From the December 2016 issue of GCM magazine:
Living legend
You could make the case that Paul R. Latshaw, GCSAA’s 2017 Old Tom Morris Award recipient,
tops an all-star list of his profession’s best. Plenty of people gladly make that case for him.
Photos by David Campli
Howard Richman
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To call Red Cross, Pa., “rural” may be an understatement.
It is a tiny piece of Jackson Township that’s considered a village. The population there in the 1940s, which in those days included a young boy by the name of Paul R. Latshaw (more on the story behind his middle initial later), was 60 something. Red Cross had a church, a post office and a general store — at least until a fire destroyed the post office and the general store.
“Didn’t have a traffic light when we were growing up. Still doesn’t,” says Gene Zartman, who has known Latshaw since they hung out together as youths during an era in which a world war ended and the Cold War started. “Red Cross was as country as you could get. Really, it was just a whistle stop.”
Latshaw did his part to put it on the map. Red Cross served as the launching pad for one fantastic journey, a magical ride that some in the industry say catapulted Latshaw to the mountaintop of his profession. Consider his life story to be the perfect marriage of small town, big impact.
“I think he’s one of the greatest golf course superintendents who ever lived,” says Matt Shaffer, director of golf course management at Merion Golf Club in Ardmore, Pa. “He changed an industry. Who does that?”
GCSAA’s latest recipient of its distinguished Old Tom Morris Award, that’s who.
Latshaw is to his industry what Frank Sinatra was to music. What Jimmy Stewart was to movies. What Michael Jordan was to basketball. He presided over a Mount Rushmore of iconic golf clubs — Augusta National Golf Club, Congressional Country Club, Riviera Country Club, Winged Foot Golf Club, and Oakmont Country Club. It’s a stacked résumé, to be sure. And how many people can say they worked at two of those clubs (Congressional and Riviera) at the same time? Latshaw can. In fact, he is the only superintendent who has hosted the Masters, U.S. Open and PGA Championship. “In my opinion, he is the best superintendent in the business,” says superintendent John Zimmers, a Latshaw disciple, who is now at Oakmont (Pa.) CC. “He hosted nine majors. That puts him at another level.”
Latshaw has the credentials to be considered among the ultimate turfmasters. He may have done more than anybody to increase the salaries for those who share his job description. He proved to be an innovator of products and equipment. He made volunteering at major championships chic. He wasn’t afraid to simply try new things, capitalizing on his legendary boundless energy and stamina to explore possibilities where others may have feared to tread. “In an unselfish way, he helped bring so many innovations to the market that benefited not only him, but they benefited the entire industry worldwide,” says industry veteran Tom Wait, who has known Latshaw since the 1980s. “He should be a role model for the young people entering this industry. He should be an inspiration for them.”
Approximately 100 people who worked for Latshaw went on to become superintendents. One of them, Pete Wendt, CGCS, the director of golf courses and grounds at Woodmont Country Club in Rockville, Md., was an intern for Latshaw at Congressional CC in Bethesda, Md. “I think everyone wanted to have Paul Latshaw on their résumé,” Wendt says. “He was cutting-edge. He is the most renowned superintendent there was.”
The list of people whose careers were sparked by Latshaw includes Shaffer, who worked for Latshaw at Augusta National. “I had been a superintendent for 13 years, but I got bored. I was going to quit, get a biology degree, teach high school. He threw me a rope, and I was smart enough to grab it,” Shaffer says. “He is a grinder. Dedicated. His secret, to me, was you don’t do things on your schedule — you do it on the plant’s schedule. If it’s wilting at 4 o’clock on Sunday afternoon, you be there at 4 o’clock on Sunday afternoon.”
When news began to spread about Latshaw receiving the 2017 Old Tom Morris Award, it ignited plenty of emotions. Loyalty for him runs deep. “About time,” says Jim Roney, the GCSAA Class A superintendent at Saucon Valley Country Club in Bethlehem, Pa. Aqua-Aid chief operating officer Sam Green, who worked for Latshaw 23 years ago, says, “I got a big lump in my throat when I heard he got it. We have an unbreakable bond.”
As for becoming only the fourth superintendent to receive the Old Tom Morris Award (Sherwood Moore, CGCS, Walter Woods and Col. John Morley are the others), Latshaw is befuddled about all the fuss over somebody who literally came out of nowhere — personally and professionally. He will be presented with the award at the 2017 Golf Industry Show in Orlando, during the Opening Night Celebration on Tuesday, Feb. 7, which is presented in partnership with Syngenta. “It is quite an honor, but I still question whether I deserve it,” the 51-year GCSAA member says.
A checklist of goods
To define Latshaw, well, let’s let those who really know him try.
Leader? Check.
“Where do you start? Great mentor. Very cool under pressure, and it didn’t matter what the job was. He could see the outcome, persevere, whatever the conditions. He prepared, laid it all out, gave the effort, made things clear,” says Eric McPherson, CGCS, director of greens and grounds at Omaha (Neb.) Country Club, who worked for Latshaw at Congressional.
Focused? Check.
Steve Glossinger, CGCS, from Caves Valley Golf Club in Owings Mills, Md., who volunteered at a major hosted by Latshaw, says, “He’s no-nonsense. He got right to the meat of the thing. He’s done just about everything there is to do on a golf course.” Eric Greytok, national sales manager for Macro-Sorb, worked for Latshaw at Congressional and at Riviera Country Club in Pacific Palisades, Calif., and says the experiences shaped his career. “He was very tough and demanding. He brought his ‘A’ game every day, and he expected you to do the same,” Greytok says. “He always said that if you have healthy soil, you’re going to have a healthy plant. I carried that with me everywhere I worked.”
More than just a boss? Check.
Riviera Country Club in Pacific Palisades, Calif., is a familiar spot for Latshaw, shown here with Riviera superintendent Matt Morton. Latshaw oversaw the course in 1998 and continues to serve there as a consultant.
Photo by April Rocha
“He was there when my daughter was born,” says Paul Ramina, a Latshaw protégé at stops that included Congressional and who is now a corporate agronomist for Floratine. “With him, you’re not on an island. It was all of us together. You’d feel his energy. He’d show anything is possible.” His compassion for others is witnessed daily by Latshaw’s life partner, Wally Mancini, whom he met in 2011. “He makes you feel a part of whatever he tries to achieve. He makes me feel important, and what I feel and think is very important to him,” she says.
Willing to jump in and help the crew? Check.
“One Sunday afternoon at Augusta National, the main line broke and caused a leak on the property. We had to dig a trench. Paul was there the whole time. Afterward, he bought me lunch,” says Jon O’Donnell, now president at Heritage Links, a Houston-based golf course construction company. “The interesting thing about Paul is that he’s really a jovial guy. He was serious about his job, but he was fun to work with. You knew you were in trouble with him when he didn’t have any jokes to crack.”
Role model father? Check.
“He is the most influential person in my life,” says son Paul B. Latshaw, CGCS, who followed his father into the business and is now director of grounds operations at Muirfield Village Golf Club in Dublin, Ohio. “When I was 12, I helped him out at Oakmont. He couldn’t put me on the payroll, so he paid me out of his own pocket. He just has a commitment to excellence, an impeccable work ethic, and was a taskmaster who just wanted to get the best out of you. He is a pioneer. He’s got to be.”
A change of plans
At age 17, three weeks after high school graduation, Latshaw joined the Navy. He worked his way up to second-class petty officer. The process helped formulate a blueprint for his future, even if he didn’t know it at the time. He soaked up the experience, which would serve him well when golf entered the picture. “I learned a lot about leadership in the Navy. You knew who was the boss,” Latshaw says. “You have rules, and you enforce them. You always knew where you stood.”
In 1962, Latshaw was discharged. The plan was to return to Red Cross and work on the farm for his parents, Paul and Margaret Latshaw, children of German immigrants who spoke Pennsylvania Dutch to everyone except Paul and his brother, Ken, and sister, Marvie. “I was probably a mistake. Dad was in his 40s when they had me,” says Latshaw, whose middle name is Robert. (Why? His mother’s father, Robert Smeltz, paid Paul’s dad $5 to make Robert his middle name.)
The Latshaws lived in a pre-1900 log cabin. The family didn’t have a television until Paul came home from the Navy. Their property featured a poultry farm, where they sold the Leghorn and Rhode Island Red chickens that they raised to a local packing plant. “When I was younger, every Saturday morning, I chopped the head off one of them (chickens) for Sunday dinner. I hate to say it, but I had no problem doing it,” Latshaw says. This is where, and when, Latshaw developed his tireless work ethic. “Let’s face it — if you didn’t work, you didn’t have anything,” he says. “If you wanted something, you had to work for it.”
Saucon Valley CC in Bethlehem, Pa., welcomed a visit on a day this fall from Latshaw, seen here with Saucon Valley GCSAA Class A superintendent Jim Roney.
The plan to spend the rest of his life on a farm in Red Cross got put on hold while Latshaw tried something new. Frosty Valley Country Club in Danville, Pa., was barely a year old at the time, and not only needed work, but also workers. Latshaw, who had never set foot on a golf course before, was hired to help whip the course into shape. There was nothing sexy about the work, however. “I hauled dirt. Did seed bed preparation. I put a hose in a wheelbarrow and pushed it around to water the greens. We didn’t have carts. I did a lot of walking,” says Latshaw, who later in his career gained a reputation for carrying a bucket around the course, slinging topdressing and singing “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” while he worked.
Latshaw credits then-Frosty Valley superintendent Bruce Denning for unlocking his potential and creating a vision for his future. “He took me under his wing. I owe my career to him,” Latshaw says. Denning appreciates what Latshaw accomplished. “Wonderful young man. He worked hard for me,” says Denning, who contacted famed Penn State University turfgrass professor Joseph M. Duich, Ph.D., the man who would pave the way for Latshaw to attend college.
By the time he’d completed his education at Penn State, Latshaw knew his fate, and it did not include a homecoming in Red Cross. “After one month at Frosty Valley, I knew this is what I wanted to do,” he says. “I really knew.”
Farming’s loss was golf’s gain.
A wanted man
It is no coincidence that Latshaw hosted multiple major championships. In all, he was the host for four Masters, two U.S. Opens, two U.S. Senior Opens, and one PGA Championship. That lone PGA Championship signaled that Latshaw was a wanted man, hired for major moments.
In fact, Oakmont, which would host that 1978 PGA Championship, brought plenty of manpower when it showed up to meet Latshaw in 1975 at Shaker Heights (Ohio) Country Club, which was his second job as a superintendent (The Country Club of Jackson, Mich., was his first). Knowing that their current superintendent, Lou Scalzo, would be retiring in 1976, Oakmont brass targeted Latshaw, whose formula for success never skipped a day. “Each day you work hard, don’t give up, and you can accomplish things,” he says. “I wanted the course in its best condition and playing the same Tuesday and Wednesday as it did Saturday and Sunday. We strived for perfection.”
What made Oakmont’s wooing of him so intriguing was that Latshaw wasn’t sure he really wanted the job, as he had another option. To subsidize their lifestyle, the Latshaws had invested in a Stretch & Sew Fabrics franchise, which was one of 353 worldwide. “We had a pretty good business going on the side,” Latshaw says.
Eight members from Oakmont, including USGA executive committee member Jack Mahaffey, interviewed Latshaw, and they left without an answer to their offer. They tried again. And again. On the third try, Latshaw rewarded their persistence. He said yes, and was granted a salary of $35,000. The money didn’t compare with his driving purpose, however. “I had never hosted a major. I decided I really wanted one,” says Latshaw, noting that in time his pay increases at every new job seemed to raise the salaries of superintendents in the areas where he landed.
Latshaw says he got 18 greens at the 1978 PGA Championship “as hard as a wooden table.” It was a treat for him to work in the Pittsburgh area, because his idol was Pittsburgh Steelers coach Chuck Noll, who led his team to four Super Bowl titles. “He was a leader — probably the best coach in the world,” says Latshaw, who also oversaw the 1983 U.S. Open at Oakmont. “He built a dynasty, but he never took the credit.”
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Paul and Phyllis Latshaw
were married for 41 years
until her death in 2004.
Photos courtesy of Paul B. Latshaw
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Paul B. Latshaw, in the passenger seat, followed in his father’s footsteps. He first worked for his dad at age 12 at Oakmont (Pa.) Country Club.
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More majors would come following Oakmont. He left there in 1986 for Augusta National, home of the Masters in Augusta, Ga., doubling his salary to $70,000. “They asked me for a budget. I turned it in. No one ever questioned it,” he says of his time there. “I had a key for everything except the wine cellar.” The only pressure he faced there, Latshaw says, was playability. Augusta National members weren’t allowed to speak to him. Only Masters tournament chairman at the time, Hord Hardin, could. Yet occasionally when he was on the course, Latshaw would hear a “Doin’ good” from a member off in the distance. He even once heard from a legendary golfer after greens speeds were criticized during one particular Masters. “The phone rings. It’s Tom Watson. He said, ‘Let the babies cry. This is championship golf,’” Latshaw says.
In 1989, a golf course without the historic pedigree of Augusta National called Latshaw. Wilmington (Del.) Country Club was prepared to make a major investment in Latshaw, and also a concession to his personal desire to hire his son as an assistant, something he says that Augusta National forbade. That investment — an annual salary of $100,000 —would elevate Latshaw to what was then an unheard of level of pay in the industry. “There was nobody better than Paul. We wanted to make a change, and we were willing to spend the money to get him,” says Jay Brinsfield, who at the time was the green chairman at Wilmington. “It was money well spent. He made us a lot better. Everything got better. It made you proud to be a WCC member.”
His desire to oversee another major drew Latshaw to Congressional CC in 1993, where a U.S. Senior Open (1995) and U.S. Open (1997) lined the horizon for the Maryland course. Latshaw encountered challenges, but nothing he wasn’t willing to tackle.
“We had to kill the fairways and start anew. We aerified until we couldn’t aerify anymore. We were punching holes in holes. The membership was furious,” says Latshaw, who always carried a soil probe and a knife because he wanted to know his greens, and made every effort to show his face around the club because he wanted to be a superintendent that could never be criticized for hiding from the membership. “We had a meeting, and it wasn’t pretty. I got bombarded with ugly comments. Someone said they never should’ve hired me.” That person may not have known it, but he was, in essence, a motivational speaker. Latshaw set out to prove him wrong. “We got the damn thing together,” he says.
A really major moment
Unprecedented? Perhaps. Unparalleled? Maybe.
Based on more than one assessment, the 1997 U.S. Open at Congressional may have been one-of-a-kind when it comes to course conditions — and Latshaw had his fingerprints all over it.
“If you’d ask me to find one thing I didn’t like, I’d have a tough time finding it,” says Davis Love III, this year’s U.S. Ryder Cup captain and a player in the U.S. Open at Congressional 19 years ago. “They left no stone unturned.” Tim Moraghan, at that time director of championship agronomy at the USGA, concurs. “At that particular moment in time, in my opinion, it was the perfect golf course,” Moraghan says. “I didn’t have one player come to me and complain about something.”
As was his style, Latshaw’s willingness to stick out his neck was never more evident than during that U.S. Open. His innovative decision to walk-mow the bentgrass fairways instead of using triplex mowers in order to protect the rough raised some eyebrows. Latshaw secured nearly 30 walk mowers, which were operated by some of his volunteer army, a practice he initiated at his first major at Oakmont. These days, that arsenal of volunteers has grown from seven to as many as 100 or more at majors.
Latshaw’s mowing plan was ratified by USGA president Judy Bell, who saw that U.S. Open as a vehicle to help make Latshaw, his staff and his volunteers shine. “I always got to know the superintendent. When we go to a golf course to set it up, it’s the superintendent who is going to make it work,” Bell says. “I’d always known they (superintendents) don’t get enough recognition. In a small way, we tried to make up for that.”
Given freedom, Latshaw — to borrow a baseball analogy — swung for the fences. “The greens were green and lightning fast, fairways were like pool table tops, and we grew a rough as brutal as you’d ever see,” Latshaw says. “We wanted that rough standing up. I didn’t want to peak too quick for the championship, but things just kept getting better and better.”
Mike Wolpoff, who worked for Latshaw at Congressional and Riviera and credits him for coming up with his nickname, “WoofWoof,” says the 1997 U.S. Open exemplified the Latshaw way. “He gets the right people in the right places to reach the goals he has, which are outrageously high, but that’s a good thing. That’s the only Paul Latshaw I know, and he is the greatest living wealth of knowledge in our industry,” says Wolpoff, now the GCSAA Class A superintendent at Friendly Hills Country Club in Whittier, Calif. “Walk mowing the fairways was fairly intense. There was no blade of grass left to miss.”
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Latshaw and his life partner, Wally Mancini. “He is kind, loving, giving — a man of strong conviction of whatever he believes in and wants to achieve,” she says.
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Paul R. Latshaw (second from
the right) spends time with his son Paul B. Latshaw (second from the left) during a visit to Muirfield Village GC in Dublin, Ohio. They are flanked by Jake Gargasz (left) and John Zimmers.
Photo courtesy of Paul B. Latshaw
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Chalk one up for Latshaw, who dared to dream. “I won’t lie to you. I wanted to be the best,” he says.
Following the U.S. Open triumph, Congressional didn’t want to lose Latshaw, which is why they allowed for him to work too for Riviera CC in California in late 1997 through 1998 as that facility prepared for a U.S. Senior Open. Latshaw performed his magic to resurrect the greens, even while traveling back and forth, splitting time between the two jobs, to get things done. “The sound management practices that Mr. Latshaw brought to RCC still resonate with our team and will continue to do so for years to come,” says Riviera owner Noboru Watanabe. Riviera superintendent Matt Morton adds, “He kind of rallies people, steers the ship. You want to give back to the industry what he has given to us. He’s always seen an end game, thinking five, 10 years ahead.”
Latshaw departed Congressional in 1999 for Winged Foot in Mamaroneck, N.Y. And why not? A U.S. Open was coming in 2006. Unfortunately, though, he didn’t make it that long. He retired in 2001 when his wife, Phyllis, became ill. They had been married 41 years when she passed away from blood cancer three years later.
After that, Latshaw transitioned into the consulting business, and he still makes visits to places such as Riviera. One of his consulting stops used to include Sherwood Country Club in Thousand Oaks, Calif., where then-superintendent Sean Dyer welcomed Latshaw’s input. “He helped me understand soil science, finding solutions that were scientifically based, and not just shoot from the hip to try to do it,” Dyer says. “That’s huge in California, where, with our water situation, the margin for error is small. Without him, I would have failed.”
Look at him now
Those old 4 a.m. wake-up calls now come at least 90 minutes later for Latshaw. He is adjusting nicely to retirement — if you want to call it that, given that he still makes house calls for golf courses seeking his advice. He used to be in bed by 8 every night, but that’s no longer a given. “I’ll start my day with a McDonald’s coffee. I like to put honey in it,” says Latshaw, who now may end his day watching a movie on Netflix. “Give me a movie, big box of popcorn, and I’m in heaven.”
Besides having a home in Souderton, Pa., which is about 36 miles northwest of Philadelphia, Latshaw and Mancini spend several days at a time on their 450-acre farm in Coudersport, Pa., which is more than a four-hour drive from Souderton.
Latshaw enjoys attending Calvary Church and listening to teaching pastor Charles Zimmerman. Services are inspirational and feature banjo music and lots of hand clapping. “I’ve started to think about heaven and hell. I want to get in the front door there,” Latshaw says.
He religiously reads periodicals such as The Wall Street Journal. There’s a purpose behind it. Latshaw dabbles in the stock market. He attempts to purchase one stock per weekday. “I’ve got a lot of money tied up in investments. Energy, biotech — things like that,” he says.
Ironically, Latshaw never latched on to playing the game of golf. He tried it a few times with Denning at Frosty Valley until his mentor put a stop to it. “He said, ‘Paul, golf’s not your game.’ He said to go play tennis.”
Latshaw, who will turn 76 on Dec. 14, says he is in pretty good health, although a pinched nerve in his back forced him to walk with a cane earlier this year. Now, though, you can find him every morning on the elliptical machine at Planet Fitness. “For the most part, Mother Nature’s been pretty good to me,” he says.
It’s hard to believe 15 years have passed since Latshaw was a superintendent. No need to remind him; he knows. “Do I miss it? I’d be lying if I say I didn’t,” he says. He is honest, and brief, about what he considers to be the secret to the business. “You’ve really got to love it. It’s not for the weak of heart,” he says.
That comes straight from Latshaw’s heart — and from a man who authored a career that may serve as the book on becoming the ultimate superintendent. The first chapter of that book, which began in tiny Red Cross, is still remembered there. “He deserves all the accolades you want to give him,” says Zartman. “He got us tickets once for Oakmont, and we saw what he did there. Nothing stood in his way.”
Howard Richman is GCM’s associate editor.