A guys' gardening thing

This whole thing began years ago, with a bunch of guys following their Penn Valley Garden Club wives around the backyard or the Philadelphia Flower Show, taking orders. Dig this hole! Haul this mulch! Move this plant from here to here! Or there to here!

In 1989, the husbands had a revelation: We can do this. We can have our own club and build our own Flower Show exhibits. No tea and cookies for us! Bring on the burgers and beer, hammers and wheelbarrows.

Thus was born the Men's Garden Club of Philadelphia, one of two such organizations in the region and certainly its most robust. It boasts 120 members, all (or most) suburbanites, from thirtysomethings to eightysomethings and running the gamut from plastic surgeon to auto mechanic.

"It's like a fraternity of really loony guys," says Herb Clarke of Bryn Mawr, the retired TV weatherman, who at 80 is believed to be the oldest member. Nobody really keeps track of the details, you see, and he insists another guy at least "looks older."

Dues are $150 a year, but there are no mandatory meetings or assignments. Some folks aren't even sure whether they're officers.

"I don't think I am, but I might be," says John Rice of Bryn Mawr, a retired human-resources executive who was among the club's founders.

One thing's for sure: Stan Amey is, by acclamation infused with relief, "president for life." An insurance-claims adjuster from Wynnewood, Amey is a founding member, too, and he doesn't even garden.

He does, however, organize the club's annual Flower Show exhibit, its primary reason for being, as well as park cleanups and all else. "We found out long ago, if you don't want something done, you put it in committee," Amey says.

El presidente keeps a low profile. While other clubs struggle to stay alive, this one has too many members, he says, too many volunteers. You may not be able to get your hubby to mow the grass, but the Men's Garden Club of Philadelphia has a waiting list, for heaven's sake.

Clearly, this is no ordinary club.

It's a guy thing, so the tales are tall and the ribbing relentless. The committees may sound legit - nomenclature and hospitality, interior design and catering - but these panels are tongue-in-cheek. Coffee and doughnuts are about it for "catering."

Still, wherever guys are gathered, even gardening guys, there can be more than coffee perking. That's certainly true of the annual victory party held (with wives) each year at a country club. It's scheduled well in advance of the Flower Show, before anyone has a clue whether the club will win anything. It always does, but still.

"It's four hours of cocktails and 20 minutes of dinner," jokes Michael Petrie, a club founder and vice president of J. Franklin Styer Nurseries in Concordville. He's one of a few professional horticulturists in the group, along with John Story and Jack Blandy.

There's also a stag lobster dinner every year at a restaurant or private club, which last year starred 80 crustaceans, 2 pounds apiece.

And there are the usual guy shenanigans, including the secret Order of the Pansy, an MVP-like honor bestowed on very few - they guard the details like the Bonesmen at Yale.

No wonder. Award recipients are required to attend the victory dinner wearing a little porcelain pansy pin festooned with purple ribbon. The original pins came from one of the members' wives, who'd used them in her garden club for, no doubt, a higher-minded purpose.

The Coop Jackson Award is another highlight of the victory dinner. It's given each year to member Coop Jackson for being Coop Jackson for another year. Here's to you, Coop!

"This is not a politically charged organization. We're very laid back," says the understated John Young, a retired marketer from Westtown, who concedes that the membership actually comprises "a lot of Type A personalities."

But Type A takes a break when the guys assemble, which they're doing every Saturday from now till the Flower Show opens March 2 to put together the club's entry. At this time of year, then, what Harry Hill says is literally true: "I wouldn't say we're fanatical horticulturists, more like weekend warriors."

Hill, a CEO from Haverford, also is board chairman of the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society, which produces the Flower Show. He describes himself as "a terrible painter," so during work sessions he specializes in carpentry and coffee-drinking.

This year's show theme is "Jazz It Up!" - about the gardens and music of New Orleans - and the club is building a juke joint in a bayou.

"The men are very good at making shacks in the woods," says Petrie, who did a rendering of the president-for-life's concept. "They relate to its free form and lack of structure," just like the club.

The guys are canvassing for stumps, old telephone poles, a tin roof, a broken-down washing machine, and a metal glider for the porch. Petrie and his plant pals will supply the bullrushes and swamp azaleas, cypresses and cedars.

Last year was the first time the club was invited to be "out on the main floor with the big boys," Petrie says, rather than in a competitive class like tabletop flower arranging. Lo and behold, it won best in show in the non-academic educational category.

Whatever this year's outcome, the annual victory dinner is set for March 10, the night after the Flower Show closes. Like being Coop Jackson, that is its own reward.

Find gardening blogs, tips, readers' photos, and more at http://go.philly.com/gardeningEndText