The richest man in the world

When you finally land a superintendent position, it is natural to have a strong desire to immediately make your mark on the new course. You have visions of improving conditions, developing a great relationship with others in management positions at the club, and hiring and molding a staff that will epitomize and mirror your visions and goals for the golf course. You seek a staff that will help you mold the course exactly the way that vision in your head appears to you.

I was no different when I landed the superintendent position at Avalon Golf Club, a Robert Muir Graves design 90 minutes north of Seattle, in February 2002. I couldn’t wait to make my mark on the 27 hole-layout. Take it to that next level, blow away the membership and ownership with my, no doubt, unbelievable superintendent skills, and hire the perfect people to help me achieve all those goals.

So, in mid-February of ’02, when I was still working at Everett Golf and Country Club, where I was finishing up my final couple of weeks as assistant superintendent before I started at Avalon on March 1, my mind was filled with these thoughts. I was mostly envisioning the perfect employees I would hire for the crew. It would be a breeze.

On a particular day in mid-February, a fellow on the crew at Everett G&CC came up to me on the course and said there was someone waiting at our shop to see me regarding my new course and job. I had no idea who this could possibly be. Did the owner at Avalon have a change of heart about hiring me? Was it some cruel joke?

I drove into the shop and found, leaning against a beat-up, dirty old Chrysler, a rather strange-looking fellow nervously waiting for me. His hair was white and wild and looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in several years. His clothes were pretty worn and his face unshaven. But even as I took all this in, I also noticed his kind eyes and warm smile.

He extended his hand nervously and said his name was Les Zahn, and he had recently found out I was to become the new superintendent at Avalon. He was looking for a job. It instantly struck me that this fella had driven an hour from up north where Avalon was located just to meet me.

I kindly told him I had, obviously, not yet started at Avalon, and I had no idea what the current crew situation was. As I said this to him, I was thinking to myself, giving him the once over, ‘No, no, no, this is not what I’m envisioning. Thanks, but no thanks.’

Les, very nervously, told me directly he understood this (that I wasn’t officially at Avalon yet), but he just wanted to introduce himself. Although I would have guessed his age to be at least 60, Les was 47 years old when I met him that day. He described himself as a handyman, amateur inventor and golf historian, and also told me he used to caddie for a spell on the Senior Tour. Although he had never worked on a golf course, he told me, he grew up with the game, and had worked for a few years at a dedicated driving range.

Les also informed me he was a recovering alcoholic, and the years of drinking had cost him many things in life, including more than one job. But he assured me he hadn’t had a drink in more than six months and intended to never have another.

I couldn’t wait to move on and get back to work. This was not at all my vision of my new job or the crew members who were going to mold it with me. And to be honest, it was not what I wanted them to look like. I thanked him for driving down and returned to work.

February turned to March, and I drove to work for my first day at Avalon, nervous but full of anticipation and excitement. I had forgotten about the meeting with Les. But as I pulled into the shop and walked into the building, the first person to greet me was none other than, you guessed it, Les himself — wearing, I noticed, the same clothes he wore two weeks before. What the heck?

“For 20 years, Les was the most loyal employee I have ever had. The most loyal employee I have ever seen. He dedicated himself to this golf course like no one’s business. Not just the golf course itself, but the entire operation.”

He smiled and said hello. He was very apologetic for being there, but just wanted to reiterate his desire to work at Avalon, and how dedicated he would be. He also emphasized how much he needed this job. I remember clearly the word need, not want. It wasn’t a case of want for Les.

I don’t think I was terribly kind that morning. It was not how I wanted my first moment at my new course to go. I told him I had no idea what my needs would be, and probably wouldn’t know for some time. He gave me that damn warm, kind smile, and said, “No worries, sorry to bother you.”

I survived the first day at Avalon, and walked into the shop the next day. Guess who greeted me?

“Sorry to bother you,” Les said, the warm smile and twinkle in his eyes, “but just wanted you to know I’m an early riser. I love getting up early!” I noted he still wore the same clothes.

Again, kindness eluded me. I was getting annoyed by this guy. I was actually starting to feel a bit stalked. Would he ever go away?

By the third day, he was chatting with the crew when I showed up. On the fourth day, he brought donuts. That morning, I had Les fill out an application and asked him, as kindly as I could muster, to please stay away. I’d be making some hiring decisions soon, but until then I would prefer he not keep showing up.

He smiled (that darn smile again) and said, “Sure thing.”

And, true to his word, he was not there the next day.

Now, I wouldn’t say I missed Les, but something in me felt a little empty when he wasn’t there on day five. Even a few of the guys on the crew wondered what had happened to him. That day I sat down to look at his application. The meat of his application was his references. I actually made a copy of his application and I still have it. It had nine references listed, many of them written on the blank backside of the application.

I called the first one. It was a fellow named Kenny, who had most recently employed Les on his driving range, which had closed down.

“Hire him,” Kenny said. “You won’t regret it. I know how bad he wants to work for you. It’s all he talks about.”

I asked about the alcohol. Yes, Kenny admitted, it had been a huge issue. But he knew Les very well, and he had no doubt he would overcome it.

I called the next reference. “Hire him, you won’t regret.”

Think I may have tried one more of his references, received the same response, and then called Les.

The rest is history.

Les passed away from kidney failure in September of this year. His health had been failing for a couple years, but he continued to work as much as he could, including the day before he died. True to his word to me that first day I met him, Les never had another drink.

For 20 years, Les was the most loyal employee I have ever had. The most loyal employee I have ever seen. He dedicated himself to this golf course like no one’s business. Not just the golf course itself, but the entire operation. He was so woven into the fabric of Avalon, and especially the maintenance shop, that his loss will be felt by all of us for some time.

He made it a point to come in and open the shop every morning. And when I say every morning, I mean every morning, not just when he was scheduled to work. He would usually get here an hour and a half to two hours before the rest of us showed up. And, as we all know, for a golf course maintenance operation, that is pretty darn early. Doors opened, equipment pulled out, coffee brewing. He would often be sitting on No. 2 South in the mornings, still totally dark out, drinking his coffee, contentedly looking out at the Skagit Valley lit up below the golf course, and beyond the valley the shadow of the Cascade Mountains, waiting happily for the rest of to show up.

Les even surprised a couple of burglars attempting to rob us blind at 3:30 in the morning one day last summer. Sent them fleeing, empty-handed, into the woods next to our shop.

Personally, Les became one of my closest friends. He was a music buff and an accomplished cellist, and we often talked music, old movies and golf. He called me Captain (“Aye, Captain”), and his smile, the warmest I have ever seen, never faded, even in the last couple of very difficult years for him. Les often talked to me about a couple of love interests from his distant past, and there was one woman he referred to as the one who got away. But he never married. He spent the 20 years that I knew him living a very simple life. In the time I knew him, Les mourned the death of his mother, his father, and several shop cats that he had cared for and loved.

He died with almost nothing to his name. Nothing physical that is. But to all of us who had the privilege of knowing him, and calling him a friend, Les, like George Bailey in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, was indeed the richest man in the world.

Because of my success with hiring Les, I have ended up over the years hiring many people who have fallen on hard times. Sometimes these hires work out, and often they don’t. But I will never again question myself about giving someone a second chance.

Shame on me for even considering not doing that.

Thank you for that, Les. And thank you for making me a better superintendent and, much more important, a better person.

Man, I miss that smile.