Caddie to the Stars: Athletes, Celebrities, and Politicians Plus Caddie Golf Secrets

By Tim Peel

I wrote this book to show what a great job caddieing is and the many opportunities it affords. It's a life-changing job. If done right by the caddie master, this can open doors to the caddies that never would have happened in other jobs. As a caddie master, I would set up the caddie to put them in the right situation.

If the young caddie wanted to be an actor, lawyer, or car salesman or work on Wall Street, you would have them caddie for the members or guests that best suits their future ambitions. It's like a working interview. They can see how hard you work and how you interact with others and how professional you perform your job.

As a caddie master, it is your absolute responsibility to inform the college-bound caddies of the caddie scholarship programs that are available. So hopefully, this book can inspire young kids into the great world of caddieing. It's a life changer!

--Caddie Master Tim Peel

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781684985739

Book preview

Introduction

My road into the world of becoming a caddie and eventually a caddie master started in Jackson, New Jersey. A new club named Metedeconk National Golf Club was two miles from the restaurant where I was the bar manager. It was called Antonio’s but was previously called The Country Inn, an iconic country bar. Its claim to fame was that the late and great Johnny Cash had played there.

The caddies from MNGC came in every Monday around happy hour after their typical Monday golf outings. I got to know them and was curious about the club. They would tell me about all these famous people that played there. I was amazed because Jackson, New Jersey, if you ask me, is in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere hillbilly central.

MNGC is a very private golf club. You could drive by it a hundred times and not know it is there. Rated top 50 in the United States and in the top 100 in the world at the time (early nineties), MNGC has a helipad; an awesome, expansive practice facility with two (yes, two!) driving ranges; and three very-large cottages with six to eight bedrooms, each with bathrooms.

This is the place to lose yourself for a weekend of golf with the boys. Personal Head Chef Mark will blow you away. Oh, don’t forget it’s well lit, putting green at one of the cottages.

The bar business was getting old. I guess the last straw was when a biker club named The Jersey Irons stopped by the bar after one of their monthly meetings, thirty to forty strong. It was quite a scene, man!

The leader of the pack was a guy named Wolf—nice guy, articulate, and very street-smart. He sought me out, being the bar manager, and we started to chat. He heard through the hillbilly grapevine that I had an altercation in the bar with two locals. They were big dudes.

One of them starts a fight with a friend of mine and is getting the better of him. He’s still sitting on his chest. I am across the bar. The other guy looks at me and says, Back off, as I approach the situation, not gonna happen. I grab one of our thick beer mugs off the bar and dump out the contents on the floor, thinking to myself, I’ll buy him a new drink later.

The bigger guy of the two approaches me with his hands up. The guy sitting on my friend’s chest is just about done with him, so it is gonna be two big guys against me. That’s not going to happen. I am not going to the hospital today.

I’ve had some karate training, but this was going to require some combo of both. Big guy takes a swing at me and misses. As he follows through with his left, I clock him with a mug on his left jaw. He goes back maybe ten feet, hits the wall, and goes down. To my amazement, the guy gets up and is approaching me again (oh shit!).

However, I am still very calm and levelheaded. Guy takes another swing with his right hand this time and misses again. Now, I know I hit him pretty hard on the left side of his jaw, so being the gentleman that I am, I hit him on the right side of his jaw. He goes down right in front of me.

The bitch still hasn’t had enough. He’s actually crawling toward me. Nice guy that I am again, I know both sides of his jaw must be broken. I’ll just punch him dead in the face, right on the nose. He’s all evened out.

He stumbles to the door saying that he’s going to get his gun. I gotta work fast now so I can call the cops, but first, I gotta get rid of this other punk who’s still sitting on my friend’s chest. There’s no problem as he’s not paying any attention to me.

I walk over to a side view, and I kick him in the head like I was trying to make a fifty-yard field goal. Yes, it’s good, right through the uprights! He stumbles out, and I lock all the doors. Before I call the cops, I tell the bartender to buy the few horrified customers a round of drinks.

Cops arrive and surround the hillbilly’s truck. While questioning me, they are doubting my story. Cops were asking me, How the hell did you beat up these two large men? I told him that they were fat and slow, and I just got lucky.

Cop said, Let me see your hands. Luckily, I had blood on my right knuckles where I punched fat boy right in the nose. My bartender, Tammy, was smart enough to hide or wash the mug I used. Surprisingly, it did not break.

So Mr. Wolf of the Jersey Irons heard this story, and I guess it gave me a little street cred. Wolf was a good man and loyal to his crew. The crew was full of a lot of different personalities, some with no real direction in life except for the family of the bikers they joined.

We had one full-blown biker bar about five miles away. Their yearly meet for bikers was a month away. We were right off the interstate, so all bikers would have to pass our bar to get to this meet, Bike Fest.

While visiting Daytona Beach on one of my yearly trips (usually around bike week), I noticed on Main Street that some bars would post no colors allowed signs on their entrances, no colors, meaning no club patches on their jackets. This sounded like a good idea for me to do.

If one of the biggest biker