Caddying at The Belgrade
Caddying at the Belgrade Hotel was no small task, that is, for us nine-year-olds that got called that memorable day. You may ask why in the world were kids that young caddying to start with. Here is the story. In July or August of 1956, only a couple of months before the grand old Belgrade (circa 1902‑1956) burned to the ground, a large gathering happened at the famous hotel in Belgrade Lakes. Apparently, attendees were invited to golf and many did. When the usual contingent of local boys who caddied fell short of the need, the golf pro sent word through the village that anyone who showed up would get a client (so called). Three or four of us youngsters left the swimming hole at the dam and made a dash for home, all with anticipation of making the big leagues! With a quick explanation to mother, we received dry clothes and then hurried up to the hotel.
Arriving breathless, fingers pointed us to the pro shop under the big porch to announce our arrival to the pro. We shyly listened intently and were told to wait outside under the Big Pines, always where the older boys hung out while playing mumblypeg. Time went by as the older boys responded to a yell from the pro, and we sat awaiting the call of our name.
In what seemed like an eternity, the last foursome of golfers came to the staging area to tee off. The pro called for all four of us and we shyly met our clients, who actually had to show us how to carry a golf bag. In most cases, the bags dragged the ground and none of us knew a putter from a 6iron. Our clients were forgiving and did not expect much, as long as we carried on through all nine holes. There were no golf carts or bag dollies used that day, if ever, at The Belgrade.
The pay that day I do not recall, but likely two or three dollars. My only other job that summer was mowing grass weekly at Gilman’s Camps, now called Village Camps. Old Elmer Greene was the caretaker there and he gave me six dollars for the day, and I thought I was rich!
We all went home that day with stories to tell our parents while at the supper table. We complained about sore, raw shoulders from the bag straps. We boasted for the next week and talked of making the big-bucks next summer. In October that year, the whole town, young and old, stood where the Sunset Grill is now, and watched the inferno that mowed down The Belgrade to mere ashes. It was not for trying, as before the fire was over 21 firetrucks responded from around Central Maine. The southwest wind that evening made sure nothing was left standing. The fire had started on the windward end and proceeded until the turret you see in the photo toppled to the ground. It was the end of an era, never to be replaced.
Belgrade Hotel
Rod Johnson, a.k.a. “The Luckiest Boy,” is a member of the Belgrade Historical Society.
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