A visitor’ s view of a smoke-choked, crowded land, and its newfangled railway, which works
Leslie F. HannonJuly11961
PROFILE: Golf pros’ den-mother
Mrs. Lillis Marshall is a rotund, jolly grandmother who lives in Toronto. Almost every professional golfer in Canada who is over 30 calls her Larry and every professional golfer in Canada — there are 320 who qualify for the upper, or playing, echelon of the Canadian Professional Golf Association and another hundred or so who don’t — knows her and likes her. Mrs. Marshall’s husband, who's called Marsh, is the secretary of the CPGA. Mrs., or Larry, Marshall, is, as of this year, officially his assistant, though she hasn’t Swung a driver in her life.
In theory, her job is to keep the books. She does keep them, of course (the CPGA handles about $20,000 a year), but she also keeps most of the pros happy and, if possible, out of debt by an unofficial counseling service that goes on almost constantly in letters and in person; and she keeps on answering one of the six household telephones.
One night a few weeks ago, a phone rang at 3 a.m. Someone in Vancouver
ard had won on the tour last year. “American or Canadian tour?” asked Larry Marshall sleepily. “Gee I don’t know.” said Vancouver. “It's to settle a bet.” Larry said “Sorry,” and went back to bed. Her husband asked who it was. She told him. “There is no Canadian tour,” he said. “Oh," she said.
But Larry Marshall knows enough about the problems of golf pros to act as a kind of employment service for young pros who want jobs and for golf clubs who want young pros and to soothe the often-rumpled nerves of the men who play the world’s most nerverumpling game. She draws up timetables for CPGA tournaments and gives advice on wariness to bronzed, handsome golfers on tour among the pretty ladies of the continent's golf courses. She is the only living person to have seen the scrapbook of one young pro—who shall be nameless—who carries a complete record of his life around with him as Charlie Brown carries his blanket.
The Marshalls practice only one slight deception. Unwilling ever to go one down to their mighty and mightily organized U. S. counterpart, the two paid officers of the CPGA often run around their house from phone to phone—“they have different acoustics,” Larry says—answering from the “office of the publicity director” or being, temporarily, the “chief accountant” when the US PGA calls.
Other than that, though, says Larry Marshall, “it's a real par setup.”
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