Interviewed By Guy Yocom
Photo By Peter Gregoire December 2006

Age 84 • Hall of Famer • Highland Heights, Ohio

I knew what I was getting into when I chose golf. Hell, I knew I'd never get rich and famous. All the discrimination, the not being able to play where I deserved and wanted to play—in the end I didn't give a damn. I was made for a tough life, because I'm a tough man. And in the end I won; I got a lot of black people playing golf. That's good enough. If I had to do it over again, exactly the same way, I would.

I caddied a lot for Clayton Heafner, an outstanding player who twice finished second in the U.S. Open. I learned a lot just by watching him, and by the time I was 16, I felt I was good enough to take him on. Now, Heafner was a big man and had a temper, too—more than once he fired me on the front nine and rehired me on the back nine. I held my own against Heafner, but one day I made the mistake of playing him for $2, which was more money than I had in my pocket. When he closed me out and I told him I didn't have the $2, he picked me up and in front of all these people, carried me over to a water hazard, and threw me in. Splash! Talk about embarrassing—I never played for more money than I had in my pocket again.

The best black player who ever lived was Teddy Rhodes. I chased him for years beginning in 1947 and never could beat him when it mattered. There was so little money in the United Golfers Association tournaments, and to make anything you had to beat Teddy. And I couldn't do it. Finally Teddy got old. I won the Negro National Open five times in a row starting in 1952, and later won twice on the PGA Tour. But take the two of us in our primes, and Teddy was better. I saw them all, and I've always felt Teddy was as good as any of the best white players of his era, and that includes Sam Snead and Ben Hogan.

My first victory, in 1951, earned me $500. With guys like Teddy, Bill Spiller and Zeke Hartsfield to beat in the few tournaments there were, there's no way I could have made a living doing that alone. What saved me was going to work for Billy Eckstine, the singer and bandleader. Teddy and Joe Louis persuaded Mr. B—that's what we called Billy—to give me a job as his valet and personal golf instructor, and I did that for 10 years. I did whatever Mr. B needed doing, and he paid me $150 a week, plus all expenses on the road. I arranged his golf games, gave him lessons, took his clothes to the cleaners, anything. Not only did this keep me from starving, I had a great time. I saw all the best jazz musicians, met the greatest black athletes, traveled to lots of great cities, met lots of fascinating people.

Joe Louis was strong, but his strength didn't help him much in golf. Billy Eckstine had wonderful tempo and rhythm, but his musical ability didn't transfer to golf much, that I could see. The ability to play golf is unique, and it's not surprising that so many athletes who excel in other sports don't do all that well when they switch to golf. Their egos often get in the way, too.

I had a heart operation in July. Bad valve. I have to wear an oxygen tube all the time. You know what that means—no more cigars. I began smoking cigars at age 12 and kept right on. I loved them so much. But you know, I don't miss them that much. Knowing you can't have something takes away much of the desire to have it.

Stay away from greasy foods. Take a drink, but only once in a while, and stay away from whiskey completely. And get your rest. If you want to make it to 84 and survive a heart operation, you've got to get your sleep.

Golf is the game for a lifetime, but only if you learn to accept it for what it is. Earlier this year I could only hit my driver out there maybe 240 yards, and no part of my game was as good as it used to be. But the challenge never changes. Every shot is about executing the best you can, and when you succeed, you've succeeded, even if it doesn't compare to the way you used to do it. You can't be too greedy. Last April, not long before my heart operation, Joe Jimenez and I finished second in our division at the Legends of Golf tournament. I got a kick out of that. I executed well for an 83-year-old man.

Tiger Woods is one of the few black playerswho can putt the eyes out of the hole. Putting takes time to learn, and older black players like me couldn't hang out on the putting green for hours. Most of us were caddies and learned to play by sneaking out on the course when nobody was around. At the Carolina Golf & Country Club in Charlotte, a bunch of us would sneak out there with a few clubs we'd borrow. We'd share them, hitting real fast, then running up to the ball and hitting it again. We didn't have time to putt, and except on Mondays when we were allowed to play the course, we rarely carried a putter with us. We'd use a 2-iron and get the putting over with.

I first saw Tiger when he was about 13. I knew he'd be good, but to be honest, the only one who knew he was going to be great was his daddy.