The Golf Digest Interview: The Commish

Ten years after leaving the tour, Deane Beman is still on the ball

Beman, back in Ponte Vedra Beach, Fla., ran the PGA Tour for 20 years.

Photo: Ben Van Hook

By Peter McCleery

Photo By Ben Van Hook

November 2005

In his days as commissioner of the PGA Tour, when the phone rang it might be Ross Johnson, the CEO of Nabisco and tour sugar daddy. Now when Deane Beman's cell rings there's a good chance it's a fellow collector looking for advice on an antique car restoration. That's life for the 66-year-old Beman, split between comfortable homes in Kennebunkport, Maine, and Ponte Vedra Beach, Fla., just over a decade removed from his job as the Most Powerful Man in Golf.

It's easy to forget what an eventful 20 years Beman spent building the PGA Tour into the money machine it is today. With two clever moves--spending $2,700 to save the tour perhaps $1 billion, and relocating to Sawgrass in a $1 real-estate deal--Beman transformed the tour's financial landscape.

The first Tournament Players Club emerged from that 415 acres of swamp, and the Beman era of empire building was underway. The all-exempt tour for players, skyrocketing purses, corporate sponsorship and conflict soon followed, with Beman pitted against superstars who vigorously opposed his aggressive expansion into their domain of marketing, course construction and real estate. Indeed, looking back now, it's shocking how relatively quiet the professional game has been since his departure in 1994.

A 1992 Golf Digest series put the commissioner's office and the tour's business under a microscope, and the resulting Cold War took years to thaw. Beman has given few in-depth interviews during the last decade out of deference to his successor, Tim Finchem, but he has plenty to say about where golf is going.

We caught up with Beman in Kennebunkport, where he plays occasionally with former President Bush, and in Ponte Vedra, where he's still called "commissioner" at the Players Club and is extended a special privilege: access to the stash of practice balls usually reserved for fellow range rat Vijay Singh. Around the house Beman's wife, Judy, a former tour secretary, leaves notes for "DRB,'' using the old office shorthand for the boss.

Throughout three days of interviews, Beman displayed a quick wit and sharp memory. He tells of playing with and against Jack Nicklaus, and he also shares what it's like to be a U.S. Open qualifier as a high school junior with Ben Hogan looking over his shoulder. On tour policy Beman gives Finchem a wide berth, but he doesn't give the game's gatekeepers a total pass, especially when the subject turns to advances in equipment technology. There are hints of disgust in Beman's voice as he discusses those he believes have let the game down by standing by and doing nothing--a charge never leveled against him.

GOLF DIGEST: You've gone from being the most powerful man in golf to a not-quite average citizen. Do you ever miss the job?

DEANE BEMAN: I can honestly say 10 years later that I haven't missed it for a minute. I got my life back, and I like it.

Do you see much of Finchem?

I see him all the time. I respect the job he's got to do and what he's doing.

Does he ask you for advice?

No. And I'm completely comfortable with him not asking me. I'm delighted.

Do you have any disagreements with what Finchem has done?

Not that I'd tell you.

You've made it a policy not to second-guess?

I would second-guess the whole golf industry about technology.

Including the PGA Tour?

The whole golf industry. Here's what I'm seeing: Modern players appear to be very, very good because they hit it a long way and they score very well. I have a great deal of respect for the players today and what they can do. But many of them are being cheated out of really learning how to perfect their craft because of the technology they're playing with. If you put the old ball in front of them to play, it would be a massacre.

'I decided to shame, shame, shame those organizations.'

What about the argument against adopting a separate ball for tour players because everyday golfers believe they're playing the same game and the same equipment?

It's a figment of their imagination.

Finchem has been making noise the last few years about the distance factor.

Over the years the tour has been caught in an almost impossible dilemma. We had an enormous respect for the USGA and good reason to defer to them as far as the rules. It was very convenient; we had enough problems of our own. We expected them to ultimately do the right thing. And they never have.

Average driving distance on tour increased only slightly in 2004. But you think there's still a lot of distance to be gained by the best players with modern equipment and training?

I'll stand by this: By 2020 there will be another 50 yards in the long-driving leaders, to an average of 350 yards. I'm going to be 67 years old, and I carry it farther and hit it longer than I ever have. That doesn't make any sense at all.

Nicklaus has harped on this subject.

He's not harping on it. He happens to be right.

It became an issue in last year's U.S. Open at Shinnecock, people saying that the distance players are hitting the ball leads to tricked-up course setups. A travesty. The USGA's silly setup of the Open speaks louder than I could ever speak. On the one hand, they say there isn't any problem. On the other hand, they have to do what I call Draculan things.

Draconian?

Draconian. But I said Draculan.

You're putting a little twist on it.

They have to take Draconian measures to prevent scoring. If everything is all right, why can't they just play the golf course? Because the players would eat them alive.