Golf for Women May-June 2002 My Mother's Secret Passion

7/30/2019 Golf for Women May-June 2002 My Mother's Secret Passion

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First Person IA Life in G o l f

My MothSecret F sion1 thought I knew m y mother. Alter she died I cleanedout her golf locker and discovered a world all her own.By Lisa DePaulo

I never golfed with my mother.It was all I could think about asPeggy Kramos, Mom's best golff r iend , led me up the narrowwooden stairs to the Ladies' lockerroom at Elmhurst Country Club, in thehills of Pennsylvania. It had been ninew e e k s since the funeral, and every fewweeks I'd talk to Peggy. Can we wait alittle longer? I'd ask her. "Whatever youwant, honey," she'd say. She had alreadycleared it with J.R., the club manager:A s long as there wasn't a new Lady totake my mother's place, we could con-tinue to stall. I wanted to put it offforever. Of all the things that a daugh-ter has to do when she buries her

mother, this was the one 1 couldn'tbear: to clean out her Elmhurst locker.

For 28 years, she'd belonged to thissmall club near the Pocono Mountains.S he went three times a week and couldn'twait for Ladies Day on Thursdays. Iknew, or at least surmised, that it got herthrough the toughest times in her life.But, in fact, I knew hardly anything at all.Nothing about what this golf th ingtheonly part of her life that we never reallys ha r e d m e ant to her.

"You okay, honey? We can comeback another day" said Peggy. We weredragging a suitcase up the steps, a floralnumber on wheels that my mother hadused to go back and forth to Florida,

where another set of Ladies (and theywere always called "the Ladies") playedgolf with her in the wintertime.

"She called this her Florida suit-case," I said to Peggy.

"I know, honey" she replied.The locker room was so much

s m a l l e r than I remembered. When Iwas a kid, I loved to meet my parentswhen they came off the course togeth-er . It was always the same routine: Thegolfe rs would finish up the 18th holeand drift into the Sand Trap bar, whichoverlooked the last green. I'd sit by thewindows and anxiously wait for myparents to emerge f rom behind the hilland approach the flag with their


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First P e r s o n | A L i fe in G o l f

putters. "There's Jo and Joe now/'L e n n y the bartender would announce.Then there'd be cocktails and m a j o rribbing: w ho couldn't swing fo r anythingthat day, who hit their ball in the water.Dad always let me take a sip of hisChivas Regal, while Mom (who drankabout one whiskey sour a month) gavehim that look. The best part aamgltS&w as between cocktails an ddinner, when m y mother le tme sneak upstairs with her tothe Ladies' locker room. Iloved the sound of the cleats,click-clicking up the steps,and the omnipresent cloudof hair spray and p e r f ume .And the laughter.

It was empty today. It wasOctober; the season was over.

"Did you remember thekey?" asked Peggy.

Of course I hadn't. Peggy and Istood there and stared at locker 36,which, like the other ones, was painteda chirpy powder blue. The cheap littlelock hung there, looking lonely.

"They were al l good times," Peggys u d d e n ly said. "Your mother loved ithere, God love her. That's what youhave to remember, honey."

Then she walked to the phone andyelled down to the kitchen. "Can some-one please come up here and get Jo'slock off?" Peggy didn't take much crap.

Several minutes later, Chef Stevenappearedwith an axe."I can't stand to watch this," I said.

Peggy shielded m y eyes with her gentlehands as he took an ear-piercingwhack. The lock fell to the floor andthe door, now dented, swung open.

It was as though she'd slipped out ofhe r clothes an d simply walked away.There were her grass-stained whitecleats, positioned exactly as she'd haveworn them, with a few chunks of dirtf rom he r last 18 holes still wedgedbetween the spikes. On a hanger washer favorite ECC golf j acke t . I coulds me l l he r scent, Estee Lauder's Youth-Dew, the only fragrance she ever wore.

w w w . g o l f f o r w o m e n . c o m

Th e Elmhurst Ladiesp o s e d together in 1972.R i g h t, m y m o t h e r i s i nt h e b a c k r o w i n t h e b e l t;b e l o w , she is fourthf r o m right.

I

There, in thelocker, were hergrass-stainedwhite cleats, withchunks of dirt fromher last 18 holesstill in the spikes.

On the top shelf were her hats and hergolf glove.

We opened her Florida suitcase andslowly laid everything, piece by piece,ins ide it. "Here, let me clean the shoes,"said Peggy. No, I wanted them just th ew ay she'd left them, dirt an d all. In azippered bag hanging from a hook, shekept her toiletries and a gold tube ofcoral-red lipstick, worn down with theimpression of her lips. I slipped thetube into my purse and put the rest ofthe bag's contents in the suitcase.

"Do you want to sit for a while?"Peggy asked. We sat in silence on theb e n ch , also painted powder blue, justs ta r in g at the suitcase in front of mymother's empty locker.

"^bu know," Peggy finally said, "yourmother, God love her, would never wantyou to feel so sad about something thatmade her so happy"

was IO when shestarted playing.An d I vividlyremember why

My father had a Forddealership. He started itthe year I was born,1961, using my babypictures in the advertise-m e n t s . Before long, hi slife w as Glenwood Ford,and I was the GlenwoodBaby. He spent long

hours at "the place," as my mother calledit, and when he wasn't at the place hew as on the golf course. He joinedElmhurst in 1967, and by 1971 mymother ha d about had it. Finally, sh emade what I realize now was a prettybrazen decision for a (then) extremelytraditional Italian-Catholic wife an dmother with four kids. A s she put i t ,"The only way I'm ever going to see myhusband is if I start sel l ing cars or if Itake up go lf" She took up golf.

She was 45 and had never played asport in her life. My little brother,Joseph, was 6. My older siblings were 17an d 19. I didn't know until later what achallenge this was. My dad gamelyencouraged the idea, signing her up forlessons, but his mother was fit to be tied.G r a m m a DePaulo was Soprano-esquebefore there was such a thing, the kind ofItalian mother-in-law who until the dayshe died was put out that she hadn't beeninvited on my parents' honeymoon. Thathe r daughter-in-law, Josapeen sh e calledher, would have the audacity to take upgolf was, in her mind, equivalent to run-ning off with the circus.

"Gramma hated it that she golfed,"my sister Bella remembers. "Every timeMom mentioned it, Gramma would tryan d make he r feel guilty. B ut M om justsaid, 'I'm going to keep playing golf"

M y sister, now a psychologist, thinksmy mother's determination not to getroiled by Gramma said a lot about howliberating golf must have been to her. Itwas the one area of her life where itwas perfectly okay, expected

May/June 2002 G ol f For W o m e n 67


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First P e r s o n | A L i fe in G o l fMy grandmotherw as furious thather daughter-in-law would havethe audacity totake up golf

M om (right) w i t h he r f r i e n d s L a r r y an d P e g g y K r a m o s (left) and her n e p h e w A n d y at Elmhurst.even, to be assertive and independent.My mother was a coal miner's daughterand a child of the Depression, who losther own mother at 15 and couldn't dateuntil she was 18 (and then only withher father or my Uncle Charlie chaper-oning). Taking up golf probably was likerunning off with the circus.

Maybe that's why I never knew justhow much she loved it. To me the clubwas a cool place to hang out with myparents, the place where, when mybrothers got married, we had the bridalshowers fo r their wives.

I certainly never knew how much sheworked at it. From the start, Mom wasdetermined to be a real player. Richiethe pro gave her lessons, "and oh, shew as disciplined," says he r friend MargeThomas. "She really wanted . . . to makeyour dad proud? I don't know. Maybeshe just wanted to be good for herself."

M y li t t le brother remembers hertaking him with her to an indoor golfschool in downtown Scranton. EdieGaudenzi, who was in charge of newLady members when Mom joined Elm-hurst, used to go with her to the foot-ball f ield behind Dunmore HighSchool and teach her how to swing.Then they'd run and chase the balls.

Eventually she got pretty good. Momw as five fee t three inches with a fewextra pounds; she didn't look like a jock,but her strength was surprising. "Shehit a nice, long drive, your mother did,"says Peggy. "And she hit a great chipshot; she'd always come close to thehole." Mom had a 32 or 33 handicap,a n d , like most of the Ladies, down-played her competitiveness."We jus t

liked to be out in the fresh air," says herfr iend June DeFazio. "We weren't asfocused on the game as we should havebeen. We'd be so busy talking about ourkids. Yo ur m om would say, Y ou know,June, we're not really serious golfers. '"

But they were. "Oh, the girls fromE l m h u r s t played much more seriously,"says Marge Thomas, who belonged tothe rival Canoe Club. "And your moth-er, she knew the rules."

S he even won a bunch of tourna-ments. We knew this f rom the littlethings around the house, engraved "JoDePaulo, ECC, Winner." My sisterthinks that at one point she got betterthan my father. "When I'd ask herdirectly, she didn't want to say. But Ithink she was."

Still, Mom never stopped beingM o m . Golf was like the St. Ann's nove-na to her. We knew she went an awfullot, but she never made a very big dealout of it. She certainly never let it affecther full-time job of wife and mother. Ididn't know, until after she died, howm a n y golf games she missed because Iwas coming home for the weekendf rom college or some other place. "Oh,she never golfed when you were home,"says Peggy. She wanted to be there tocook me homemade ravioli and take meshopping "up the outlets." t>


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First P e r s o n | A L i fe in G o l f

The stories Mom told me were thef un n y ones . Like th e t i m e she fell intothe water, now an E lm hur s t l e g e nd ." Som e one hit their ball into the wat e ron the y th hole . The Ladies forgot theirre t r iever that day, but your m othe r vol-unteered to fish the ball out with her 9-iron. And then she fell in. Vi Howepulled her out.We had so m any laughsabout that. She was a good sport."

M y par e n t s we r e both 64 whe n mydad died suddenly . I rem em ber that themost excruciating m o m e n t w o r s e ,even, than the the w a ke w a s the f irstt ime 1 walked into Elmhurs t and hewasn't there strolling off the course,laughing at the Sand Trap. My kne esbuckled and m y mother caught me inher ar m s . We had re turned for thefuneral lunc he on . Where else could wepossibly have had it? A few days later,m y mother , brother and I went back toElm hurs t to c lean out Daddy ' s locker .

We didn't get a chance. Someone

" S h e told me golfwas her salvation,"says LorraineWilliams, her hair-dresser of 34 years."That was theword she used."M o m an d a t t e n d e d an a n im a l a d o p t io n b e n e f i t in S c r a n t o n in 1984.f r o m t he c lub unc e r e m onious ly p r e -s e n t e d m y brother with a big, blacktrash bag filled with Daddy ' s th in g s .There was a waiting list for the m e n ,after all. I will never forget the look ofhur t on m y m ot he r ' s face. A ll t hos ethings so precious to her hus band , hisglove, his c leats , his own favo r i te E CCjacket, his cologne, 25 y e ar s of his life-d u m p e d in a t rash bag. But Mom ne ve rdid hold grudges. It took a litt le while,but she went back to the club.

We didn ' t know it at the t i m e , butthis thing called gol fwhich she tookup to spend more t ime with h i m w a swhat got her through life without him." S h e told m e it was her salvation," saysLaurraine Williams, her hairdresser of34 years . "That was the word she alwaysused. I'd say, Jo , how are you reallydoing?' And she'd say, Thank g oodne s sI have my gol f g am e , Lorraine."'

Life at Elmhurs t was a lot di fferentfo r a widow. And it wasn't jus t the

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annual Ne w Year ' s Eve par ty or theHarvest Ball or the husband-wife tour-n amen t tha t n ow eluded her. Even he rstatus officially changed. When D adwas alive, she was a "wife m e m b e r . "When he died, sh e became an "adultw o m a n m e m b e r at triple the fee. Ithought that w as funny, that he had todie for her to be considered an adult.

Eventually she got back in the swingof things. S he even returned to thehusband-wife to u rn amen t , b r in g in gAn d y D 'An d rea , her n iece 's husban d,as her partner. "I'm not going to tellanyone you ' re my nephew," she saidwith a wink. "Let them wonder ."

Elmhurs t was always sham elesslysexist. On week en d s , th e Ladieswere n't allowed to tee o ff until all theme n had done so . "Som etimes i t wouldbe two, three o'clock before we'd getour chance," says Peggy Wednesdaywas Me n's D ay, "and you didn't d a r e gonear th e course on Wednesdays," says

an o ther Lady. But even thoughThursday w as Ladies Day, "the m enwould stil l come out and expect to beable to go first." My m other ' s f r iendssa y sh e always shrugged this off . "Whyge t ups et abo ut it?" she'd say. "W e havea good time, even when we're waiting."

In m y co l lege days, I thought thiswas appalling. I couldn't believe therewas actually a stag barcalled The StagBarthat women weren ' t even al lowedto se t f o o t in. I used to love to stir upt rouble by pran cing in to say hel lo tomy dad, which made m y mother crazy.Peggy tells m e that they've relaxed th erules. Now, th e Ladies ca n stop in TheStag Bar for a soda at the turn as longas they take it to go. Progress.Two years af ter my dad died, whenM om finally seemed her se l f again, shew as diagnosed with breast cancer. Iremember her asking her surgeon , ayoung woman athlete herself, "So, doy ou think I ' l l be able to go lf again?"

"O f course, Josephine! In fact, I 'mgoing to prescribe it," the doctorreplied. After her surgery, Peggy tellsm e, he r game changed. M o m used tolove to walk th e course, but n ow i t washarder to lift the bag, so she had totake a cart. "I'm just glad to be outhere," she'd tell Peggy. She beat breastcancer, an d I'llalways believe golf ha ds o m e t h i n g to do with it.

I t also got her back to Florida. Just acouple years before m y father d ied ,they s tar ted spending winters there.One day unbeknownst to my mother,he sneaked out and bought a lot r ighton a golf course, an d despite he rprotestations (Mom never l iked tosplurge) they built an adorable house.The night he died, in October 1991, theyhad the ir suitcase s packed, ready to driveto Florida in the morning. Mom wouldnever have gotten on a plane by herselfthat year if her Florida Ladies weren'twaiting for her on the course. t>

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The second illness came five yearslater, in 1998, when she was 71. It wasquick and cruel, as pancreatic cancer is.In early May she was in Port St.Lucie,golfing with her Ladies. In early Augustshe was buried in Scranton.

During the four years that havepassed, my siblings and I have oftenwondered whether Mom knew that itwas hopeless. We all tried to pretendotherwise; it was a family tradition. Ionly recently learned that back in May of'98, when her symptoms firs t appeared,she called Marge Thomas from Florida.Every year, Marge would take Mom tothe member-guest tournament at theCanoe Club. It was one of my mother'sfavorite days of the year. "She told methat there was a problem," Margeremembers. "She didn't saywhatinfact, she never told me what it was, justthat she had a problem. And that shewouldn't be able to make this year'stournament." That would have been inearly August; she died on August 4.

"I didn't go to the tournament againuntil this year," says Marge. "I just could-n't go without your mother. It was justsomething special we had."In mid-June, shortly after the diagno-s i s , Mom did two things that, in retro-spect, should have made it pretty clearthat she knew. There was the night, atMercy Hospital in Scranton, where cru-cifixes hung over every door, when shesat on her bed with an IV in her arm andwent through every piece of her jewelrywith me, so I'd know which one Dad hadgiven her when they were dating andwhich one had come on their 4Othanniversary. The second thing she didwas worse: She asked Joseph to pleasewrite a letter to Elmhurst asking for a"leave of absence." Mom never liked towaste money, but that wasn't what thiswas about. She knew she wasn't goingback to the club.

On August 4, the Ladies were golfing,which is exactly as Mom would havewanted it. She died at 135 A . M . But theydidn't know it when they went to tee off.For the previous eight weeks I'd kepteverything from the Ladies. I knew mymother didn't want them to know howsick she was. She wanted them toremember her on the golf course, whenshe was strong and healthy and happy.

At about noon on the day she died,

Barb Santarsiero ran into the club whilethe Ladies were having lunch. Barbcouldn't understand why the flowers shesent to Josephine in the hospital hadbeen returned. The Ladies took it as agood sign: Jo had gone home; she mustbe doing better. Then Peggy got homefrom the club and got the news. "I calledBarb and said, 'Jo didn't go home.' Andshe said, 'Well, where is she?' I said,'Barbara, she passed away.'"

Three days later, the Ladies were allwith us as the funeral procession passedthe house Mom grew up in, the factoryshe worked in as a teenager, the churchshe went to for 71years and, finally,Elmhurst Country Club.H oney," said Peggy. "The clubs."We were pulling herFlorida suitcase out into theparking lot at Elmhurst whenPeggy pointed to the pro shop. It's whereshe kept her golf clubs, in that prettypink leather bag that Dad bought for herthe first Christmas after she took up thegame. Richie, the pro who taught her somany years ago, held my hand and ledme to my mom's bag. I could still see hername on the chalkboard. "Just onething," said Peggy. "Can I have her littlegreen ball?" It turns out Mom had thisfunky lime green golf ball that shealwayscarried in her pocket. "Wethought it wasso cute," says Peggy, who to this day,at age82, keeps the lime green ball in her pock-et on the golf course.

The July after Mom died, the Ladieshad a tournament in her honor. Mysiblings and I sent them a check withexplicit instructions to have a goodtime. Instead, they installed a benchnear the first tee (and right outside TheStag Bar!) with her name on it. She isthe only member who has her ownspecial tribute at ECC.

The pink clubs went to my cousinHelene, Charlie's daughter. (Mom wasthrilled that one woman in the familyloved golf as much as she did.) InFlorida, her clubs were in a powder blueb a g . My brother Joseph has them. Twoyears after Mom died, she got the grand-daughter she'd always longed for to gowith those four grandsons, a little spitfirewho looks like her and acts like her, too.

We're keeping the powder blueclubs for Natalie.

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Golf for Women May-June 2002 My Mother's Secret Passion