Lee Geiger

People make places.

Dennis Satyshur

The arrival of dusk colors the sky like a cool pair of aviator shades. It’s late in the day, a brisk Friday afternoon in October, and the setting sun has propelled the fall foliage into overdrive. I’m walking down the middle of the second fairway at Caves Valley Golf Club, deep in thought about nothing, save perhaps the location of my golf ball. I want to get in a quick nine before dinner, whereupon Michael, the rail-thin clubhouse maître de who always seems to know what I want before I do, has promised a mouth-watering plate of soft-shell crabs will be waiting for me when I’m finished. Damn, I love Caves.

My peaceful meditation before the golf gods is soon interrupted, for behind my left shoulder I recognize the muffled crunch of rubber tires. I turn to see a handsome man with dark hair and an easy smile riding towards me in a golf cart. The roulette wheel spinning inside my head wonders what in the name of Tom Fazio could Caves Valley’s head pro possibly want with me.

Dennis Satyshur is Caves Valley’s Director of Golf, a position he’s held since the club opened in 1991. And he wears the title like a benevolent English duke. I have witnessed Dennis orchestrate the expansion of Caves Valley’s golf operations for over a decade, a shrewd leader among dozens of dedicated Caves Valley employees driven to creating a singularly refined culture that has become known around the world as the “Caves Valley Experience.” Ask anyone red-jacketed member blessed to walk these lush rolling hills of Owings Mills, Maryland, and they’ll tell you that when it comes to the elegant richness of Cave Valley, the grace, the beauty, and the firm commitment to becoming the very best it can possibly be, Dennis Satyshur is respectfully, even reverently, known simply as The Man.

“Hey Lee,” says Dennis, clad in a pair of snappy khaki pants and a blue sweater bearing the iconic Caves Valley logo. “I heard you were here, and I wanted to swing by and say hello.” He steps out of the cart to shake my hand, a two-second bonding ritual I never take for granted. It is strong and honest. Just like Dennis.

A more cynical member might have interpreted Dennis’s drive-by chat as a necessary evil, a nagging duty foisted upon the face of the club. But Dennis, a true gentleman, doesn’t operate that way. He’s wired to be naturally friendly, and his DNA is bereft of pessimism. Though our relationship doesn’t rise to the level of good friends, I have gotten to know him over the years. I’ve always found it interesting that, as the club’s head golf professional, not once have I seen Dennis give a golf lesson. In fact, I have never so much as seen him hold a club, though I have heard stories about his prowess on the links. But what sets Dennis apart, what makes him so successful as a golf professional, and ultimately to the mission of Cave Valley, is his ability to read the temperature of the room. That’s why he’s so appreciated by a membership overflowing with some of this country’s most notable movers and shakers. No one I’ve met throughout my entire adult life, either personally or professionally, even comes close. Whether remembering the name and hometown of every guest in my foursome while chatting them up on the first tee, delivering a stirring speech before a packed audience attending a charity fundraising dinner held on the Clubhouse patio, or sharing a needling joke in the grill room with  a handful of rules officials from the U.S.G.A., Dennis always seems to know the right thing to say, and always at the right time. This is Dennis’s talent, and this is what makes him special.

After helping me find my ball, buried deep in the left rough as usual, Dennis asks me how I’m doing. I wish I could put into words how much I appreciate him asking. I have always known my place among the Caves membership— a flashy jet ski in a harbor full of superyachts. Not that I minded or cared, of course; I’m damn lucky to be on the roster, and, truth be told, I’m just happy to be here. My goal during every trip to Caves is to entertain my guests and to not give out-of-town members from the West Coast a bad name. I believe I’ve been successful in this endeavor, though I’m certain a few of my guests have left an unpleasant aftertaste. Nonetheless, Dennis has taken it upon himself to introduce me to such high-profile members as Brooks Robinson, Thomas Friedman, Steven Bisciotti, and Michael Bloomberg. Let’s be honest here; I may be a moderately successful stock trader with some Ivy League swag hanging on my wall, but I am not in their league. But Dennis always makes me feel like I am.

I tell Dennis I am doing well and proceed to pull a wedge from my bag. But this intimate moment requires something more than a golf shot. I turn to Dennis and ask him if I can share something personal. I’ve recently been diagnosed with a treatable but uncomfortable medical condition, the kind you don’t talk about with your golf buddies during your Sunday morning game. But I have always felt comfortable around Dennis, and more importantly, I know I can trust him. After hearing my story, Dennis proceeds to share with me a tale of a similar condition that once affected him. And lo and behold, just like that, what was meant to be a quick slice of small talk has pivoted into a half-hour discussion of personal challenges. Dennis had taken the time to listen, to take my temperature, to do what he believes is necessary to make me feel at ease. Our simple conversation may not have meant much to Dennis, who for all I know may have dozens of chats like this every week. But it meant everything to me. And that’s what I love about him.

That was then, and this is now. I resigned my Caves membership a dozen years ago, and I’ve had the good fortune to return twice to as a guest. Each time, Dennis has welcomed me back as though my red jacket still hangs in the closet. I watched nearly every minute of the BMW Championship, and, in my opinion, Caves Valley never looked better. My chest burst with the pride of a proud father with every televised shot of the course, and my heart swelled with every story recited about the club’s incredible history. From the vision hatched in Les Disharoon’s mind to the present-day stewardship of Steve Fader, leadership of Caves Valley has always been in strong hands, striving to bring the best golfers in the world to this magical place. But it was Dennis Satyshur who knew what Caves Valley could become, and that it would take patience, discipline, and hard work to make the dream a reality. The exceptional reputation enjoyed today by Caves Valley depends on the contributions of many, but owes its endearing legacy to Dennis.

I heard about Dennis’s upcoming retirement on one of the broadcasts, and later learned that his duties as Director of Golf would be handed off to Matt Fuller. I’ve met Matt, and he’s first-rate. That’s another thing about Dennis that doesn’t get mentioned as much as it should; his “coaching tree.” Sprinkled across America are dozens of golf professionals who learned their craft at the elbow of Dennis, taking advantage of his experience and guidance to make their clubs even better. To honor all that Dennis has done for the members and staff at Caves Valley, as well as for the game of golf, I believe something at the club needs to bear his name. I propose Satyshur Circle, the oval driveway located at the top of the hill that encircles everything having to do with the club, from the locker rooms, the clubhouse, the pro shop, the caddy barn, and the administrative buildings. Personally, I like the sound of that.

I tip my cap to you, Dennis. And this former member from the West Coast is right now giving you a one-man standing ovation for a job well done. Because of you, my treasured memories of Caves Valley are joyful, they are cherished, and they are indestructible.

Thank you, Dennis. Enjoy your retirement.