Balls!: Confessions of a Rural Golf Course Owner

By Gail W. Braman

Read what the golf critics are saying about BALLS!:

* THE GOLF COLLECTORS SOCIETY BULLETIN - 3/2001

Gail W. Braman has written BALLS! (Confessions of a Rural Golf Course Owner). This is the story of the insanely odd and crazy people who frequent a nine-hole golf course beside Route 100 in Rochester, Vermont. The stories are so nearly unbelievable that one would think that the book is fiction, but I can personally vouch for the authenticity because I lived just a few miles from the course and have heard the inane questions and observed the outrageous behavior first hand...

I have been hearing about this book for years and the fact that it is finally in print, despite the odds inherent in the publishing world, is a testament to the chutzpah and perseverance of Gail Braman. She owned the course,
and as such interacted with the people, recorded her astute observations when it was all over and got it down on paper. Youll enjoy the tale. -Bob Labbance, Editor

* GOLF BUSINESS(Natl Golf Course Owners Assoc)- 2/2001

Gail Braman made the mistake of telling her recently retired husband that she didnt want him home for lunch. So, he went out and purchased a
nine-hole golf course in rural Rochester, Vermont.

Braman captures this nine-year adventure as golf course owners. Through the pages of this account, youre invited inside their world as inexperienced golf course owners, where you learn what really happens behind the scenes through humorous vignettes and anecdotes.

* HEARTHSTONE REVIEW (Duly Noted) - 4/01

A little investment property in bucolic Vermont, a pleasant summer-time diversion. That was the plan anyway. Before opening day was flooded out.
Before the backhoes cleaning up the debris inflicted further damage. Before the discouraging
financial realities set in, running a remote homespun golf course overshadowed by two tony resorts (The Hertz and Avis to their little 9-hole Rent A Wreck). The claustrophic Vermont golf season didnt help. Nor did the vagaries of
New England weather, a shortage of tourist center
bathrooms or characters straight from central casting. For nearly a decade it sure made life interesting for Herb and Gail Braman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 30, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469112466

Gail W. Braman

Gail W. Braman, hacker and free lance writer, now lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two cats. They have one son.. She is the former owner of the White River Golf Club and White River Driving Range in Rochester, Vermont and now has the time to pursue other interests. Life has its way of just happening but if anyone had told me years ago that I would be running a golf course in rural Vermont, I would have said ridiculous …this experience was so far removed from my reality. Despite growing up in affluent Westchester County, New York, I worked my way through undergraduate and graduate schools to become the first family member to attain a college degree and have a professional career as a teacher and high school guidance counselor. However, when my husband retired, I told him that I did not want him home for lunch! Thus begins this unusual story. Our lifestyle changed dramatically. Although no stranger to hard work, nothing could have prepared us for the outrageous people in general and golfers in particular we met during our nine year adventure in the north country.

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Copyright © 2000 by Gail W. Braman.

All photos taken by Gail W. Braman.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Contents

PREFACE  

PREFACE  

Canoeing, Anyone? 

HOLE ONE—BACKGROUND  

Would You Work Between a Rock and a Hard Place? 

HOLE ONE—BACKGROUND  

How Did We Get Here? 

HOLE ONE—BACKGROUND  

What Sand Trap? 

HOLE TWO—TRANSITION  

Whose Course is This Anyway? 

HOLE TWO—TRANSITION  

Who Needs an Attitude Adjustment? 

HOLE TWO—TRANSITION  

Once a Flatlander, Always a Flatlander? 

HOLE THREE—FRONT DESK (LINE)  

To Drive or Not To Drive? That is the Question. 

HOLE THREE—FRONT DESK (LINE)  

How Many Balls Do You Have? 

HOLE THREE—FRONT DESK (LINE)  

Do you Have Your Own Equipment? 

HOLE THREE—FRONT DESK (LINE)  

May I Use Your Telephone? 

HOLE THREE—FRONT DESK (LINE)  

Can You Take My Wife Please? 

HOLE THREE—FRONT DESK (LINE)  

Can You Make Me a Match? 

HOLE THREE—FRONT DESK (LINE)  

Is It Raining Yet? 

HOLE THREE—FRONT DESK (LINE)  

Do I Have A Deal For You! 

HOLE THREE—FRONT DESK (LINE)  

Can I Play One Half of a Game? 

HOLE THREE—FRONT LINE (LINE)  

Where is the Full Moon? 

HOLE FOUR—THE PRO SHOP  

Who Has a Red Neck? 

HOLE FOUR—THE PRO SHOP  

Do I Need a Broomstick? 

HOLE FIVE—BATHROOM FACILITIES  

Killer, Where are you? 

HOLE FIVE—BATHROOM FACILITIES  

Is There a Doctor in the House? 

HOLE SIX—ANIMALS  

Was That an Alligator? 

HOLE SIX—ANIMALS  

Need A Caddie? 

HOLE SIX—ANIMALS  

Are Dogs a Golfer’s Best Friend? 

HOLE SIX—ANIMALS  

Should We Post? 

HOLE SEVEN—DRIVING RANGE  

Does Practice Make Perfect? 

HOLE SEVEN—DRIVING RANGE  

Do You Need Silverware? 

HOLE SEVEN—DRIVING RANGE  

Can We Bring Our Own Golf Balls? 

HOLE EIGHT—THE CLUBHOUSE RESTAURANT-BAR  

Food and Foreplay? 

HOLE EIGHT—THE CLUBHOUSE RESTAURANT-BAR  

What Did You Order? 

HOLE EIGHT—THE CLUBHOUSE RESTAURANT-BAR  

Whose Party is this? 

HOLE EIGHT—THE CLUBHOUSE RESTAURANT-BAR  

Where Shall I Put the Pit? 

HOLE EIGHT—THE CLUBHOUSE RESTAURANT-BAR  

Do You Have Beer? 

HOLE EIGHT—THE CLUBHOUSE RESTAURANT-BAR  

How Hearty Can We Party? 

HOLE NINE—THE FULL CIRCLE  

EPILOGUE  

To my husband Herb, I promise NEVER ever to tell you that you can’t be home for lunch! That is what got us into big trouble in the first place.

To our beloved son Jamie, We tried to be there for you despite our unconventional life style. We will always love you.

To the memory of my Mother who knew that I could do anything. This is for her—she is with me looking over my shoulder.

To my twin sister Sue who is here with me, in mind and spirit. And lastly, to the new owners, good luck! You will need it!

POSTSCRIPTS:

To our real estate broker Jeff, you hung in there with us.

To all my friends and relatives who read this and gave me helpful suggestions—you know who you are.

To my first editor Sarah Taylor who supported and encouraged me. Thank you! We had a grand time together.

And to my last editor Clare Demarest who helped me stand back and laugh at myself.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Rochester, Vermont is a real place in New England and the White River Golf Club and Driving Range located there. Although this is a story loosely based on actual events, people’s names have been changed and characters are composites. However, for the record, if you recognize yourself, there has been no malicious intent on the author’s part.

PREFACE

  

Maybe this story really begins eighteen years ago, though I could not have known it at the time. While on vacation in Bermuda with my family, my five year old son Jamie and I were walking up from the beach and decided to take a short cut across a beautifully manicured lawn. I innocently picked up a small white ball for him to play with …

Later, lying by the pool, I overheard a man saying, …and then this dumb broad walked on the fairway and picked up my golf ball and left! We tried to get her attention but she didn’t hear us. I realized that I had just committed the faux pas of the century and hoped that with my oversized sun glasses and huge floppy hat, I was now unrecognizable!

Life has a strange way of coming full circle. Little did I know then that my husband and I would become owners of a nine hole golf course. Our friends would later say, Some of the things that have happened are so unbelievable. You have got to write your story. So after each golf season ended, I assembled my bits and pieces of scrap paper, reflected upon the crazy events of the year and started looking forward to the next season.

It is with great pride in our accomplishments, and with the sense of nostalgia that comes with hindsight, that I now write about the foibles of all the wonderful people, tourists and locals alike, who were part of this unique experience. For those who have wondered, what follows is the behind-the-scenes story of our rural golf course.

PREFACE

  

Canoeing, Anyone? 

Images of Noah’s Ark kept whirling through my mind as I drove up to meet Herb at our golf course. This was to be our opening day—May 1, 1989 and it was spring in Rochester, Vermont.

Horrified by the treacherous road conditions caused by torrential downpour, all I could see was water and canoeists! Had I taken a wrong turn someplace? Where was I?

On the ride up, I’d heard the flood watch and road closings warnings on the radio, but surely they were meant for other areas of New England. They couldn’t apply to us, not on our opening day at the White River Golf Club. The withered wind-tossed colored balloons on the golf course sign told their own story; however, the formerly graceful White River was now a raging, rushing monster.

When I finally arrived at the clubhouse, sloshing through the mud and muck to the front door, I saw Herb fully attired in head to toe rain gear and hip high Wellington boots. His look of concern mirrored my thoughts. What have we gotten ourselves into?

Oh my God, I said smiling bravely, "do you remember the real estate broker telling us, when we inquired about the river, that flooding only occurs every thirty years or so, and not to worry. Is this a rare repeat performance of the Great Flood of 1927 that wiped out the entire town?"

The only logical explanation for Mother Nature going haywire was that the previous winter snows had been excessive and now all the snow was melting at once. The ground was saturated and the water had nowhere to go.

The ground would recover when the waters evaporated. But the incredible debris left on the golf course from the water would be devastating to us, both from a financial and practical point of view. The dead tree limbs and mammoth boulders deposited by the rushing waters in the middle of the fairways would pockmark the land forever. Heavy back hoes and monstrous front loaders would be needed for the clean-up, but actually caused more damage to the golf course, adding insult to injury.

Not only would we be delayed opening the golf course, but we would not open the restaurant or the pro shop at all during this massive cleanup. Meanwhile the staff who were scheduled for opening day had to be paid or they would not be there when we reopened. As we knew our pocketbooks could not sustain this kind of unexpected expense each year, we would seek a more permanent solution. This was a challenge in itself as we were in a location that prided itself on its environmental awareness.

We had already sparred with the enthusiastically supercharged environmentalists when we tried to get permits for our White River Driving Range. These well-meaning activists had actually gone down to the river to count the trees to make sure the new owners didn’t alter the land and destroy the natural beauty.

With prudent landscaping, in fact, we would actually enhance the pristine nature of the land, pruning away centuries of dead trees, limbs and dense growth to better view the river which had been partially hidden. We were told however that we could not divert the river away from the golf course and the clubhouse. At great expense we would eventually bring in truckloads of granite boulders to use as massive barriers around the river bank. So when the floods came again, (and they did!) the debris could not flood over the riverbank and damage the course.

As I surveyed our submerged golf course, golf benches large enough for four were being washed downstream. Several of ours would be returned many months later by a local fisherman who thought he was drunk when he recognized our yellow benches dangling precariously from a huge tree by the river bank. I realized then we would never be in this predicament had I not told my husband that I did NOT want him home for lunch.

SPRING FLOODING 1989

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HOLE ONE—BACKGROUND  

Would You Work Between a Rock and a Hard Place? 

After thirty years in business, my husband’s financial circumstances changed and he found himself retired. The prospect of having my fifty seven year old hubby home for lunch did not thrill me, nor was I convinced that after so many hectic and productive years on the cutting edge he would be happy doing nothing. He said that he could sleep late, read and would have no trouble leading an unplanned and unscheduled life.

No matter how comfortable one is, the economic reality of retirement reared its ugly head and we realized we could not support our previous lifestyle. In December 1988 after seeing an advertisement in the local New England paper, Herb said, Look at this—a nine hole golf course in Rochester, Vermont for only $ . That sounds interesting.

I asked him, Where did you say it was? In fact, it was in the middle of nowhere, one hour north of our vacation home and about three hours from Boston.

The location of this nine hole flat walking course encompassed fifty five acres on a beautiful spot situated on the most scenic road in Vermont. Originally fertile farmland, the course would always look green, unlike neighboring golf courses which were drastically affected by lack of rain and hot humid weather.

The course was surrounded by the pristine White River with its shallow pebbles and little eddies. Fish darted in and out among the larger rocks making fly fishing a big attraction to the area for outdoor enthusiasts. Beds of bright green fiddle heads grew wild along the banks and some of our neighbors would walk along the edge gathering up