VERO BEACH — “I don’t play golf, I play tennis,” said the owner of Perfect Stix, the Vero-based importer of ice cream sticks and dozens of other birch wood products. Nevertheless, Trey Higdon got an opportunity to play in the Honda Pro-Am, an opportunity presented by FedEx, which wanted his shipping business.
Higdon is the son of Ocean Drive retailers Dede Ashby and Jim Higdon; his grandparents built shops there in the 1950s.
From coffee stirrers and corn dog sticks to tongue depressors, Higdon, 41, imports disposable wooden sticks, stirrers, and slats from a factory in China, puts them on palettes in one of five U.S. warehouses, and ships them around the country.
The stick business has been good to Higdon. From a start in 2002, Higdon says just about every box of frozen treats in Fresh Market today has his sticks inside them.
The food at the Firefighters Fair, from corn dogs to candied apples? Probably poked with Perfect Stix.
Paint stores give away his stirrers. Vets use his cotton swabs. Never mind the gastroenterologists.
Stirring as that all may be, it was moving his sticks around the country – $1 million a year in shipping – that earned him an invitation from Federal Express, a sponsor of the Honda Classic golf tournament, to play in the pre-tournament charity Pro-Am two weeks ago.
Played before a crowd on the champion course at PGA Resort the day before the real tournament starts, the amateurs – the “am” in Pro-Am – are typically better-than-average players.
Many are retired pro golfers or current athletes in other fields: Jack Nicklaus, Greg Norman, Tim Tebow, Joe Thiesmann and Bill Belichick were on the course with Higdon. Others playing are celebrities, like this year’s host, saxophonist Kenny G, a scratch golfer.
Those amateurs are broken into 48 foursomes and paired – with one of the Honda Classic’s pro roster, the world’s top golfers from Tiger Woods to Higdon’s partner, Rory Sabbatini, who won the tournament in 2011.
The sponsor for each foursome paid $28,000 per foursome, treating their best employees or clients — and in Higdon’s case, would-be clients — to not only 18 holes, but a star-studded dinner, a room at PGA, VIP tickets for the rest of the weekend’s golf and a goodie bag that included a $500 gift certificate for golf gear.
The tournament raises $1 million for Nicklaus’s foundation for children’s health care.
None of which Higdon knew when a rep from Fed Ex dropped by and asked if he wanted to play in a golf tournament.
“I figured he meant something around here. I said, sure, why not?”
A member of a team at Vero’s Boulevard Tennis Club, he was still sweaty from playing a match the day that the Fed Ex rep visited his North U.S. 1 warehouse.
Higdon had noticed a Fed Ex flyer in his American Express bill, and called for a quote.
Fed Ex was happy to oblige, saw the size of Higdon’s account and figured throwing in a spot in the Palm Beach Gardens charity tournament wouldn’t hurt.
“What’s your handicap?” the rep asked Higdon.
Higdon gave him a searching look.
“I had no idea what Pro-Am he was even talking about, but I figured it was something good. So I made up a number.”
All you’ll need is an official handicap card, the rep told him, and a good enough number, and we’ll see you at the Honda Classic.
Higdon caught on fast. He went home, filled out the form on line, “winged it” and came up with a 17. Higdon was in.
A week later, with new clothes and borrowed clubs, he and his wife, Lori, headed for PGA.
That night at dinner, Kenny G played sax at their table.
The next morning, nerves jangled from lack of sleep, he met his caddy and drove to the driving range, already packed with pros waiting for their start times – Tiger Woods led off at 6:45 a.m.
There, Higdon met Rory Sabbatini.
“We’re joking, laughing, high-fiving. This place is packed with people. And I can barely hold the club, I’m so nervous. I literally couldn’t feel my feet.”
Over the speakers, the announcer introduced Sabbatini to the cheers of the crowd.
“Right away, Sabbatini hits the ball right down the middle,” says Higdon.
Suddenly, Higdon’s nerves seemed to melt away.
“I get up, and I’m totally relaxed,” he said, still incredulous. “I am not a good golfer, I have never had a lesson, and I hit it right next to his ball.”
His second shot landed three feet from the pin.
“I’m impressed,” said Sabbatini. “I’m impressed and I’m surprised.“
At the second hole, they both parred it. At the third hole, Higdon birdied.
By the eighth hole, he was tied with Sabbatini, when he hit a drive into thick grass, with a tree dead ahead. He decided to go for it.
“I hit it five feet from the hole.” Sabbatini looked stunned.
“Everybody’s supposed to be cheering for me, not you,” he told Higdon.
But just as he was beginning to feel impervious, the cloudy skies suddenly opened up. Higdon felt his streak wash away in the downpour.
“I knew it was going to ruin my momentum. I was just on such a high, I knew it was going to fall apart. This just isn’t the way I play.”
Play was stopped for two hours.
When it resumed, Higdon was a mere mortal again. In the end, Higdon shot an 81. Sabbatini shot a 76.
“I could go out there again and shoot a 110,” he says. “The best I’ve ever shot is maybe a 93. I was just in the moment.”
The bliss lasted all weekend. With his VIP passes, he and his family watched the golf and partied.
He was back at work Monday, still shaking his head.
“Needless to say Fed Ex was in here the next day. Needless to say they got my business.”
That’s 125 containers, or about 2.5 billion sticks and variations.
With the list of products numbering 50, he says, there is plenty more birch to bring in.
Clothes pins, wooden hangers, tooth picks, and – not least of all, golf tees.
He laughs remembering how he got his big break, when, with only Philly Swirl as a client, he and his frat buddy cold-called the makers of Skinny Cow bars, who arranged for a trial run of their ice cream sticks at a huge plant in Dallas.
Godiva, Weight Watchers, TCBY and Atkins all made their bars there, one of the largest such plants in the world, Higdon says.
Together they flew out to the factory with six boxes of Perfect Stix.
“We were way out of our league. We had no business being there,” says Higdon.
“What could go wrong?” the company representative asked blithely, escorting them to the refrigerated assembly line. “They’re Perfect Stix, right?”
With that, Higdon and his friend donned hair nets, booties and jackets, and with no clue as to specs, dumped their sticks in the chamber. Just as his buddy was high-fiving everyone, the machine jammed as alarms sounded.
Vats of chocolate squirted out with no stick to go on.
“They lost tons of product,” says Higdon. “But they didn’t kick us out. They told us to get our act together and come back. Eight tries later, we got it right.”
