1976 RETIREMENT PARTY

  THE  PRO

In 1989 Jonya and I and our families faced the death of our parents. Mother, Helen Stapp died in August of 1989 and our father, Johnie F. Stapp, Pro-Emeritus died of a broken heart in October of 1989. We were devastated. I held onto an old picture of mom and dad dancing at the club merely three weeks before "Sepsis" took our mother's life. I cherished that photo and knew that they had enjoyed life down to the last leg of the journey.

The Christmas of 1992 I opened a gift from my sister. Out of the four-foot-long box dropped a doll or a puppet. I couldn’t tell. As I picked up the folded character I looked into those blue eyes and saw my dad. I laughed and we all cried. In my arms that evening I held the figure of our dad in my lap. Thirty years later he sits to my right in my studio and keeps me smiling and persevering. Sometimes he appears on the mantel when we host golf parties.

https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2011/07/pro.html The Pro’s Story as I wrote 2011 on my personal blog Literally Letty.

Now here I sit February 15, 2024, writing the celebration of his life at the Miami Golf and Country Club retirement party December 1976. Please join me as I reminisce and share the photos.

1976 December 9 ‘Retiring Golf Pro Johnie Stapp Honored”

Some 250 members of the Miami Golf and Country Club were present Wednesday night to honor Johnie F. Stapp, who is retiring at the end of 1976 after serving the past 23 years as the club’s golf professional. The turnout was described as the largest for any social event in the history of the club.

Don Atchison, Johnie Stapp, Doc Jackson

 

Preparatory to Stapp’s retirement as the golf pro, greens-keeper and the man responsible for the golf shop, golf course, golf carts, and swimming pool, Don Atchison served as master of ceremonies. Called on to “roast” the honored guest were Claire Oliver, John F. Robinson, Marion Zajic, Chi Galloway, Bill Hirsch, Pat Campbell and daughter Letty Stapp Rains of Greensburg, Kansas. 

Helen Stapp, Bob Paul, Don Atchison, Flo Ragsdale, Johnie Stapp, John Robinson, Jonya Stapp, and Joe Hankins.

 

Presentations of plaques, certificates and special gifts were made by Florence Ragsdale on behalf of employees at the club; Joe Hankins, 1976 club president; Robbie (H.D.) Robinson; Doc Jackson and Harry Dean.  

Don Atchison, Johnie Stapp, Judy Atchison, Doc Jackson, Harry Dean reaching across and Dick Lillard on far right.

 A sample of remarks included: “He has made the Miami golf course one of the nicest to be found anywhere.” …” He has saved the club thousands of dollars through hard work beyond his regular duties.”…”Thanks to Johnie Stapp, there is no club I’d rather be a member of than this one.”…”The nicest thing about Johnie is his family, Helen, Letty, and Jonya.”

Don Atchison, Letty Stapp Rains, Rose Pratt, Johnie and Helen Stapp, John Robinson, and Jonya Stapp.

 

 

 Stapp received a standing ovation as he rose to make the final talk. “Thanks to all,” he said, “In 23 years here, there are so many who have helped me in so many ways that I wouldn’t attempt to call individual names. There is absolutely no way for me to express my true appreciation of what you have done. The success of this club belongs to its members and not me,” he declared. 

Jane Trussler, John and Ruth Chambers, Francis and Dail West, Helen Moore, Evelyn and Bill Hatfield.

Left, Mary Robinson. Center to front right: Grace and Rex Painter, Gail Beck, Pauline Taylor, Tammy Romick, Paul Parker

Left to right around the table: Mike and Jackie Craig, Dr. Elmer and Bernice Ogle, Billie and Lowell Lay, Jan and David Thomas.

Another 1976 honor for Stapp came in September when he was chosen “Golf Professional of the Year” in the Eastern Oklahoma chapter of the SC section of the PGA.

A Farewell Message from Johnie Stapp

 They say that if you live long enough they'll turn you out to pasture, and that's just what's happening to me. I've been looking forward to it for quite some time with mixed emotions. you would think with 40 acres, 40 cows, 4 ducks, 2 dogs, and 1 cat, and Helen that there would be plenty to do, not to mention a travel trailer to get away from it all. 

There was still something missing, and those of you who have frequented the Pro Shop the past few weeks have no doubt noticed the concerned expression on my face. Well, that has been the trouble, and just last week I discovered the solution to the whole thing right in my own backyard. 

Three pigeons on the putting clock, namely Barton, Kerr, and Carselowey. Of course, there are others too, such as May, Hatfield, Beck, and Shouse. I am not so sure about Shouse; he's back at work part-time. Maybe the first three got too deep into his pocket or could be inflation or too much garden work. But if things come to the worst there's always the C.S. club, I mean the Jolly Boys. I can fall back on them and pick up a few nickels. 

(My father along with Marion Zajic, Charlie Trussler and many more over the years began the C.S. (chicken shit) club about 1957 in the two-car garage attached behind our house on H N.E. The men gathered every Thursday night to play ping-pong for nickels, dimes but mostly to drink, smoke, and have fun. Jonya and I would watch through the window into the smoke-filled room, spying on the men. When the club was redecorated in 1962-63 the C.S. club moved to men's upstairs card room, the bar, and where-ever else there was room. The lights on the putting clock invited many hours of drinks and memories.) 

Now that my problems are worked out, I'll tell you what Helen and I plan to do for Christmas. Instead of sending cards to all of our friends (the entire membership), we thought it would be nice to plant a cluster of four dogwood trees in the rough between #15 tee and #18 green. The slicers will love that location and we will be remembered for a long time.

 We won't say goodbye because you will probably be seeing just as much of us as ever, but we want to thank you each and every one for being so kind, cooperative, and wonderful beyond explanation to a family who has spent 23 of the happiest years of their lives with you.  

Sincerely,

The Stapp Family

 

1964-68 Mornings at the Club--A Personal Story, part 1

 

Letty and Faye Berentz, 2013 Such stories we could tell....

     Often my mornings began with a cheerful boot out of the car and my mother’s words, “Smile and be kind to everyone today, Letty.”   With sleepy eyes I wondered toward the golf shop.  The sun was usually on the horizon, and the grass was wet with morning dew, as I stumbled toward the golf shop scratching my tight pony tail.  Old Bill would already have the shop doors open and the basement wall fan turned on sucking in the cool morning air like a giant windmill.  I did my best to give a cheerful “Hi, Bill, how’s it going?” but was most often met with a reply “Morning.”  His words rolled from his mouth like thick molasses.

I was fifteen the year I began to open the golf shop and work from early morning till 2:00 Tuesday through Saturday in the summers. Prior to turning 15, Westphal's opened the shop and I showed up between 7-8, but now they had retired. On busy summer days one of the boys would work the morning shift with us. My favorite co-heart was Bobbie Ballenger, but it was a young man named Dale who sent me my first flowers. I think he had a crush on me.

 My first job was to help Bill set out clubs of the early morning regulars, the dew sweepers as we called them.  Hattie, Evelyn, Faye, Yvonne, LaRue and the men from Goodrich who played golf immediately after their night shift were the first ones for which we prepared.

          If Hattie’s clubs weren’t out front when she arrived, her brisk strut and mannerisms barked, “Where are my clubs? You knew I was coming out to play early!”

Old Bill’s response was simple, “Umph!,” then he would duck his head, stoop his shoulders forward with eyes looking at the ground, and ever more slowly stepped down into the club storage room to retrieve her clubs.  I secretly chuckled when he grumbled, “That woman!  She’s never happy, never.  Couldn’t make her happy.”  

I held my words and quietly talked in my head, “Haven’t you ever heard her laugh with the women downstairs after a round of golf.  She giggles like a silly child.”

          One early morning I had the clubs lined up and Bill was working on golf carts in the back when a member growled at me, “Letty, I don’t see my clubs set out.  Didn’t you pay attention to the tee times?”

          My head, too, ducked, but then I regrouped and replied gaily, “They’re out there.  You just didn’t seem them.”  I was to learn later that day that that was not the correct response.  I learned to say, always with a sincere smile, “I’m sorry.  Let me check.  I may have overlooked yours.”

 The club house, an old Tudor style brick building, had no fresh air breathing through it.   The golf shop, club storage, and cart storage covered the north side of the bottom floor.  The men’s locker room faced the east and the ladies locker room simply was another two steps down into the center of the basement or lower floor.  On those steamy hot mornings when the wind didn’t stir, I would dash through the basement and up the connecting stairs to the main entrance South doors, leaving all the doors open behind me and I used cases of beer hold open the South doors.  Once a breeze was created and fresh air traveled through the lower portion of the building I could breathe.  Without the fresh air from South to North the building smelled of stale smoke.     

          Somewhere between 8-9am there would be a break in the action, and I would trot upstairs to pick up a fresh glass of ice tea made by the Garsky’s, the couple who cleaned the clubhouse and lived upstairs.  There was nothing better in the world than fresh brewed tea on a crisp summer morning.  So began my delightful addiction to the world of teas, fresh brewed only.  I realize now that the tea was another way to set myself apart from my mother’s bridge club and her world of coffee, mints, and women’s talk.  Such a simple peaceful way to set myself apart.  The Garsky’s were a firm stalwart couple who never had much to say, but always greeted me with a smile.  Some mornings I actually sat down on the second floor screened in porch where children could sit in wet bathing suits to eat lunch.  I would look out at the golf course and swimming pool, just watching and dreaming.  I felt so grown up, acting as if I were in charge.