every summer. It took me exactly an hour to commute to work each day so it made for a lot of tough drives after being out every night. In the early 80's there were few places more fun than the Jersey Shore, with live bands playing every night at places like the Bongo Room , Ocean Drive , Merrill's, Maloney's, the Rock Box, Anchorage, Dunes til Dawn, Shenanigans etc etc. That's just a few !
It was year two in my pro job. I was pretty good at hiding my nightly debauchery but my boss wasn't fooled and decided to teach me a lesson. I arrived a minute before the opening bell at 6:59 am one weekday morning in early summer and was definitely hanging. Surprisingly Charley (boss) sauntered in said hello. I replied you're here early and he smiled and said he was going downstairs to get an orange juice.
Strange ! If nothing else Charley was a creature of habit and you could set your watch on his 7:30 arrival. When he got back with his OJ he said grab your clubs they need a fourth out there. Normally I'd love it, as the best part of my job was getting to play a lot, an unusual perk for assistant golf pro's. But my spider sense was tingling big time.
It was a Wednesday and Tuesday was kamikaze night at the Anchorage Tavern . The place where they served 7 short drafts for a dollar. So you started there and moved up. Yep, any of you who has enjoyed the mix of equal parts Vodka,Triple sec and lime juice knows what large quantities can do to your central nervous system even at the height of your physical powers. I had been there as you may have suspected by now.
Sensing a set up I parried adroitly suggesting he take my place as he never got to play! Nope he said, you have a good group, good luck. Good luck ? Thanks I said and as I walked to the front door he said no you are going on #5, they have your sticks. So I turned slipped out the side door and just knew the fix was in. Most of you have knowledge of #5 at PV, one of the toughest par threes on the planet. It's up there with # 11 at Portrush (Calamity) or 16 at Cypress. Death to the right, despair left. 230 straight uphill.
As I took the short walk to the tee I spied my playing partners thru the trees , Marty West , Buddy Marucci and Henri DeLozier. Two Walker Cuppers , Delozier and me.
Walked onto the tee said my pleasantries and looked over at my caddie who was well aware of what was going on. Shit, I thought, this could be really embarrassing. No warm up , no putts, no nothing. Oh well, such is life. Grabbed my baffler three rescue ( the one with the rails) and teed it up. When in this state if you see three balls hit the one in the middle was the rule. I said a quick prayer and ripped one on the left side of the green. A miracle! Walked up the hill drank a half gallon of water out of the fountain and ended up shooting a fairly easy 73, another miracle. Sometimes the light shines on the unworthy
p.s. will never forget that shot , it made my summer