The year was 1970, and the Western Golf Association announced that Sunset Ridge Country Club in Northfield, Illinois, would host the 1972 Western Open.
Not yet a high school student, I had my world rocked. Real live PGA Tour professionals were coming to the golf course where I caddied. Maybe, I fantasized, I could loop for Nicklaus, Palmer or Trevino. Or at least get to see them, up close and inside the ropes.
Back in the day, the Western Open – now known as the BMW Championship and to be held this week at Castle Pines in Colorado – rotated around golf courses in the Chicago area. The tournament didn’t allow the pros to bring their regular caddies. After all, the beneficiary of the tournament was the Evans Scholars Foundation, the well-known program that awards college scholarships to caddies who are good students with financial need. What better way to showcase the cause than to have the local caddie brigade inside the ropes and on the bags. The pros never really liked this protocol, and eventually it would end. But in 1972, I was living a dream.
... all the older loopers seemed to have drawn the brand-name players in the field. But I was thrilled. Not only did I get a loop, but I “drew” Charles Coody, who had won the Masters in 1971.
I recall counting down the days during 1971 and the first five months of 1972. When Monday of tournament week in June finally arrived, I dutifully showed up; I was a ball of nerves, waiting to see whether I would get a loop, and who it might be.
All the caddies arrived that Monday to get their assignments. We were given Western Open shirts to wear and were told that there had been a drawing the day before. I was a bit skeptical of that statement, as all the older loopers seemed to have drawn the brand-name players in the field. But I was thrilled. Not only did I get a loop, but I “drew” Charles Coody, who had won the Masters in 1971. The caddiemaster, Tony Battistello, liked me and assigned me to a guy who could well make the cut. No rabbits for me that week.
No one was quite sure when the pros would arrive, so I had to wait in breathless anticipation all day Monday. Coody never showed up, but I got to see a lot of guys whom I recognized from television.
Coody arrived on Tuesday. He was a tall, kind of lumbering golf pro who donned the ever-popular Amana hat that a lot of guys wore back then, and he had a huge, bright-orange Powerbilt golf bag. He was cordial, but he didn’t say much. After a quick range session, we were off to a pre-scheduled practice round. I was nervous, but Coody’s demeanor put me at ease.
Wednesday was pro-am day. Coody was paired with three amateurs who wrote big checks (such that they were in 1972) to play with a pro. I was getting more comfortable with the weight of the bag and the proper procedures expected by the pros.
There were horror stories that week about how some of the caddies were treated by the pros. Much of it was venting due to the fact that the pros’ regular bag men were nowhere to be found. I was fortunate; Coody was a perfect gentleman and treated me just fine. I was completely on board with the fact that he never once asked me for a distance, never once asked me to read a putt. Under this arrangement, I could not make a mistake that could jeopardize making the cut and cost him real money.
Coody was involved in what was likely the funniest moment of the week. Gibby Gilbert was in our threesome in the first round, and he wasn’t playing very well, and probably resented having a local kid on the bag. He withdrew after the first nine holes, claiming to have “run out of golf balls.” It was a very humorous excuse that likely was not true.
Coody comfortably made the cut, so I was on the bag for 36 more holes on the weekend. He would shoot even-par 284, good for a T15 finish for which he would pocket $2,400 for his week’s work.
When it was over, he took me into the locker room and we actually had a conversation. Where did I go to school? How long had I been looping? He gave me a bunch of used Titleists from his bag and handed me a check for $150 for six rounds of golf. I didn’t tell him that it was more money than I had ever seen at one time in my short life. I also didn’t tell him I would have worked for nothing. He thanked me, told me I did a good job, and we parted ways.
Rather than stick around to watch the finish and journeyman Jim Jamieson post his only PGA Tour victory, a wire-to-wire jaunt, I got on my bicycle and rode the 15 minutes to my home to show my parents my newfound riches. I think I could have floated home.
E-MAIL JIM
Top: Caddiemaster Tony Battistello with the caddies of the 1972 Western Open
COURTESY OF THE WGA