“Retired at 51? How does THAT happen?”
That was what Dale, the golf cart maintenance guy, asked me shortly into a conversation about why a 51-year-old was parking power carts, when it’s typically the job of a twenty-something. Being the same age, Dale couldn’t fathom how I could be retired so young, choosing to forgo a full-time income to put in part-time hours at a country club.
I told him the short version of the story: I’d made some smart financial decisions, I lived modestly, and the stock market had been kind. It allowed me to build a large enough nest egg to leave a strained career and take on this golf course adventure.
The longer version of how I retired at 51 starts with me growing up on Welfare. We didn’t go to the movies, go on vacations or eat out. We didn’t waste a thing, and we took care of our stuff.
When I turned 19, the government cut off my Welfare payments, and I was hastily driven into the workforce. I got a job at a local radio station, eventually becoming a sound editor and producer. It was a blast, but it was really low paying for a long time. Fortunately, years of living on Welfare had prepared me for it.
After 19 years in radio, I made a career move to become an editor and mixer at a recording studio, mostly working for the TV industry. I got a big bump in salary, and banked a large chunk of each paycheque. Again, I’d gotten used to living on the cheap.
After a dozen or so years at the studio, the thrill was gone, and my stress level had escalated tremendously. To save my health, I retired from the audio industry at age 51.
I’ve had a good partner along the way — my wife Sandy. She supported my decision to retire, trusting my calculations that one or both of us could quit our jobs and we’d still be able to have a fruitful retirement.
Sandy’s salary was also low for much of her career, though she’s finally getting rewarded in her current position. Even with only one income now, we’ve still managed to increase our savings, which says a little about Sandy’s salary and a lot about our lifestyle. We’ve never spent unduly on stuff, always trying to justify where our money goes. It’s what we didn’t spend over the years that got us to where we are today.
In addition to being frugal spenders, we’re diligent savers. We’ve always paid ourselves first, contributing 15-20% of our salaries to our RRSPs and TFSAs. Another reason we’ve been able to save so much is that we didn’t have children. Double income, no kids.
And luck has been on our side. Neither of us was ever without a job. Plus, the longest bull run in stock market history helped us reach our financial goals far sooner than originally projected.
When I quit my full-time job, I knew I would have a lot of time on my hands. With Sandy still working, I started to look for what I’ll call alternate sources of post-retirement activity and income. I had no desire to be a couch potato, and any small bit of income would contribute further to our nest egg.
Before I derived my list of potential post-career part-time jobs, I had one main consideration: would my 51-year-old body hold up to the rigours of a new job?
I’m pretty fit, but occasionally my aches and pains are fitting of a person with more miles under their belt. Almost daily I experience some pain and stiffness in the mornings. A heating pad and ibuprofen help. But because of this nastiness in my back and hips, I was hesitant to seek out a job that could be physically demanding.
I did some soul searching and, being a golf nut for a few years, started looking for a golf job. I was open to just about anything golf-related as long as it wouldn’t beat up my body, got me outside on a regular basis, had me conversing with happy people and, most importantly, had the benefits of free or discounted golf.
Through a friend, I was put on to the GM of a private golf club a few minutes from home. We set up a meeting in early July.
I was nervous. It had been a long time since I had applied for a job. My jitters eased quickly though, as the meeting was casual and the GM was great. Even though I didn’t have any experience that would directly qualify me for a job in the golf industry (outside of actually being a golfer), we agreed that my life experience and history of servicing clients would be a good asset.
Fast-forward to September. Exactly three months after walking away from my full-time career, I received a job offer to be a Backshop Associate, with part-time dates through the end of October. The daytime shifts were from 6-8 hours long, about 3 days a week. Perfect.
The position of Backshop Associate, or Backshop Boy as I call it because most of the guys doing the job are much younger, largely entailed the cleaning of golf clubs and storing them in the “backshop”, along with maintenance of the driving range and power carts, all while providing engaging, superior customer service to the members and guests.
My motivation for the job had little to do with the paycheque I’d receive. It wasn’t high-paying by any means, but it included perks like lunch every day and, the best part, free use of the golf course and practice facilities, as long as I didn’t take up a space allocated to a member. I accepted the offer immediately.
I arrived about twenty minutes early on my first day. In truth, I was itching to get there about two hours prior. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, and you couldn’t have wiped the smile off my face if you tried.
Without exception, everyone on the staff was awesome, and totally lenient with my learning curve. The members were fantastic too, welcoming me with a warm smile.
Some people my age feel they’re above servicing patrons in what they might think is a menial manner, but I didn’t feel that way. All the members were respectful of my higher level of maturity. And I’ve had some great conversations with interesting people, one of my favourite things in life.
I was pleasantly surprised at how my body endured the first day. I think the variety of tasks I performed prevented my body from repetitive fatigue. I actually felt that I had more energy at the end of the day than when I had my editing-at-a-desk job. I was invigorated.
In the following days, my tasks included picking the range — driving around the vehicle with the ball-collecting gizmo. (It’s always fun to be a target for the golfers; I know I’m always aiming for the picker dude whenever I’m hitting balls.) I also made a couple of golf-cart runs to the far reaches of the course and to pick up members from the parking lot.
Some of the staff, the golf pros in particular, told me how well they thought I was working out in my new position. One even used the phrase “secured your place here” — nice.
I finally got a chance to play the impressive course after about a week, and I’ve played many rounds since. It’s by far the best work perk ever.
In October, the club was short staffed and my hours increased. My body felt the accumulation of some physically-trying days. But I didn’t complain. There would be a hiatus between October and March and I could recover — if I didn’t play too much golf!
My last day of the season as a Backshop Boy was a blustery Friday at the end of October. Because of the wind, the superintendent made the difficult decision to close the course. Much of the staff went home, but I was asked to stay and do some sundry tasks. And then… the power went out; I couldn’t do anything inside because it was dark, and I couldn’t work outside because of the danger of falling trees.
Sitting with my feet up by the backshop door, I had time to take it all in, contemplating life while the trees swayed.
I used to get up at 5am so I’d have time to go to the gym before breakfast. Then the congested drive to work was filled with anxiety about the day ahead. I didn’t like my day-to-day work anymore, and I didn’t like who I’d become.
When people see me now, they tell me how relaxed and healthy I look. I don’t see it, but I do feel it. The heart palpitations are gone, as are the tension headaches. I’m happy.
It’s the off-season now. I still visit the club to practice and lend a hand, and I’ll play some winter golf. I’m content when I think about returning to my post-retirement job in the spring, welcoming the smiling faces and the sunshine. See ya next season!
About the author
Steve Bush is a writer, musician and recreational golfer. He and his wife of 29 years live in Richmond, British Columbia. After a 33-year career, Steve retired from the radio and television industries at the age of 51. His forthcoming lighthearted memoir recounts his personal journey from growing up on Welfare to his early retirement and life as a Backshop Boy.
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