How to Caddy a Charity Golf Event
Atlanta, GA
September 17, 2019
It’s always nice when you can do well by doing good.
Yesterday was the Mercy Care Classic at the exclusive Peachtree Golf Club here in Atlanta (as if it doesn’t go without saying that the Peachtree Golf Club is in Atlanta).
Mercy Care is an admirable organization providing medical and dental care to the impoverished and homeless, so it is nice that this enclave of only a couple hundred members annually yields its immaculate course to this worthy cause.
Georgia Power is a corporate sponsor, and Rita was kind enough to allow George and me to join her, and a woman with whom she works, for an afternoon on what may be Atlanta’s premier course.
During pre-round opening remarks, we were touched to learn the club’s caddies offered to support Mercy Care by donating their spare time to chase wayward drives into manicured pine needles, and to help guide undisciplined putts across billiard-quality greens.
Ours…a man who had spent almost half his sixty years carrying clubs around this course…approached our carts, and introduced himself to each of us.
Michael must’ve been honored to sacrifice his day-off to help alleviate the suffering of helpless indigents. Even the blood clots hobbling his right leg didn’t keep him from doing what he could for those who are less fortunate.
Perhaps most instructive was his insatiable desire to know more about this cause that so moved him. As George and I waited on the second tee, Michael asked us a penetrating question that left no doubt just how much this event meant to him.
“So…what charity is this for?
We had a great time with Michael, and he learned a lot about us…much of which mystified him.
“You been married twenty-five years?!”
“Uh…yeah”, I replied, realizing he had just been speaking with Rita.
“Damn, man…I been with my woman for twenty. And I ‘bout go out of my mind! I heard about some people married for forty years! I don’t know how they do that.”
Matrimony, however, was apparently not the only sacrament in which Michael has expertise. Extreme Unction is also a specialty.
On an unseasonably warm day, Michael showed interest in my health that typical caddies don’t usually display.
“Your wife told me she Russian.”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“Shiii, man…those Russians…I scared of them. They kill people!”
“Well, don’t think I don’t sleep with one eye open. You just better hope you don’t misread any of her putts.”
“Sh*t…you got that right. Russians…Cubans…Columbans [sic?]…you don’t f**k with dem.”
Fortunately for him, and to a lesser degree for us, Michael read greens about as well as any caddy I’ve seen. And he knew this course like a Zurich artisan knows a Swiss watch. But his timing could still be off.
He gave George invaluable information on the 16th hole. But, like good financial guidance, when a caddy gives counsel can be as important as the advice he provides.
“Whoa! You gotta keep that ball left! You don’t wanna be right on that shot.”
As Michael imparted this indispensable wisdom, George was still posing after his well-struck second shot…which he intentionally directed away from the small creek cutting across the left side of the fairway.
As that wise sage Yogi Berra warned, you better be careful if you don’t know where you’re going, because you might not get there.
The ball soared majestically, disappearing over a high fairway ridge on the right…and into the large hidden pond about which George, like Custer by Crazy Horse, was now being belatedly warned.
“Yep. You just can’t go right on that shot. See that water? See that?”, he scolded, referring to the pond that was invisible from where George hit his ill-fated shot. “You’ll go in there every time.”
“Thanks”, said George. “I’ll drop over here.”
As it happened, Michael’s last name is Kellogg, which was an obvious segue to George’s career as a lobbyist and head of Government Affairs.
It also turned a spigot, releasing a flow of political philosophy. Included were perspectives on Kwame Kilpatrick, and how and why this felonious former mayor of Michael’s hometown of Detroit conducted his fiduciary responsibilities and consorted in constituent-relations with numerous representatives of the local high-heel shoe modeling industry.
Michael has been caddying a long time. He no doubt sized us up quickly, realized we weren’t taking ourselves too seriously, and that we didn’t need him to either. By the back nine he was the fifth Beatle, providing background vocals to most of our conversations, and taking lead on many others.
His clotted leg was restrictive, so he didn’t need…nor did we want him…to do excess walking or physical activity. George and I each raked more traps than Michael did…as, for all intents and purposes, did anyone reading this.
But he read greens exceptionally well, provided terrific guidance and company on a wonderful course, and ensured we had a good time for a great cause.
Whatever it was.
JD
