BY JOHN STEINBREDER
WEST PALM BEACH, FLORIDA | By his own admission, Peter Broome is a hypochondriac. So, he feared the worst when he started experiencing “some funny cramping and twitching” in his limbs in the summer of 2023. That fall, Broome also noticed that he slurred a word or two on occasion.
Eventually, he met with a neurologist and after that saw another doctor in that field.
“They did all the tests,” recalled Broome, a Montreal native who was 63 years old at the time. “And while the doctors said the symptoms could be connected to something serious, they thought that in my case they were just incidental.”
Those words might have reassured most people. But not Broome, who had recently retired as a senior vice president at Titleist overseeing management of that iconic brand, as well as its relations with key industry partners, among them the game’s governing bodies, the PGA Tour, the PGA of America and the golf professionals it certifies, and Augusta National Golf Club.
“I was convinced that I had it,” he said.
By “it,” he meant Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, a neurodegenerative disorder better known as ALS. There is no cure for what is also called Lou Gehrig’s disease, after the New York Yankees star who died of it in 1941 at the age of 37. And it takes a tortuous toll on those it afflicts, usually causing progressive paralysis that involves respiratory failure as well as an inability to swallow or speak. Death often comes within five years of diagnosis.
What makes ALS especially insidious is how it primarily affects motor neurons, the nerve cells that control muscle movement, and not cognitive function. As a result, those who have it are all too aware of the destruction it is wreaking.
Hypochondria is a condition characterized by excessive and unfounded worry about having a serious illness. But in Broome’s case, his concerns turned out to be all too real. The twitching and cramping became more frequent, as did the slurring. He started to feel unsteady at times on his feet.
“I went back to the doctors in the summer of 2024,” he said. “They redid some tests and the results indicated that, sure enough, I had ALS.
“It took more than a year to get diagnosed,” Broome added. “The date was August 16, and my wife, Sandy, and I were in Florida, at our house in Jupiter.”
Even with his premonitions, Broome was in no way prepared for that news. Nor was Sandy. They had been looking forward to a retirement that included plenty of leisure time with each other and their children and grandchildren at their home in the Sunshine State as well as at a summer retreat in the Thousand Islands on the U.S.-Canadian border near where Broome’s father had grown up. But what they suddenly faced instead was the grimmest of futures.
As humans, we all know we are going to die. But to suddenly realize that the end is imminent is another thing altogether. So is the comprehension of the slow and agonizing way that ALS extinguishes a life.
Simply put, it is a cruel and horrible proposition. And roughly a year after the diagnosis, Broome understands that all too well.
But he also sees it as an opportunity to do good. For doctors treating ALS patients. For scientists tirelessly searching for cures and effective treatments. And for those with ALS looking for answers, assistance and anything that might add precious days and weeks to their lives.
“One of the things that hurts most is how this diagnosis cuts off the chapter of my life when I would have had the time to give back to golf, which has given me so much. But I can still make a difference, only in this case with ALS. And while I may lose my speech, I will still have my voice.”
Peter Broome
At Titleist, Broome often acted as a bridge between the equipment maker and significant organizations within the golf ecosystem. And it is his intention in the time he has left to play a similar role with ALS.
“One of the things that hurts most is how this diagnosis cuts off the chapter of my life when I would have had the time to give back to golf, which has given me so much,” said Broome. “But I can still make a difference, only in this case with ALS.
“And while I may lose my speech, I will still have my voice.”
To that end, Broome and his three adult children – Val, Matt and Brad – are establishing with some close friends a vehicle through which they will do just that. Its name, quite appropriately, is The Bridge Foundation. And the goal is to engage the golf community in support of the woefully underfunded ALS community by raising money and awareness in the U.S. and Canada to support research devoted to finding a cure and developing effective treatments while also connecting those who have the disease with the doctors conducting drug trials and trying to slow, if not outright halt, its progression in patients.
Broome utters those words in early May as we walk the fairways and greens of The Park, a brilliantly imagined public golf complex in sun-soaked West Palm Beach that features as its centerpiece a links-like, 18-course course designed by Gil Hanse, Jim Wagner and Dirk Ziff.
In many ways, it seems as if nothing has changed, as Broome appears and acts like the same person I have known for the past 25 years. A sparkle in his eye. A warm and easy smile. He is well-dressed in khaki shorts and a blue striped golf shirt. Well-logoed, too, with a Pine Valley golf bag as well as a Seminole belt and headcovers for his woods. He is a member of those clubs, as well as Royal County Down in Northern Ireland, Mount Bruno near Montreal and the Royal & Ancient Golf Club in St Andrews. As much as anything else, those affiliations speak to the high regard in which Broome is held throughout the game and the pleasure that people in those places derive from being around him.
But I notice that his voice is weak and his speech sounds as if he has had a whisky or two at lunch, even though Broome has indulged in nothing stronger than a Coke. He wears a brace on his left leg and walks with a slight limp. There is near-constant twitching in his left arm, just above his elbow.
He talks quite openly about his illness, and at one point mentions that he takes 20 pills each morning and another 10 at bedtime. Broome says he also gives himself regular injections and undergoes physical therapy and acupuncture, as well as counseling to contend with the emotional stress the disease has caused.
In addition, Broome has made regular trips to a hospital and research institute at Montreal’s McGill University, which rather ironically is his alma mater, for appointments with Dr. Angela Genge, the executive director of the ALS Center of Excellence, and to participate in a drug trial that has shown promise. On occasion, he also visits Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston to meet with Dr. Merit Cudkowicz, the director of the Healey & AMG Center for ALS as well as the executive director of the Mass General Brigham Neuroscience Institute. He describes his battle against the disease as “an all-consuming proposition” and calls the women leading that fight his “angels.” They are among the very best in their field, and Broome says that the only reason he was able to see them in the first place was through his connections in golf.
Another of his physicians is Dr. Rick Bedlack, the director of the ALS Clinic at Duke University and an avid golfer.
As we walk to the first tee, I see that Broome is wearing three bracelets on his wrists. Two are gifts from his grandsons – Peter, George and Jack – with white beads that spell out in black lettering the word “Grape,” which is what all three of them call him. And the other reads “End ALS,” a token from a friend.
A scratch golfer for much of his adult life, Broome does not hit the ball nearly as far anymore and laments that his handicap index has risen to 8. But he still swings smoothly and produces a baby draw. And he continues to wield his Scotty Cameron putter with great dexterity. Partway through the round, I learn from one of our playing partners, the former PGA of America CEO Seth Waugh, that two months prior, Broome had shot 74 in the Pro-Member tournament at Seminole to help him and his partner, Canadian PGA Tour professional Corey Conners, finish second in the net division. Not surprising, Broome beams with delight when Waugh shares that information.
Everything has changed for Broome in the past year. To be sure, there are times at The Park when it is possible to forget for a moment what he is enduring, and what lies ahead, as he engages in the sort of banter that is such a pleasing part of a round. But reality is quick to reappear.
“I hate being the one who has to be helped,” Broome said. “I want to be helping people, which is why I am motivated to help the ALS community, and that includes those with the disease and individuals who will get it down the road.”
Now 65, Broome was born and raised in Montreal, one of four children of parents who were from the English-speaking province of Ontario, had met while studying at McGill and stayed in the French-speaking city after graduating.
“My father was a CPA and ended up running the KPMG office in Montreal,” Broome said. “He had polio as a kid, which caused him to walk with a limp the rest of his life. He loved golf, and it became everything to him even though he was never a particularly good player. He saw it as a business tool and a way to spend time with his friends and family. He cherished the relationships he developed through the game and became involved with the clubs he belonged to, like Royal Montreal and Mount Bruno, eventually serving as captain of both places.”
“Back in the 1970s, my father was also part of the first wave of Canadians to travel to the British Isles to play golf on courses like Royal County Down, Royal Belfast and Portmarnock, which in those days were more or less unknown,” Broome added. “In time, he became a member of all three.”
As for his mother, Broome describes her as “a great golf mom” who was constantly shuttling him and his siblings between their home and the golf courses in the summer.
It was during those times that Broome developed his own passion for the game. Canadian to the core, he loved hockey and smiles as he recalls on-ice battles in his youth with Quebecois kids who demonstrated with high sticks and sharp elbows their disdain for those with roots in the English-speaking provinces. But it was golf that he came to favor.
Broome was 10 years old when he started participating in the junior program at Royal Montreal, which featured 45 holes. Six years later, he accepted the invitation of an assistant pro at the club, Bob Hogarth, to work for him after he had taken the head pro job at Royal Colwood in Victoria, British Columbia.
“I spent four summers with Bob, mostly in the golf shop and sometimes caddying for him,” said Broome. “He became my hero and my mentor, and because of him, I knew well before I graduated from McGill (in 1984 with a bachelor’s degree in education) that I wanted to be in the golf industry.”
Which is exactly what Broome did, first with the Fletcher Leisure Group, which at the time was the Canadian distributor for MacGregor and FootJoy, and then for TaylorMade, for which he started and then ran their operations north of the border. Titleist came calling in 1993, and that spring, Broome moved to company headquarters in Fairhaven, Massachusetts, to assume the job as national sales manager for golf clubs.
“Canada was great, but as far as being in the golf business, it felt like playing Triple-A ball,” said Broome. “Going to Titleist was like being promoted to the major leagues.”
He remained with the Acushnet Co. for the next 29 years before retiring in late 2022.
“I worked with Peter every step of the way during his career here,” said David Maher, the CEO of Acushnet, which is Titleist’s parent company. “He wore so many hats for us and was always willing to take on a new role. He had a ‘put me in, Coach’ attitude and invariably did a terrific job.
“Peter understood the issues. And he went deep on them in ways that were thoughtful and productive. His was a voice of balance and reason, no matter how controversial the subject might have been.”
Seth Waugh
“Peter was mentored by a PGA professional as a kid, and after joining our company quickly became our PGA professional specialist,” Maher continued. “And he represented the best interests of the club professional in that role while ensuring our strong alignment with them. He appreciated the importance of the PGA golf professional and how vital they are to the game. And we never once got out of position with them when Peter was here.
“Peter was also our connection to the governing bodies, the PGA of America, the PGA Tour and the Masters. He knew so many people in the game, and his values and integrity, as well as his demeanor and communications style, made him the perfect man for those roles. What a gift it was to have him.”
Waugh was one of those people with whom Broome often connected in his work, and he, too, was impressed.
“Everyone knows Peter, and everyone respects him,” Waugh says that early May afternoon at The Park. “There was never any question of who he worked for. But he was also concerned about what was in the best interest of the game. Peter was smart, diligent and able to relate to anybody, whether they worked at the highest level of the game or in the trenches in the professional shops or on the lesson tees. He fought hard for them, the game, too, and also for Titleist.”
Waugh stops mid-stride to make another point.
“Peter understood the issues,” he says. “And he went deep on them in ways that were thoughtful and productive. His was a voice of balance and reason, no matter how controversial the subject might have been. People always took his calls, or his meetings, as a result.”
Longtime tour professional-turned-television analyst Brad Faxon met Broome when the Canadian moved to the States more than three decades ago. “Peter became a good friend and confidant,” said Faxon, who is currently represented in his TV work by Broome’s son, Matt. “When I needed to make a critical decision, I always wanted to talk to Peter before I hit the ‘send’ button.”
At any given time, roughly 35,000 people in the U.S. will be living with ALS. About 6,000 individuals will die from the disease each year in the States, and an almost equal number will be diagnosed. It can afflict those as young as 18 and as old as 90, though ALS is mostly found in people between 50 and 70 years of age. Doctors say it is 20 percent more common in men than women up until the age of menopause, at which point it equals out to a 50-50 proposition. As many as 10 percent of the cases are genetic and passed on within families, while the remainder of the sufferers have “sporadic” ALS. Treatments are different for both versions, and at the moment physicians are having greater successes treating those with the genetic form.
“I have sporadic,” said Broome. “And one of my happier days through this process was learning that no one in my family is carrying the ALS gene, even though the prognosis for those with genetic ALS is less dire.”
According to Dr. Genge, there are no known triggers. “A healthy lifestyle does not protect you,” she said. “In fact, ALS is largely a disease of the active and the healthy.”
There are hints that exposure to pesticides and head trauma play a role, which is why soccer and American football players may be more likely to have it than, say, Tour de France cyclists or professional basketball players. Golfers, too, given all the time they spend on grass.
“As much as anything else, we need money to move the most promising drug trials along, patients who are aware of them and willing to participate so we can see what works and what doesn’t, and multiple places to conduct those treatments.”
Dr. Angela Genge
“For some reason, high-performance athletes have a higher likelihood of developing ALS,” Broome said, adding that he smiled when he learned that because he felt it put him in pretty good company.
In addition, studies indicate a high incidence of ALS among military veterans.
“There are hints as to the causes, but hints are hard to discern and difficult to prove,” Genge said. “The fact is, we really don’t know for sure.”
At least not yet, which is where the idea of The Bridge Foundation comes in.
“When you meet with these incredibly energetic and passionate doctors and researchers, they will tell you that they are just a few million dollars away from making real progress in this riddle they are trying desperately to solve,” said Broome.
Dr. Genge appreciates what Broome is trying to do.
“As much as anything else, we need money to move the most promising drug trials along, patients who are aware of them and willing to participate so we can see what works and what doesn’t, and multiple places to conduct those treatments,” she explained.
Dr. Cudkowicz is grateful as well. “Now is the time we can really do something,” she said. “We have a better understanding of the biology of the brain and better tools to develop drugs that work. And I truly believe that the next drugs will have a greater likelihood of success. The key is funding, which is what will enable us to speed up the development of therapies. A lot of companies and scientists have good ideas and therapies but do not have the money to move the drugs from the labs to the patients.”
What makes foundations such as the one Broome is starting so important is the uniquely difficult situation ALS faces. The disease has such a high mortality rate, and those who have it rarely live very long. That means there are no communities of sufferers or survivors of the sort you might have with, say, breast cancer, to elevate awareness and raise money. As such, ALS needs as much help as possible from outside sources.
Broome is able to talk about such things in a composed way, and by doing so he reveals what a singular individual he is.
“He knows what he is facing with ALS, yet he is also concerned about the next person to be diagnosed with the disease,” said Faxon.
Waugh is impressed with his friend’s approach as well: “He is brave. He is handling his illness with such grace. And he is so obviously living life in the moment.”
To that end, Broome and his family embarked on a grand tour of great golf haunts in the United Kingdom in June. The group numbered 11 and included three generations. Rounds were played on the Old Course at St Andrews and also on Royal County Down, where the ashes of Peter’s father were spread some years ago off the ninth tee. Food and drink were shared at places like the Dunvegan Hotel in St Andrews and the R&A clubhouse overlooking the links in that historic town.
Broome describes the trip as “magical” and loved that he was able to visit places that have been so meaningful to him and his family with his family. Then his voice breaks as he acknowledges that there won’t be many more times like those.
“Unless we find a miracle,” he added.
Broome is silent for a short spell before speaking again.
“I am a very lucky man,” he said.
Top: Peter Broome (center) took his family on a “magical” trip the United Kingdom, which included a stop at the Dunvegan Hotel in St Andrews.
All photos Courtesy Peter Broome family