It is 9:31 AM on March 9th, 2025. I’m sitting at Stauf’s Cafe on Grandview Avenue listening to the sound of the robins in the trees and trying to ignore the sound of the cars.
I’ve been meaning to write this memorial post for some time and now that I’m briefly in my hometown and can hear the robins, now became a good time.
My first job as a high school student was working maintenance at Raymond and Wilson golf courses back in 1993 and 1994. It is hard to believe that is over 30 years ago. Like my friend Jonathan, I had applied to be a bagger and cart pusher at the local Meijer’s but he got the job and I did not. I remember how intimidated I was filling out that job application, it seemed so grown-up. I don’t remember what other jobs, if any, I had applied to but was thankful that my Dad knew someone in the Columbus Parks and Recreation department which is how I got the job. As I’m now 48 and have been through a few economic booms and busts I’ve learned that knowing someone is the best path in finding a new job, otherwise you’ll be sending out hundreds, if not thousands of resumes, which is currently the case in the tech scene of the Bay Area. I wonder if I didn’t have any help with that first job if I’d be unemployed today! I remain terrified of the job search.
When I started the job I didn’t have a driver’s license yet and remember getting up at an ungodly hour, putting on my new steel toed work boots and walking through the neighborhood, cutting through a backyard and then over about five dew drenched wholes of the golf course to the maintenance barn. I’ll always remember how loud the robins were and how it seemed me and the birds were the only ones awake. I also remember *unfortunately* smoking cigarettes on the way there and am glad that habit didn’t last.
I’ll always remember the different experiences such as weed eating around every single tree on the course, the horrendous sting of the sand on my legs when weed eating around the sand traps and how hot it would get. The following year I got promoted to the riding mowers and would cut the greens and tee boxes which was quite a treat. The next step up was the John Deer front mower where I’d cut the grass around the green.
Although I remember the experiences, my fondest memories are the people I worked with. Two of them are even still there but I’ll keep anonymous for privacy concerns. With that, I’ll get to the point of this post which is to remember many of my old colleagues who have passed away.
The idea for this post came to me last Thanksgiving when my family and I made our usual trip back. The weather was quite pleasant so I used the opportunity to take my son to the golf courses closest to my heart. It was at Wilson Road where I had learned golf with my grandparents and friends. It is the place my friends and even later, girlfriend would sneak out to at night just for the thrill. It is where I had my first job. My son and I first played Wilson Road, still had plenty of time and so jumped on Raymond Memorial. It was at the end of the 13th hole where I saw the following memorial to Frank Kent.
Frank Kent
Frank must have been at least 65 when I worked there in 1993 and I’d assumed he’d work there until he passed away. When I first started, I’d be lucky if Frank even acknowledged me but over time I was able to get a few words out of him, but only if I asked him something directly. His responses were always short and to the point. Frank was a man of few words indeed.
I’ll always remember Frank’s walk, which wasn’t a bounce, but more like he had well worn shocks as a car does He’d lean a little bit forward and it his walk seemed more of a jaunt, a wearisome, but steady progression like a well worn machine that just keeps going after years of hardship.
If Frank didn’t hear you the first time, or even if he did, his response was often “Do what?” with a bit of drawl on the ‘do.’ After which you’d need to repeat the question, observation, or whatever was said. When I think of Frank “Do what?” always comes to mind.
Frank’s mood was always neutral, I never saw a smile nor a frown. But I’ll always remember the one time I might have perceived what could be interpreted as a modicum of joyfulness is when the song “Chatahoochee” came on the radio. Frank always listened to country and nobody dared change the channel on that old dusty radio in the maintenance barn. But Chatahoochee is the only time I can remember Frank actually singing to the song.
“Hey Frank, you like this song?”
“Do what??”
Willie
When I think of a stereotypical 1980’s African American male, Willie is the first to come to mind. He always wore sweatpants, big black workboots, a Jazz Cap from Wendy’s and had what SNL and Eddie Murphy would showcase as “Soul Glow.” It was that shiny hair tonic that Willie had absolutely dripping from his very healthy head of hair. He drove one of those ’80s vans we used to call “kidnapper vans” since the back only had one dark, round window on the side and I believe there must have been a typical ’80s design on it although I cannot remember for sure.
I loved Willie. He was the kindest, most joyful person I think I’ve ever met. Unlike Frank, Willie was always in a good mood and thankfully he was often my partner in various maintenance tasks. He also had a son with the same name as me although I never met, but wonder where is son is now. Yes, Willie always had a smile on his face and just his presence brought a smile to mine.
The one event I’ll never forget is when I’d gone up to the second floor where the superintendent’s desk was to see the superintendent looking very solemn and Willie covering his mouth in extreme pain.
When you leave the maintenance barn you need to stop and look to the left to ensure there are no golfers on the number 10 tee box. Willie did that but a golfer shanked the ball and it hit Willie directly in the teeth. I learned that day that the world is a cruel, cruel place because out of all of us, Willie was the last person out of all of us to have that happen to him. The Superintendent was filling out “workers comp” forms so Willie could get the help he needed. What is worse is the golfer didn’t even say sorry, or come to check on Willie. As a maintenance person, I learned golfers are primarily assholes. More than most people they look down on people and this has influenced me somewhat as I’ve always been a golfer but also understand the point of view of the maintenance people. Even as I’m a golfer, I’ve found workers in the pro-shops are never kind and can be a bit off putting. Therefore, even now, at 48, I’ll assume an air of superiority when entering a pro-shop and if they want to be pushy I’ll put them in their place. If I see they are kind, I’ll quickly drop that act. My point is, I’ve never found those in the golf world to be nice people.
Anyway, eventually Willie stopped showing up and we learned from Darryl, another colleague who kept in touch with Willie outside work, that Willie had “let himself go.” He wasn’t doing well and I learned he passed away. Again, life isn’t fair. I’ll always remember Willie very fondly and still miss him even to this day.
Darryl
Darryl was higher up the food chain and was a permanent worker unlike Willie and I which meant he never had to use the weed eater and primarily on the biggest cutter of all, the tractor. Darryl was friendly but only after you’d warmed up to him. You could actually talk to Darryl about anything and he would laugh. However, he was the type of guy that at first glance you wouldn’t want to start trouble with if you saw him at a bar or on the street. He looked mean, but after engaging with him laughed and smiled abundantly. He was mixed, African American and white and I always wondered what his ancestry might have been. We didn’t have DNA testing in those days so it really was anyone’s guess as to our histories except for whatever fragments are parents knew about.
I don’t have any stories about Darryl, nor remember much as I didn’t spend much time with him except for in the barn. I heard he passed away from diabetes perhaps a decade or so after I had left. Darryl was a good guy and I was glad to have known him.
Jerry
Jerry still works for Columbus Parks and Recreation but at a different golf course. He loved his smokeless tobacco and it was rare to find him without a Kodiak Wintergreen or straight in his mouth. He was also a ‘full-timer’ and so a higher level than most of us summer grunts.
The thing I remember about Jerry is he was often at loggerheads with the Superintendent. They’d always be arguing about something and eventually Jerry was transferred to a different course. Jerry was friendly and you could easily talk to him about anything, especially if you wanted to complain about the superintendent. :-).
Brad Stischok
The next memorial is a very sad one. Being roughly the same age, Brad was one of the few co-workers that was a friend outside work. I’d been to a few parties with Brad and we kept in touch quite a bit in my early years of university until life pulled us in different directions. It wasn’t until around 2014 that I’d learned he passed away which came as a very big shock.
I still go golfing at Wilson and Raymond every time I’m back in Columbus and am usually alone. It is then, in the stillness of the early morning with the robins chirping, vapor coming off the ponds and dew on the grass that I’ll talk to Brad and try to perceive his response. Sometimes, I’ll tell him how disappointed I am that he didn’t intervene to keep my ball out of the pond and other times just let him know I hope he is in a good place and how glad I am that he was my friend. Brad was fun and it would be more his style to direct my ball into that point through a sudden gust of wind then try to help me stay on the fairway.
When I think of my time working at Wilson/Raymond the above are those I’ll remember the most and associate with my time there. I’ll mention others briefly as their time working was also brief.
Jason – He was my high school classmate and I helped him get a summer job. I haven’t spoken to him in years but will always remember he stole a cardboard cutout of a taco from Taco Bell and put it in his back car window. To a high school kid that was funny.
Forgot name skinhead – Parks and Rec will hire all types and one guy was a literal skinhead. He even had a swastika tattoo hidden in the overall larger tattoo. Strange thing I learned was that although he was obviously and generally racist, he was friendly with our African American co-workers and even enjoyed working with them. He once told me a crazy story here he’d sliced his hand working in the kitchen so just slammed it on the grill to stop the bleeding. That wouldn’t be the best course of action in my book, nor is it sanitary for the burgers he would have cooked later.
Forgot the name: This last person was there before I joined, was not a “full-timer” and remained after I had gone. I forgot his name but he’d been there a while and like the full-timers was always on a tractor. He seemed like he was made for the job, always up early, always know what to do, and always had a dip in his mouth. He went to OSU and I imagine could possibly be a superintendent at some golf course today. I’m sure I’ll remember his name eventually but wanted to mention him here as he made an impression on me. He seemed so grown up to a little junior in high school like me. I had hoped to learn everything he did and one day make it to a tractor myself. Unfortunately, I never progressed pass the John Deere front deck mower but did make it to driving the dump truck where I learned to drive a stick shift.
It is now 10:53 AM and I’ve come to realize that aside from family members, it is the memories which make coming back home so special to me. However, much has changed and it is extremely rare I’l run into anyone I know, even though I grew up here. I’m now 47 years old and Grandview will become less and less familiar to me until, in the distant future, I have very little to visit at all. Life goes too fast and instead of making new chapters, my time here is primarily rereading previous chapters in my life.
