Changing Your Grip

Welcome to my Caddy Hall of Fame. And the Hall of Infamy.

Once TJ got beyond rookie year and was a tournament winner, he became a more desirable player to the caddies who didn’t have a regular bag. And he had his own picks — guys he’d prefer carry for him. So it was only natural that different caddies became more familiar to me.

At first, I didn’t get to the course much when the little guys and I were out with TJ on Tour. I only met caddies when I was able to get out for a week on my own. By the time Graham came along (our third son), TJ was into his  fourth year playing. And certain caddies were beginning to stand out.

Being in my Caddy Hall of Fame means these guys stood out in some way. Maybe only because I still remember them:

• Hollywood — Hollywood got his name because he was tall, blonde and gorgeous. He may or may not have come from California. He was in his early twenties. He may have been a surfer. Who knew? All anyone knew was that when Hollywood carried a bag, he had his own gallery. He was also rumored to be a Himbo. And thick as a plank. But I couldn’t say. I only knew Hollywood from afar. But if any female at a tournament saw him, you remembered him.

• Zito – I don’t know how Zito got his name. Zito caddied for TJ for a while. Zito is a Harmon — pro Billy Harmon, son of Claude, brother to Dick and Craig. Since Craig was a good friend of TJ’s (good enough to be godfather to our son, Colin) we knew Billy before he became Zito. Anyway — Zito/Billy was part of the Triumvirate of hottie caddies on the Tour, along with Hollywood. Billy was a great caddy. He did an excellent job for TJ. But caddying was a pit stop for him. It has to be, if you’re a Harmon.

• John — The third part of the young Triumvirate. John was his real name. I can’t remember his caddy “name,” but I sure remember him. John actually stayed at our house. By now we had four kids. So when we traveled, it was en masse. In TJ’s last year on Tour, John was caddying on a pretty regular basis for TJ, and he had no place to stay and no ride to the Anheuser Busch tournament at Kingsmill, in Williamsburg, VA. So he became one of my “boys.” I liked John. He was always well-mannered around me. Traveling in our beloved “Wagon Queen” — a gigantic  Pontiac station wagon — we packed all six of us, all the luggage and John on an 8 hour car trip. God love him! Sadly, TJ had to let him go after he found out John was carrying “20 years to life” in drugs inside TJ’s bag. (I always thought his man purse was a little odd.)

• Gypsy — Gypsy was one of the older caddies, one of the veterans. Unlike Hollywood, Zito and John (I think John eventually got arrested), Gypsy was there for the long haul. When he caddied for TJ, he was quiet, a serious worker. He also watched out for me, helping me get through the gallery to an advantageous spot, or coming over to the ropes when he could to let me know what was up. He had longish, wild graying hair, a Poncho Vila moustache,  and a weathered, leathered face. I remember Gypsy most because TJ invited him to stay at our house when he drove up north to drive TJ’s car to a tournament, and instead of waking us in the night when he arrived, he slept in the car out in our driveway. That, and the time he pulled out a tooth while walking down a fairway, and threw it in the grass. All in a day’s work.

And in my Hall of Infamy:

• The nefarious “Uncle Mikey.” When the Tour wound down at the end of October (in those days), Mike the Caddy had been caddying for a while for TJ. There was always something I didn’t trust about him, but somehow he wheedled an invitation from TJ to stay with us for a few weeks. (If you remember from my post about our days on the mini-tour, you know TJ was big-hearted that way.) I’m pretty generous too — so I put up with this guy from New Jersey ensconsing himself in our home. But he was… slimy in some way. Too “buddy buddy” with TJ. Yes, caddies get close to players, but this guy acted like he’d gained some status no caddy had ever reached. And he criticized the way I cared for our boys (then 8,5,3 and 1), my cooking, and housekeeping. Ultimately, he stole checks from TJ and wrote series of rubber. We ended up having to deal with the police. He disappeared, never to appear on Tour again.

Uncle Mikey is the only caddy to appear in my Hall of Infamy, I’m happy to say.

Do you have any nominees? Caddies have changed a lot — why do you think that happened? I’d love to hear.

Lately I’ve been reading blogs that impress me, and I’m becoming a fan.

One blog is by Tour caddy Mark Huber.

Mark writes at length about his experiences on Tour, and he’s honest. He gives the kind of details and stories people love – the kind of “I was there and I know what happened” view you don’t get from sports blogs unless you lived it. He’s authentic and I like that. I guess most of the caddies I knew were authentic in some way. If you were a phony, you were exposed and if you got on a high horse, you were dismounted without mercy.

Caddies are the Dickens characters of the PGA Tour

Mark started caddying maybe a few years after TJ & I left the Tour, but he reminds me of some of the caddies I came to know. Some I liked, one I really loved (he was the assistant pro at Oak Hill and took a year off to caddy for TJ. We all loved him — Tom Cavicchi) and a couple were real nightmares. I was always fascinated by the caddies, though. They were a subculture unto themselves. I suppose I saw them as characters in the backstory that is the Tour.

I was a little in awe of the caddies when we first started out on the Tour. I know– if you’re at all familiar with the early times that Mark describes, you’d probably wonder why.

Being the wife of a “rabbit” — a Tour rookie who had to qualify on Mondays if he didn’t make the cut the week before — I was on the low rung of the Tour heirarchy.  Caddies weren’t even on that radar. Oh, I don’t mean my radar. I was very aware of the fact, as Mark describes, that caddies were not allowed in the same areas as the public, not allowed in or near the clubhouses, and could only walk around the outside tournament areas if they were accompanying their player.

Many times I walked by the area where the caddies waited for a bag if they had one that week, or where they watched for players who might need a caddy. Some of them had the relative security of being a regular for one of the more established players. Some had a regular gig, but their player wasn’t out that week.

Others tried to pick up anyone they could. Like jockeys, they appeared to follow the players who had a good tournament  and made the cut the previous week. If a player seemed like he was hot, of course he’d be desirable. Some gambled on rookies like TJ. You never knew when a bag would bring a good paycheck.

I thought sometimes — especially if the caddy area was roped off and had signs warning them to stay in it– that they looked like they were in a corral. Some were older, wizened and hardened, sitting smoking cigarettes. There were men with missing teeth, or eyes red-rimmed from a night’s drinking the evening before. Some seemed a little desperate, calling out to players with a kind of wheedling, cajoling patter as if they were in a carnival. Mixed in were young guys, new to the Tour, on some sort of life adventure.

Once a deal was made and a caddy chosen, the caddy was all business. He’d hoist the big tour bag onto his shoulder and nod at me to proceed ahead, as I followed TJ to the practice area. It was always a gentlemanly gesture, and suddenly — we were a team. A procession.

The role of the caddy — a matter of perspective

But I always sensed that divide: we were not equal. We were each in a defined role. On the course, the caddy was now a part of TJ. He went where TJ went; they were connected. He wore TJ’s colors into battle. Crowds parted for him as he hefted that heavy bag from one green to the next tee, and I used him as a pathway, trotting behind as close as I could. Then he would enter the inner sanctum with TJ– where I couldn’t go: inside the ropes.

I once wrote in Jacksonville Today magazine for a TPC issue:

He’s a valet, a squire, a pack horse. He’s a jockey to a fine thoroughbred. He plays counselor, confidante, psychologist. He’s a one-man cheering section. He is sometimes expected to be a mind-reader. Sometimes he’s a whipping boy. He’s a gambler.  A businessman. He’s the supporting actor with a stage name – “Golfball,”  “Black Rabbit,” “Mama Jack,” “Gypsy,” “Big Lee,” “Zito,” or “Six-Iron Jack.”

Above all, he’s man worthy of attention. When he’s really good at his job, his worth to a player can be inestimable.

There are legendary caddies. Do you know any? If you do, I’d love to hear about them.

Next time: Caddies who became legends to me — for better or worse.