Year,” in 1971. On the other wall hangs a pastel ren-dering of Gus’s wife Betty—depicting the finish of her long, athletic golf swing, accompanied by a dazzling smile. Their red Cadillac sits in the garage.

If one listens carefully, one can hear the remnants of a soft drawl as he speaks—not quite Southern, not quite Midwest-ern, but somewhere in between; the sea-soned ear will eventually identify it as Pittsburgh. His sense of style and impec-cable manners were given to him by his parents who hailed from the coal fields of western Pennsylvania. Gus moved with his family to Carnegie, PA when his coal-miner father needed to find work after an Ohio mine closed.

Betty grew up in Squirrel Hill, close by Carnegie Mellon University. Her father had been an instructor in the Phys Ed department and later a golf pro himself. Her family relocated to Florida where her father became Head Professional at Plantation Golf and Country Club outside of Palm Beach. It was there, many years later, that she would meet Gus for the first time. Gus’s early memories are of hard, but happy times. His father hit the “shoe leather express” each day, walking several miles to work the mine. Even in win-ter, when the snow was more than knee high, he would trudge to the job and back in the dark.

By Gary Shorts, Palm Aire Member

He shuffles slowly to the tee box, stooping to place his tee in the ground with both hands. Then he rises and surveys the hole ahead, taking note of the breeze with eyes that hint of competitive fire. His shot routine is unusual: two belt-high baseball swings followed by a quick step to the ball, a brief exhale, a short waggle of the club, then a compact pass. His routine usually results in a shot smartly down the middle. Who is this guy, Gus Andreone, the man they say has shot his age or better more than 100 times? Gus is the third oldest card-carrying mem-ber of the PGA, and he will celebrate his 100th birthday on September 30, 2011. His home country club, Palm Aire of Sarasota, will honor that day by dedicating a newly renovated Practice and Teaching Facility in his name. Gus is a consummate teacher of the game. When you ring the bell at Gus and Betty’s villa a soft refrain from “Auld Lang Syne” greets you. The original “Thirteen Rules of Golf” from St. Andrews is around the corner of the foyer. Across from that is a wall filled with memorabilia, in-cluding his official status as a member of the PGA on May 29, 1939. There is also a plaque commemorating his selection as the organization’s “Professional of the

September, 2011

“They worked those men long hours in those days,” Gus reminisced. His father died early of the dreaded “black lung” that took so many miners after years working in the dark, dank under-ground. Watching his father’s hard life convinced young Gus that he wanted something else in life. His mother was a full-time housewife and mother with seven children to raise. Gus was second of three older boys followed by three younger sisters and a fourth youngest brother. A fourth sister died early in child-hood before Gus really had a chance to know her. His mother cooked and sewed and washed all day, every day. The chil-dren worked the garden, tended their brood of laying hens and cooking chickens, and foraged the woods for fruit, berries and nuts to supplement their store-bought goods. He spoke of collecting wild horse-radish by a nearby spring, and of chestnuts they later roasted in the coal stove.

It was while he was returning from one such foraging ex-pedition that he discovered a wealthy neighbor from “up on the hill” hitting little white balls, not with a baseball bat, but with something that looked like a crooked stick. When he asked the man what he was doing, the fellow explained that he was practicing his golf swing. He showed Gus the rudiments of the golf swing and let the boy hit a few balls to get the hang of it. From that time on, Gus was hooked. “I was only eight or nine years old then,” Gus remembered. “The closest golf course was about five miles away.” He had to walk up to the golf club to inquire about work, of which there was precious lit-tle. They told him he was too scrawny to do anything but caddy, but competition for bags was keen and he would have to be there early in the morning if he wanted to land a job carrying for one of the members. That was the beginning of his abiding love for the game. He caddied regularly for the next several years. “I always wanted to carry for the better golfers,” Gus says. “Some of them weren’t big tippers, but you could learn a lot about the game from them.” He noted amusedly that a big tip in those days was eighty cents a bag. During wintertime when the course would be closed, young Gus worked in the back room of the pro shop help-ing with club repairs. The members, he explained, would

leave their clubs in damp basements or garages during the off-season. Because the clubs were made of iron and wood, they would rust and warp. Gus learned from one of the assistant professionals how to scour the heads, sand and oil the shafts. “Sometimes the air in that shack would be red with the rouge from the steel wool we used to clean up those heads.” Over several summers he earned status as a “senior” caddie, sought af-

ter by many of the better golfers because of his skill at reading greens and judging distances. He took every opportunity to hone his own game, mostly with borrowed clubs. He made somewhat of a name for himself in some of the local amateur competitions. In 1929, St. Clair Country Club burned to the ground. The firefighters were able to salvage some of the clubs stored behind the pro shop, but left them in a steaming huddle in the park-

ing lot. It was up to Gus to sort through them and restore as many as possible for the members who were left. “There were only 129 of them,

Mustered out of the service in 1945, he returned to St. Clair and his first wife, Henrietta. They had mar-ried in 1942 before he headed to Europe. Their life together lasted for 35 years until she died of cancer in 1977. Work was scarce in those days, and the assistant pro job he had before the war was unavailable at St. Clair. Gus worked for a member of the club deliver-ing coal to homes. It was back-breaking work and reminded Gus again of why he had gone into golf in the first place. He kept in contact with his golfing acquaintances and hoped for a break with one of the local clubs. In the meantime, he played when-ever possible and caddied as before. During one of those caddying assignments he carried for the head professional at Edgewood Country Club. It turned out the fellow was about to retire and his afternoon with Gus reminded him of how well Gus had done with the members at St. Clair. He recommended Gus for the job as head pro and Gus was given the job by the search committee, without even applying for it. He held the job for the next 33 years and along the way set the course record of 66, which still stands.

Bucky Evashavik, (current member of Edgewood Country Club): You know, Gus was always a great teacher and he loved the kids. One year we had a really tal-ented young guy, Duke Kingsley, who was about eighteen at the time. He had a wonderful swing and could out-drive just about everyone at the club. And he was-n’t too shy to brag about how long he could hit. One day Gus called him aside and said he’d been working on a new driving technique. Gus believed he could drive it farther than Duke. Duke was instantly up to the challenge—so Gus had the assis-tant pro go into the shop and bring them six brand new Titleist golf balls. What Gus didn’t tell anyone was that one sleeve had been in the freezer for about 6 weeks. The assistant pro teed the balls up for each man, so Duke never knew his sleeve was frozen. By this time word had got around the club and a sizable crowd had gathered to witness the contest. Well, you know what happened. They were all amazed to see Gus, who was never a big man, hitting the driver 40 yards past young Duke’s. Later, after all the “oohing and ahing” was over, Gus struck his classic teaching pose—feet apart, left hand draped at his hip, right hand cupped under his chin, index finger pointing toward his ear—and admonished Duke to “never underestimate your elders.” It turned out the secret was too much to bear, and Gus ‘fessed up to several of us a few weeks later. What a laugh we all got out of that episode!

but they rebuilt and re-established the member-ship with no voting rights,” Gus noted, “I don’t think you could ever do something like that today.”

Young Gus tied the course record at St. Clair in 1934 and later that sum-mer was named an assistant pro with the club. He attended his first PGA seminar at Purdue in 1936, driving there with his boss. For the next several years he honed his skills as teaching pro, spending a lot of time with the juniors and beginners. He also made his mark on the local tourney trail, winning several events and setting records at various courses. He often played at such events in the mornings and caddied for his boss in the afternoon pro-ams. “In those days, they were 18-hole events,” Gus noted. “I’d carry my own bag in the morning for 18, and then I’d carry my own bag for 18 more in the afternoon.” There were few caddies because these events happened during the school year, and Gus was often the youngest player so no caddy for him. By this time WWII had broken out and Gus went into the service in 1942. He was assigned to the 10th Armored Division under General Pat-ton. He became a number one gunner, expert in the use of 8mm mor-tars. He won the Division’s top marksmanship award in a competition during training. The only round of golf he played during the war years was with borrowed clubs at Fort Benning, GA. He shot a 75.