summer had come and tournament golf beckoned, and better yet, thanks to Bill Wehnes, I suddenly had a job that complemented my ambitions to compete on a higher level of the game. I knew nothing about selling paint, but I liked people and could talk to almost anybody, and very quickly a kind of wonderful routine established itself: Every weekday morning I’d get up and shower and go out and make calls on prospective clients, then meet Bill for lunch at Canterbury. In the afternoon, we’d play golf. Weekends were taken up entirely with the game, almost sunrise to sunset.
It was through these expanding golf connections that I met John Roberts, a successful manufacturing executive from Columbus, Ohio, who loved golf, served for a time on a USGA committee, and befriended me at a critical moment in a way that nearly altered the direction of my career and life. Here’s what happened:
John had a friend at another Cleveland manufacturing firm who had invented a golf course maintenance vehicle they believed would have immediate appeal to course superintendents everywhere. The vehicle was a nimble trailer-like device equipped with a special hydraulic lift that would permit a superintendent to move mowing equipment from one point to another point on the golf course much more quickly than the conventional manner of driving it, thereby saving time and money. It was a clever idea, the kind of machinery you see at every course these days, and it was the clincher.
John and his partner offered to pay me a flat salary of $50,000 a year plus expenses to play the PGA Tour as an amateur while representing them. The idea was that I’d go, say, to the Tour site in Phoenix (we talked about that being my first stop) and try to qualify for a spot in the field, then make a pitch to the course superintendent. As enticing schemes go, this one appeared to have no downside whatsoever. I’d get to play tournament golf without worrying about my income,while selling this practical piece of machinery to a sympathetic buyer.
I told Bill Wehnes about the deal, and he was nearly heartbroken. He urged me to stick with him and even offered to double my salary, which still wouldn’t have come close to the fifty grand. We both knew it was a deal too good to refuse, and he reluctantly gave me his blessing. I called Pap to tell him about the deal, and he admitted it sounded pretty good. Pap still wasn’t convinced golf was much of a paying proposition, but the fifty grand got his respect.
I’ll never forget the morning I went to see John’s business partner at Warner Swazey, the manufacturing firm where he was plant manager, to finalize the deal. I got there early, only to be told I’d have to wait because my future employer wasn’t back yet from Florida. It seems he flew south every weekend to be with his wife and children.
I sat for a small eternity in that office waiting room, trying to keep my anxiousness to
get going
at bay. Finally, the man’s secretary came out and apologized, saying her boss wouldn’t be in that day. Something had come up in Florida and someone, she said, would contact me later. I remember leaving that waiting room really disappointed and a bit worried that the deal might somehow fall through.
The deal did fall through, because my prospective boss had been killed that weekend in a car crash. I felt deeply sorry for his family, but I also felt sorry for me. I’d been
that
close to having a financial angel and the kind of dough that would have allowed me to keep my amateur status but ease my way onto the Tour without having to scrape by and live out of the trunk of a car as so many pros did. When I called my father to break the news, he said, “Well, Arn. It’s probably for the best. You’ve got a good job with Wehnes. You stick to that and do a good job and keep playing golf.” It was sotypical of him. Nothing in life came easy, in Pap’s view, and not everything that glittered was gold.
Bill Wehnes was a perfect
It was through these expanding golf connections that I met John Roberts, a successful manufacturing executive from Columbus, Ohio, who loved golf, served for a time on a USGA committee, and befriended me at a critical moment in a way that nearly altered the direction of my career and life. Here’s what happened:
John had a friend at another Cleveland manufacturing firm who had invented a golf course maintenance vehicle they believed would have immediate appeal to course superintendents everywhere. The vehicle was a nimble trailer-like device equipped with a special hydraulic lift that would permit a superintendent to move mowing equipment from one point to another point on the golf course much more quickly than the conventional manner of driving it, thereby saving time and money. It was a clever idea, the kind of machinery you see at every course these days, and it was the clincher.
John and his partner offered to pay me a flat salary of $50,000 a year plus expenses to play the PGA Tour as an amateur while representing them. The idea was that I’d go, say, to the Tour site in Phoenix (we talked about that being my first stop) and try to qualify for a spot in the field, then make a pitch to the course superintendent. As enticing schemes go, this one appeared to have no downside whatsoever. I’d get to play tournament golf without worrying about my income,while selling this practical piece of machinery to a sympathetic buyer.
I told Bill Wehnes about the deal, and he was nearly heartbroken. He urged me to stick with him and even offered to double my salary, which still wouldn’t have come close to the fifty grand. We both knew it was a deal too good to refuse, and he reluctantly gave me his blessing. I called Pap to tell him about the deal, and he admitted it sounded pretty good. Pap still wasn’t convinced golf was much of a paying proposition, but the fifty grand got his respect.
I’ll never forget the morning I went to see John’s business partner at Warner Swazey, the manufacturing firm where he was plant manager, to finalize the deal. I got there early, only to be told I’d have to wait because my future employer wasn’t back yet from Florida. It seems he flew south every weekend to be with his wife and children.
I sat for a small eternity in that office waiting room, trying to keep my anxiousness to
get going
at bay. Finally, the man’s secretary came out and apologized, saying her boss wouldn’t be in that day. Something had come up in Florida and someone, she said, would contact me later. I remember leaving that waiting room really disappointed and a bit worried that the deal might somehow fall through.
The deal did fall through, because my prospective boss had been killed that weekend in a car crash. I felt deeply sorry for his family, but I also felt sorry for me. I’d been
that
close to having a financial angel and the kind of dough that would have allowed me to keep my amateur status but ease my way onto the Tour without having to scrape by and live out of the trunk of a car as so many pros did. When I called my father to break the news, he said, “Well, Arn. It’s probably for the best. You’ve got a good job with Wehnes. You stick to that and do a good job and keep playing golf.” It was sotypical of him. Nothing in life came easy, in Pap’s view, and not everything that glittered was gold.
Bill Wehnes was a perfect
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