first thing we’d say was, ‘Break ’em down,’ and we’d take the beds apart. Sometimes when we were in a big city where the room might cost more, we’d have six guys in a room.”
Some of the smaller towns on the circuit offered the caddies housing with local families. It was common in those days for players to stay with families, because few of them were wealthy enough to afford a luxurious hotel room for an entire week. It wasn’t that difficult to find families willing to put up a golf pro, but in most places people didn’t exactly line up to house caddies.
“Caddying was a relatively new profession at the time,” Bruce said. “Most people thought of caddies as drunks or people who were down and out or people you couldn’t trust or long-haired kids like me who you probably didn’t want hanging around your house for a week.”
There hadn’t really been caddies on the PGA Tour before the 1960s. The first group of professional caddies to work on tour came from Augusta, caddies who got to know the pros during the Masters and then made their way to tour stops to find work once Augusta National Golf Club closed for the summer each May. Some players brought friends on tour with them on occasion, but for the most part, players used caddies from the clubs—like Bruce and his friends at Wethersfield. When a small cadre of full-time caddies began to work the tour—notably Angelo Argea, who worked for Jack Nicklaus, and Creamy Carolan, who worked for Arnold Palmer—many clubs wouldn’t allow them to work at their events.
“One year at Wethersfield Nicklaus was coming to play and wanted to bring Angelo,” Bill Leahey remembered. “We didn’t want to set the precedent of letting the tour caddies work, so we ‘protested’ against the tour caddies. Nicklaus finally agreed to use one of our guys. Little did we know we’d be on the other end of that argument a few years later.”
By the time Bruce and Leahey headed for the tour, there were about forty full-time caddies, which meant there was a bag for everyone every week. Most of the full-time caddies at the time were black, some of them from Augusta, others friends of the Augusta caddies who had gotten involved because they heard it was a decent way to make money. The base pay wasn’t much—$15 a day and 3 percent of prize money—but the potential to make serious money was there if you could hook on with the right guy. Even though a win only paid 5 percent (it is 10 percent today), first prize most weeks was $30,000, and 5 percent of that sounded like a fortune. Bruce and Leahey arrived as part of the first wave of younger, white caddies who came out on tour, although they came with different agendas. Leahey was there because he was looking for something to do during the summertime and because his buddy Bruce said it would be fun. Bruce was mentally committed to spending a year on tour. At least.
“I knew two things when I first went out,” he said. “I didn’t want to go to college and I did want to travel. This was a way to travel, try to make some money, and get that rush I had felt caddying in tournaments when I was still a kid. I told people it was for a year, and in my mind that’s what it was. But it wasn’t as if I had done any planning beyond that.”
Robinson was one of those rare tour stops that offered the caddies free housing with a family. When Bruce and Bill arrived in town, they were directed to the home of Kenneth and Donna Freed. They were not the only caddies sent to the Freed house. In fact a total of nineteen caddies spent the week at the Freeds’, most of them sharing space in the basement, which was just fine with them, because the cots they slept on were, for the most part, more comfortable than the beds they broke down in motels and the price was right. The local paper ran a story that week on the Freeds and included photos of the nineteen caddies. It was Bruce’s first brush with publicity.
One of the caddies bunking at
Some of the smaller towns on the circuit offered the caddies housing with local families. It was common in those days for players to stay with families, because few of them were wealthy enough to afford a luxurious hotel room for an entire week. It wasn’t that difficult to find families willing to put up a golf pro, but in most places people didn’t exactly line up to house caddies.
“Caddying was a relatively new profession at the time,” Bruce said. “Most people thought of caddies as drunks or people who were down and out or people you couldn’t trust or long-haired kids like me who you probably didn’t want hanging around your house for a week.”
There hadn’t really been caddies on the PGA Tour before the 1960s. The first group of professional caddies to work on tour came from Augusta, caddies who got to know the pros during the Masters and then made their way to tour stops to find work once Augusta National Golf Club closed for the summer each May. Some players brought friends on tour with them on occasion, but for the most part, players used caddies from the clubs—like Bruce and his friends at Wethersfield. When a small cadre of full-time caddies began to work the tour—notably Angelo Argea, who worked for Jack Nicklaus, and Creamy Carolan, who worked for Arnold Palmer—many clubs wouldn’t allow them to work at their events.
“One year at Wethersfield Nicklaus was coming to play and wanted to bring Angelo,” Bill Leahey remembered. “We didn’t want to set the precedent of letting the tour caddies work, so we ‘protested’ against the tour caddies. Nicklaus finally agreed to use one of our guys. Little did we know we’d be on the other end of that argument a few years later.”
By the time Bruce and Leahey headed for the tour, there were about forty full-time caddies, which meant there was a bag for everyone every week. Most of the full-time caddies at the time were black, some of them from Augusta, others friends of the Augusta caddies who had gotten involved because they heard it was a decent way to make money. The base pay wasn’t much—$15 a day and 3 percent of prize money—but the potential to make serious money was there if you could hook on with the right guy. Even though a win only paid 5 percent (it is 10 percent today), first prize most weeks was $30,000, and 5 percent of that sounded like a fortune. Bruce and Leahey arrived as part of the first wave of younger, white caddies who came out on tour, although they came with different agendas. Leahey was there because he was looking for something to do during the summertime and because his buddy Bruce said it would be fun. Bruce was mentally committed to spending a year on tour. At least.
“I knew two things when I first went out,” he said. “I didn’t want to go to college and I did want to travel. This was a way to travel, try to make some money, and get that rush I had felt caddying in tournaments when I was still a kid. I told people it was for a year, and in my mind that’s what it was. But it wasn’t as if I had done any planning beyond that.”
Robinson was one of those rare tour stops that offered the caddies free housing with a family. When Bruce and Bill arrived in town, they were directed to the home of Kenneth and Donna Freed. They were not the only caddies sent to the Freed house. In fact a total of nineteen caddies spent the week at the Freeds’, most of them sharing space in the basement, which was just fine with them, because the cots they slept on were, for the most part, more comfortable than the beds they broke down in motels and the price was right. The local paper ran a story that week on the Freeds and included photos of the nineteen caddies. It was Bruce’s first brush with publicity.
One of the caddies bunking at
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