Long before I learned how to play poker I caddied at the Youghiogheny Country Club near McKeesport, PA. My two younger brothers and I spent nearly every weekend at the beautiful golf course toting bags for the members. It was tough work but the pay was decent and it kept us healthy walking up and down those wooded fairways.
The country club members were mostly doctors, lawyers and business owners from the nearby communities -- Boston, McKeesport, Belle Vernon and Pittsburgh. They loved to bet on the outcome of the games and they had an ongoing poker game that took place daily in the club house.
Our caddy master's name was Fuzzy. He was a sour-faced man who walked with a limp caused by a childhood dease that crippled him. He would match the caddies up with the golfers and reward the caddies he liked with the better paying jobs -- the ones where you could expect to get a good tip for a job well done.
We caddies quickly learned who the good golfers were and who the bad ones were. There were two brothers, for example, who owned a car dealership. They looked so much like each other we thought they were twins. And they were cheap. Sometimes they wouldn't even tip a caddy or buy a Coke after nine holes. We tried to avoid them.
My favorite golfer was a mellow player named George Hutton. He was one of the most relaxed people I had ever met -- always smiling and always had a good word for his caddy.
'How ya doing, Sport,' he would say to me. He knew about my passion for writing and would ask me about my latest writing efforts. That always made me feel good and I would answer his questions while washing his golf balls before he teed off on the first hole.
The other players in his foursome would take a long time addressing the ball before they teed off. They would wiggle, scratch their backsides, point their club in the direction of the green, wiggle some more, and then take a swing. Sometimes the ball would go straight, but more often they would hook or slice the ball into the woods, making it necessary for the caddy to go on a search and rescue mission to find their ball.
Not George. He would bend over, place his ball on the tee, step back and make a perfect drive down the fairway. Every time.
George never wasted time between shots. He would walk down the fairway whistling and chatting with his caddy. When he approached his ball, he would reach for his next club, step up to the ball, take his stance and hit it without hesitation. And 90 percent of the time it would be a good shot.
Like the other golfers, George would bet on the outcome of the holes. He rarely lost his bet. And when the 18 holes were finished, he always gave his caddy a good tip. Sometimes he would even buy the caddy a second Coke.
After one round, I noticed his golf clubs had some mud on them and I offered to clean them for him. He seemed pleased at the offer.
'Come on into the clubhouse,' he said. 'You can clean them there.'
I followed George into the spacious clubhouse carrying his bag of clubs. Several of the golfers were gathered around a table playing poker. There was a seat open and they invited George to join the game. He smiled and said, 'I'll be there in a minute.'
I settled down in a corner of the room and began cleaning the clubs while George took his seat at the table. The two cheap brothers who owned the car dealership were in the game along with a physician, Dr. Pigozzi, and Mr. Shaw, a generous man who owned a department store in McKeesport.
I took my time cleaning the clubs because I wanted to watch the poker game.
The auto dealership brothers made a big fuss over their hands. They were blustery players who liked to bluff. George would just take a look at his cards, shrug, and either call or fold. Sometimes he would raise.
When it came to showdown, he rarely lost a pot.
This frustrated the owners of the car dealership. They made a comment or two about his play, but George just smiled.
'I got lucky,' he said. 'You'll get me next time.' But they never did.
Every Monday morning was Caddy Day at the Yough. If you had a set of golf clubs, you could play free. Most of the caddies could not afford golf clubs, but it was accepted practice to borrow clubs from the players. The caddies were expected to keep the clubs in good shape and clean them after the round. I asked George if I could borrow his clubs and he said, 'Sure.'
Some of the caddies developed into good players because of those Monday morning sessions and I know of at least two of them who turned pro. We had great fun competing on the golf course. There was an annual caddies tournament that Mr. Shaw would finance. He paid for everything -- the tournament dinner, the cash prizes and the trophies. He and George Hutton were two of the most popular golfers at the club.
I caddied from age 13 to 17 at the Youghiogheny Country Club. Then I went away to college at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh.
After I had finished a year of studying journalism at the university, I returned to the Yough on a Saturday just to see the old place. George Hutton saw me and came by to say hello.
'How's the writing?,' he said.
'I'm learning,' I said. I told him about college and my professors. He nodded and seemed interested in my progress.
'Good luck in the newspaper business,' he said. 'If things go wrong, you can always come back to caddying.'
George Hutton. A mellow golfer and poker player, and a class act.
Author: Geno Lawrenzi Jr.
(Geno Lawrenzi Jr. is an international journalist, magazine author and ghostwriter and poker player who lives in Phoenx, AZ. He has published 2,000 articles in 50 magazines and 125 newspapers. If you want to share a gambling story or book idea with him, send an email to glawrenzi@gmail.com ).
