Golf Pro DeStefano Celebrating A Half Century Of Service

Bob DeStefano, the golf professional at Gardiners Bay Country Club, celebrates his 50th year this month, which is a PGA record. When he arrived in 1962, membership was $100, and the 150-acre, 18-hole course was valued at $150,000. The club was started in 1951 by local residents who leased the land.

Bob began his career as a caddy at Hollywood (New Jersey) Golf Club. This nice Italian boy got to meet celebrities like Joe DiMaggio, Phil Silvers, Toots Shor and the like, whose golf was often less than stellar, and he learned at an early age how to handle inflated egos and the demands of titans of industry. He went on to win the caddy championship four years in a row, then became the Coast Guard champion, which marked the beginning of his teaching career. As a result of his success, he was asked to coach the officers, which was a daunting task, as he had never taken a lesson let alone read up on the subject, and had simply depended on his natural ability and observational skills. Frantic research led him to discover the difficulty and capriciousness of golf swing theory, which was news to him, and caused him to start analyzing and altering his own swing, to his detriment.

His 50 years are distinguished by his dedication to youth on Shelter Island and his annual Junior Golf program open to resident island children, not just club members. This has won him National PGA awards and has led to him being featured in television documentaries. To adult members, he is memorable for his endless mantra: “Swing the club to the target”—it’s that simple, he says, given basic grip and stance instruction. Such quasi-mystical advice has earned him the nickname of Yoda from his pals, and the credit of treating golf like Western Zen, which it is to many fairway hackers, to whom “effortless effort” remains a conundrum.

In 1962, the Hamptons were relatively undiscovered and the private golf club scene was dominated by Maidstone, Shinnecock and National, all of which had been founded at the turn of the century. Here, the elite pursued their comfortable summers in their secure and carefully understated bastions of privilege undisturbed by the unfamiliar or foreign. Then came the barbarians through the gate, as the locals called it; McMansions mushroomed and farms disappeared as the potato farmers traded in their plowshares for Porsches.

The Masters of the Universe found the portals of golf privilege barred to them due to legacy quotas, so in 1991 they created the Atlantic Golf Club with the then-scandalous initiation fee of $100,000. That number is now nearer $1 million if you care to join The Bridge or Sebonack. This works out, with annual dues, to about $1,000 a stroke, at 50 rounds a year, over 30 years, shooting in the 90s. (Less than 10 percent of golfers honestly break 100.) Further indulgences at The Bridge allow the wearing of T-shirts and cargo pants plus flip-flops, if so inclined, in defiance of the well-pressed attire and manners of the crusty set by the sea. Cell phones are also allowed on the course. This is frowned on and prohibited as ungentlemanly behavior at other clubs but is largely ignored in the interests of business.

Bob has seen it all, including the opening up of his beloved club to “off-islanders” such as this writer, to whom he extends a warm, if cautious, greeting until he is sure you will become one of the crowd and not start creating waves. His career is unblemished with no substance abuse apart from the discrete use of Clairol in order to retain his Elvis-like “black” locks; he has the looks, too. His hip wiggles, at address, have been known to cause many a palpitation—among the ladies, that is—and he is never happier than when he has a microphone in his hand and the opportunity to regale and tease a captive audience.

Bob is the salt of the earth that originated in Italy and brings with it the warmth, kindness and dedication to others. Like good wine and a rare vintage, he is now at his peak, and we all celebrate his achievement and extend to him and his beloved wife, Ann, and family every good wish for health and happiness. He is by no means finished—he’s running for supervisor on Shelter Island in the fall, so vote for Bob DeStefano—he looks like Elvis the Pelvis and is quite a swinger, in his own way, too.

John H. Thomas is an avid golfer and a member at Gardiners Bay Country Club.