Blast from the past: Rex Caldwell

Twenty-three years after strutting his stuff on golf's biggest stage, Rex Caldwell is trying to recapture that glimpse of glory as he looks back on the good times and the struggles, the dream drives him forward

"There are some guys you just don't like, and I seemed to be one of those guys," says Caldwell, here in 1978

Photo: Eric Larson

By Peter McCleery

Photo By Eric Larson

April 2006

For every durable PGA Tour star, there are dozens who flash across the scene or TV screen for a relatively brief period, then vanish. Rex Caldwell was one such player who, with a certain flair and swagger, created a fleeting celebrity.

Caldwell made his mark in the late 1970s and early '80s, peaking in 1983 with his lone PGA Tour victory. He agonized over playoff losses but celebrated key putts with what might have been golf's first full-throttle fist pumps. A disco-dancing fool who nearly got himself punched out for asking the wrong woman to dance, Caldwell was dubbed "Sexy Rexy'' by his pal Fuzzy Zoeller after posing semi-nude in a cheeky response to Jan Stephenson's provocative photo layouts.

We hadn't heard from or thought much about Rex Caldwell for the past 20 years, until he was spotted last fall in Bahrain, trying to keep his playing privileges on the European Seniors Tour. True to form, Rex was told he had to change into something more appropriate than jeans to attend the tour's season-ending dinner.

It turns out Caldwell, 55, has been kicking around mini-tours and continuing to make a living playing golf. In that sense, he has remained successful, doing what he always wanted to do (and avoiding, as he'd put it, a real job).

Caldwell and his fourth wife, Julie, live modestly but comfortably in Tifton, Ga. The life on tour -- traveling across Europe in a decade-old car, staying in cheap bed-and-breakfasts -- isn't far removed from how he started on tour, but you might not recognize Caldwell without the big, blow-dried hair from his heyday. And he has gained about 50 pounds since his prime (when similarities to pop singer Barry Manilow were invoked).

As Caldwell reminisced and chain-smoked Marlboro Lights, he punctuated his stories with humor and uncensored, unflinching details. What's not to like about a tour pro who admits to a lifelong fear of water hazards?

Golf Digest: This life you've had -- playing golf for a living, never having to go into an office -- some people would call that a vacation.

Rex Caldwell: It is a vacation. I have the greatest job in the history of the world. Think about it: People live their whole lives, working 40 to 50 hours a week so they can take their clubs on an airplane and go play golf somewhere. I get to do it every day. I wake up and say, "Gee, I wonder what I'll do today? . . . I think I'll play golf.''

I've never had to do anything except exactly what I wanted to do. I meet people who are multimillionaires, got more money than God, and I think, I wouldn't give up what I did for your money for any reason.

Before you got on tour, you had a few odd jobs. Tell us about that.

I wasn't good enough to go to the tour out of college, so I worked at the Arnold Palmer Golf Academy [in Stratton, Vt.] in the summer of 1972. Me and my buddy Bob Lendzion, we hitchhiked from Vermont to L.A. at the end of that summer. Had our clubs and a backpack. It took us eight days to get home, and we played golf five of them. Early on, we stopped in Latrobe [Pa.] to play at Arnold's place.

How'd you manage that?

Arnold had told us to stop by if we were ever in the area. He probably didn't think we'd take him up on it. Anyway, we slept in a boxcar the night we got there because we didn't want to spend money on a hotel. The next morning we're walking toward the course, and we meet Arnold's wife, Winnie, who's out in the front yard picking up the newspaper. We told her the whole deal, so she went inside to get Arnie.

And . . . ?

He made us breakfast, told us to get cleaned up and showed us around his shop, where his clubs were displayed on all of the walls. We were mesmerized by the whole situation. Arnie couldn't play golf with us that day because of a business commitment, but afterward he had his driver take us back to the freeway in a limo.

Four years later you were paired on tour with another golf legend, Sam Snead. What do you remember about him?

Sam had gone to sidesaddle by then, couldn't putt a lick. Everything else was still perfect, tee to green. He didn't hit it far, but he hit it straighter than heck. We're playing in Hartford, and I'm paired with Craig Stadler and Sam on the weekend. Stadler, you know, was kind of a goofy, heavyset kid, and it's his rookie year. On the PGA Tour, they have the through-the-hole line thing, meaning, if I roll the ball past the hole, I don't want your footprints in my line on the putt coming back.

Well, Craig didn't understand that rule, had never dealt with it. He did it a couple of times early in the round to Sam, and Sam told him, "Look, son, I know you're a rookie out here, but I really don't want you to walk in my line through the hole.''

Craig does it again on the 16th green, and Sam comes unglued. "Son, I told you, I don't ever, ever want to see you do that again to anybody. If you do it to me again, I'm going to knock you out.''

Stadler was a kid then, with Popeye arms, and I'm thinking, Sam, what are you talking about? That kid would kill you.

Stadler got a little upset, and I go, "You know, Sam, he's just a rookie, lighten up. He didn't do it on purpose.''

Your image was that of being a bit different. You were known for your exuberance, your dress, your having a good time off the golf course.