Please allow me to stray from the golf for a second and try to explain the type of person I am "day to day". I come from a blue-collar background and I often tell the story about my Dad, Dominic Joseph Paolucci Sr. (I'm the Jr.). My Dad had it pretty tough growing up being that he was the oldest of 5 kids (6 actually - with his brother Paul dying at a very young age) and both of his parents died at an early age. He found himself, at about the ripe old age of 13 or 14, helping his aunt raise him and his sibling's and 'vehemently' seeing to it that the kids were not split up (which some people wanted to do).
My dad never had time for the mundane or frivolous things in life. He had to work and he had to become a provider. To his credit, he became (in my mind and a lot of other's) the very best electrician around. I remember in my earlier years when I had all of these grandiose dreams about what I would do with my life... my Dad would say most humbly and honestly, "all I ever pray for is that I wake up tomorrow healthy enough to go to work". Can you imagine most (any) kids saying something like that in this day and age? Don't get me wrong, I think dreams are what help us advance - in medicine, science, education, the arts etc... but my Dad didn't have the luxury of dreams. It is a shame too because if you had known my Father in his prime, you might just think the same things I used to think. Dad always loved and followed boxing (one of his very few diversions) and, not surprisingly, Rocco Francis Marchegiano was his favorite fighter. I used to love to hear him retell the blow by blow of some of the fights Rocky had and what a devastating puncher he was. Well, with all due respect to "the Rock"... given the chance and had he possessed the internal desire and someone to take him under their wing, I think my dad would have been better... WOW, WHAT A BOLD STATEMENT TO MAKE!!!
My Dad was taller than Rocky, weighed about 25 pounds more, without an ounce of fat, and had a pair of the most intimidating hands a man could possess. His hands were almost like 2 catcher's mitts with large sausage-like fingers - they looked like they could knock down a stone wall. To compliment those hands, my Dad had a huge barrell chest and from the back and without his shirt on, well, he looked like a grizzly bear (minus the fur). His lats were immense and the slightest movement would create a chain reaction of rippling muscle. Needless to say, I stood in awe of my Father... from the moment I realized he was my Dad until the horrible day in 1993 when he left us at the too young age of 75. Because of the efforts of my dad (and the patience and understanding of my poor Mother who had to deal with me more often than Dad), I was allowed the luxury of dreams. We were far from loaded but as soon as my brother Joe, sis Judy (sis is one year younger than Joe) and myself were of a reasonable age, my Mom took a job... she worked in a machine shop in a local factory - a man's Job. I don't know if I ever really understood or appreciated the sacrifices my parents made to give us a better life.
My sister was the first one to marry - and my parents "gave" her, her first house. My brother Joe probably has the most brains in the family and it was pretty clear early on that he would not be slaving in some too hot/too cold factory... my parents paid his way through college and he has been a successful accountant for over 40 years now. I wasn't too shabby in the brain area myself (although you may question that a little later on) as I was a member of the National Honor Society and voted the "Scholar Athlete" of the class of '69 from St. Pius X H.S. Additionally, I was chosen by the teachers and faculty members to represent my school in what they called the "Outstanding Teenagers Of America"... I don't even know if this still exists but I was proud as heck and yet, extremely humbled by it all. To top it off and despite scoring under 1100 on my SAT's, I applied to and was accepted by The University of Notre Dame, class of '73.
I'm not too proud of how I handled my college year's yet I can really only blame it on one thing... family bond. I was such a green kid when I went off to college and I was more than a little disenchanted as well (remember, this was the Viet Nam era). I remember one night sitting around with a bunch of my school mates watching the TV intently as they held a "lottery" of birth dates to see who would get drafted and in what order. It sickened me to see how everyone fretted about their birth date being called early (the earliest would be the first one's drafted). One of the poor saps actually had his birthday as the first number called - you would have thought the Viet Cong would be waiting back in his room, he was such a mess. I watched the whole thing with a very "I could care less" attitude (I think my number, November 28 was called somewhere well into the two hundreds).
I tell this story not as an excuse for my early departure from Notre Dame or to express any disdain for people whom I was trying NOT to view as cowards. It was more the fact that I sorely missed my family... Linda, my wife to be, and the Sunday spaghetti dinners that were part and parcel of our bond as a family. I failed to make the football team as a walk-on (we had one day - about 2 hours to "show our stuff"). I could not believe the tremendous number of non-scholarship, highly talented individuals I witnessed that day. They had about 12 quarterbacks alone and every one of them was way better than any high school QB I had ever seen. I actually had a pretty good day, or so I thought. When asked to take on the pass receivers one-on-one, no one caught a ball with me covering them. On offense, I caught every pass thrown my way - hell, I even led us in calisthenics to get the day started. But, I knew the inevitable was soon to come. They timed each of the offensive and defensive backs (I played both in high school) in the 40 yard dash and if I remember correctly, I didn't even break 5 seconds in the 40... end of Division I football dreams for old Nick.
It never occurred to me to pull a "Rudy" on the coaching staff. They called out the 4 or 5 names of guys they wanted to hang around while myself and about 100 other humbled fellows headed back to our dorm's with our sweat and more than a little bit of self-esteem oozing from our pores. The rest of the semester was pretty much a blur. I half-heartedly went to class and tried to pay attention. I did manage to pick up a love for handball while at ND and I met and played some 8-ball with Joe Theisman - the big man on campus. I was not a total fool during this time. I took in as much of the ND experience as I could. Pep rally's were unbelievable (with coach ARA Parseghian)... football games were great (though I never did get totally comfortable being a spectator and not a participant)... I lived in the newest dorms and the rooms and our clothes were kept immaculate for us - every day. As Fall turned to winter and I found myself trudging through a foot of snow to get to my next class, I had already made up my mind that I would transfer to Albright College at the end of the semester. It comes out pretty easy now as I write this but I can assure you, my mind, heart and faith were put to the supreme test those last couple of months at Notre Dame.
As the holidays came and went, I had already done the necessary paperwork to have my transcript forwarded to Albright. To my credit, and considering the state of mind I was in, I'm not ashamed to say that my grades that first semester were B's & C's (I think I may have had one A - remember, I did not apply more than about 20% of my effort to doing better - I guess I just wanted out). 1970, Spring semester at Albright College... still numb from the stark reality of the previous 6 months, Albright turned out to be a continuation of my apathy while at Notre Dame... if not worse. I probably cut more classes than I went to and I spent more time at Albright bowling and shooting pool than I ever did studying - talk about wasting my parent's hard-earned money. I should mention that I chose Albright because that was the school brother Joe chose - after spending 12 months in Southeast Asia. Brother Joe ended up graduating with honors and I lasted all of a year and a half - a total waste of my time and my parent's generosity.
It was time to man-up and take control of my life. I tried a few part-time jobs (mind numbing, each and every one). In 1972 I landed a job in the maintenance department at Firestone Tire and Rubber, the largest single employer in our area. It helped that my Dad had taken a job there just a few years earlier and he pulled just enough weight to get me in. It was a great fit and the 8 years at Firestone really helped set me up for the coming years of my new married life. Linda and I got married in December, 1973 and by working every available hour, 6 or 7 days a week and every holiday that was offered to me, we were able to purchase our first home in 1977 and begin, fairly comfortably, our lives as husband and wife. It should be noted that I didn't do it all by myself. Linda was working full-time for the State of Pennsylvania and our combined incomes were pretty decent considering I totally blew my post high school years and Linda had no desire at all to attend college. I should mention that while all of these things were going on in my life since high school, golf was still a constant and I remember spending every break time at Firestone in the "oil house" using a metal rod as a golf club. I practically wore that thing out during the 8 years at Firestone (they closed shop in 1980 but I had already had my next move planned). Additionally, I read every piece of golfing literature I could get my hands on and I was becoming known (locally, at least) as probably the best golfer in the Pottstown area. PLEASE BEAR WITH ME AS THIS EXTREMELY WORDY TREATISE does have a purpose. I'm trying to cover, as completely as possible without totally boring you, the years between 1972 (my first SERIOUS year in golf) and the present day. That is a 37 year span and I just can't cover it in one or two paragraphs.
When rumors started flying about the emminent demise of Firestone (it was OK with me... the lack of brain power needed to perform my job had left me feeling very unfulfilled), I had already decided that computers were the big wave of the future and shortly after getting my severance pay from Firestone, I enrolled at The Maxwell Institute to learn computer programming. I did very well at Maxwell and within a few weeks of graduation, I had taken a job with a company called ACI... I would be a software developer for ACI and even though my salary was quite a bit less than what I was used to at Firestone, I kept my nose to the grindstone, assured that the future would hold better things for myself and Linda.
As irony would have it, while sitting at home without a job (it was 1980 now) and preparing to go back to school, our one and only child was born... May 17, 1980. Jaime Lynn Paolucci (now 'Bunda')... I could write a thousand pages about Jaime alone but the most important thing as it concerned me was... I had finally matured. My life had turned around 180 degrees and Linda and I were as happy as any rookie parents could be. Jaime was (and still is) the light of my life. She was and continues to be every parent's dream come true. Jaime never (and I mean never) gave us one moment's grief... she was perfect in every way. She is beautiful, smart as could be (honor rolls - from her grade school days, through high school where she became Valedictorian and right through college at Franklin and Marshall where she graduated at the highest level - "Honor's List"... and it's not like she majored in Business Administration - her elective was Chemistry and upon graduation, she received several awards for the work she had done). Jaime is now a very successful Research Chemist for one of the largest pharmaceutical companies on the planet (for almost 8 years now) and she and Drew (a terrific son-in-law) have been married for over 6 years now and they blessed Linda and myself with little Dominic (the main reason for this whole web site undertaking). Dominic is approaching his second birthday and he is so cute with his very full, thick and lustrous head of wildly curly hair, he was often mistaken for a beautiful little girl... but we see the change occurring almost daily now and though he is still cute as a button, he is ALL boy and a continually moving dynamo of activity (he already has 3 sets of golf clubs... the little plastic set for toddlers, a tiny set of "real" clubs that Pop-Pop put together and a full set of store-bought kid's clubs ready to go when he is about 3 or 4 - IF HE WANTS TO - I WILL DEFINITELY NOT PUSH HIM - my only true concern is his happiness).
If you're wondering what MY actual golfing experiences consisted of during this time span, you have to go back to the whole introduction regarding my Dad and how I was brought up. First of all, I did consider early on (in the mid-70's) a try at professional golf. At the time, that 84 I shot at Arrowhead about 6 years prior, was still my highest score to date. I shot my share of sub-par scores but I seemed to be stuck in a 7 or 8 year rut of scores between 70 and 77 (actually, not a bad rut to be in). I tried unsuccessfully a couple of times to qualify for the U.S. Amateur and did my share of state amateurs and state opens. My immaturity really came out in a lot of those endeavors. I never started out with the right attitude. I knew that most of the guys I was competing against were what I called "silver spooners" (how immature I was)... products of well-to-do homes, country club members since they could walk with the best practice facilities and teachers at their disposal. In addition, most of them were high school golfing stars (already fairly seasoned competitors as far as golf goes). What a crappy attitude to have. How could I ever expect to compete thinking like that? What I should have been thinking was, "OK guys, you got a good headstart on me, but I've been tearing it up to try and catch up so, look out, I'm here now". It was a very childish way to feel and to make matters worse, it became a crutch to me... how could I play to the best of my ability while carrying around this enormous chip on my shoulder? It definitely showed in my lack of success and I have no one to blame but myself - oh, the wasted years and what I would give to have them back knowing what I know now.
Part of it goes all the way back to the very start of this section... how I was raised. Although I loved golf and competing, the most important things in my life were the day to day responsibilities... working, paying the bills, doing my best to make a nice life for Linda and Jaime. Don't get me wrong here, I would not have changed a thing during those "responsible" days. I've witnessed first-hand the sad and sorry life of "the golf bum"... guys with more than a fair degree of ability, convinced that they could take on the world, only to continually fall flat on their faces and then pick themselves back up and get right back into the fray... it is really a lonely and bleak existence and I surely wanted no part of it. I soon realized that the best I could hope for (since competition and not merely social golf was what truly got my juices flowing) was to hopefully give senior golf my best, belated effort... hopefully, by then, I would have done my best to fulfill my responsibilities as a husband, father and provider.
And so I continued to study the game, and to practice and play as much as possible. The unfortunate thing about being in the situation I was in was - since I never had any real continuous competition to keep me focused - I fell prey to what many other golfers fall into. If I wasn't breaking par consistently and tearing up the local public courses, well then, there must be something wrong in my swing. So between about 1980 until the present, I tried every new idea that came along. What I didn't realize at the time was that I was sabotaging many years worth of hard work. Hell, my body had started to take a shape dictated by my golf. When I stood what I thought was straight, my left shoulder was actually higher than my right. My left foot just always pointed out to the left while my right foor was square. At rest, my body was still in golfing go-mode and I had surely had enough success to know that I should have stayed with what worked for over 20 years and tweak it as I learned more and more.
As I knew then and espouse now, the tiniest little change can do wonders for your game. Instead of deciding that my swing was too much of a Nicklaus swing and wanting to make it more of a Hogan swing, I should have stayed with what had been working pretty well for years. The good thing though about this state of flux I was in, was that I became proficient at being a guinea pig - you name it, I tried it... while working with Jimmy Ballard, I mastered (at least for one swing - I've got it on film) the Ballard method... at one point, I hit about 150 balls with my 8-iron at a target about 150 yards away... I think my worst shot may have been about 20 feet off the mark - and yet, I knew in my heart - this swing was so far removed from what I had done for over 20 years that I could (would) never stick with it... the old groove was too deeply etched.
I exhausted both sides of Jim Hardy's "Plane Truth For Golfers" - spending many range hours and thousands of balls (and one-on-one instruction) on both the two plane & one plane swings -without any quantifiable success. Let me insert a disclaimer right here. I am not discrediting any of these fine gentlemen I am mentioning in this section. As far as I can tell, Mr. Ballard just might know more about the inner-workings of the human anatomy as it applies to the golf swing than any human being on earth. When Mr. Hardy first came out with his book and DVD's, I egomaniacally (who the hell was I to rate the working's of a consumate professional) declared it "The first true breakthrough in golf instruction in at least 50 years" - well, time and a whole new generation of potentially successful golfers will tell. And who could ever dispute the uncanny ability of one Mr. Moe Norman to hit perhaps the most consistently straight, well struck shots in the history of the game... I tried to swing like Moe - even went so far as to build a suitable set of clubs to fit the swing style (for me, 4 degrees upright from standard with thick, non-tapered grips)... I gave it a good six months but knew I could never stick with it even though I did experience enough of it's merits to understand what drives the Graves brothers and their excellent work in propagating the Norman swing*.
I watched the Dalton McCrary tapes more times than you could believe and found a lot of merit in what he had to say, as I did with A.J. Bonar and "The Truth" and David Leadbetter in his excellent and comprehensive interactive golf swing DVD series. The fact is that all of these teachers have tons of golfing knowledge to offer and are some of the brightest golfing minds we have today - BUT - the sheer number of instructors and their varous methods should evoke a very loud, obnoxious-sounding voice screaming in our ear's... WHO IS RIGHT, WHO IS WRONG, WHAT IS RIGHT, WHAT IS WRONG... WHO DO I BELIEVE, WHO DO I DISCARD... IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN TAKE AS GOSPEL WHEN IT COMES TO THE GOLF SWING... it is not as hard to answer as you may think. We all need to remember one very important premise regarding the learning of a reliable golf swing - THERE ARE VERY FEW ABSOLUTES IN GOLF - if we can identify the absolutes and discard the theoretical, we can take our first step's toward seriously improving our golf game's.
Regarding the above individuals and their amount of knowledge and ability to teach it, I am convinced that anyone of them, given a totally raw beginner and having that beginner work solely with them, that beginner would sooner rather than later, reach the fullest level of his/her golfing ability. Since most of us are not raw beginners or piles of moldable clay, we have to find out for ourselves - through diligent, quality practice, note taking, a complete understanding of ball flight characteristics - and a resolve to not jump onto the next "swing fashion" bandwagon in order to reach our full potential (It would only be fair to mention here that if you are not too far into your golf development, are willing to discard most or all of "what you think you know" and are willing to give yourself - mind and body - to following the teachings of any of the instructors/swing styles I've mentioned above, well - you could definitely do worse than choose any one of them... BUT, if you'll bear with me, you just may find all of the answers you need right here). I will have more such discussion in the section "teachers I have worked with"... for now, let me get us up to 2010.
In 1991, I took my second computer programming job with the world's largest electronic retailer. It was a job and a place I loved. I learned a lot and I worked very hard, making myself, at least in my mind, one of the more valuable contributors to the software development that was critical in helping the company prosper. I prospered as well. I spent 14 years with this company and somewhere around my 10th year, I was given, totally out of the blue and not at all expected, 100 corporate shares of stock in the company. Additionally, I had reached what had always been sort of a desired (but not ached for - I was never seriously motivated by the almighty dollar) milestone for me as an employee... I had become a six-figure earner. I had nice benefits, lots of vacation time, a superb work environment, wonderful co-workers, bosses who pretty much trusted me to do my job (in other words - didn't bother me unless absolutely necessary). At lunch, I would often go hit balls and after work, as often as not, I would either play a few holes or go hit more balls. Additionally, we had a 9-hole company golf league that was held at a better than average venue - "Downingtown CC" and my partner just happened to be the CIO and enjoyed the after-round cocktail as much as I did.
Life was good - but I grew restless. I did a fairly quick inventory of my situation. We had paid our house off a couple years earlier. Jaime had graduated college and we provided her with a rather lavish wedding if I do say so myself. In addition, those 100 shares of stock were worth quite a chunk of change and there was no telling if they would continue to increase in value. I was 52 years old and I still harbored a goal, yet unfulfilled - professional golf. If I was ever going to take the plunge, now was the time. I approached my boss in December, 2003 and trying my best to ignore all of the good things about my situation noted above (especially the potential financial repercussions), I retired from the rat race in February of 2004 - I was finally going to follow my dream and take what was for me, the biggest leap of faith ever - turning pro. ==> The Mini-tour Years
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I Take The Plunge...
