The operation was a success. A surgeon in Montreal straightened my head, and much if the pain was gone — though I still take pain pills. I called the man in charge and told him I wouldn't be needing Tony. He said congratulations, good luck, and if I needed him I knew where to find him.
During my torticollis operation, my heart stopped beating. Suddenly I was walking barefoot on a grassy path. There were two small mountains to my left with a beautiful valley between them. Everything was illuminated, yet there was no sun. It was beautiful. I thought, I made it! Then there was a huge thump, and I was back on the operating table. For just a moment, I was disappointed to be back.
My brother, Ernest, was blind from age 4. He picked up a dynamite cap in a coal yard and lit it with a splinter. Blew his fingers off and his eyes out. He was amazing. He would hitchhike from Cedartown to Macon and back; he could walk along the road and find his way home by sound and feel. His cane was like a long finger. He was an excellent guitar player, could roller skate and was a whiz at geography. Never forgot a name or a voice. It was almost like he was whole. After a while it was hard to feel sorry for Ernest, which is how most handicapped people want it anyway.
You won't learn a thing hanging out with drunks, dope addicts and other asses. You got to be around winners. Some people never figure that out. I knew it by the time I was 12.
Winners listen to other people. They're always trying to learn; they respect other people's opinions. Losers just want to talk.
I won a lot of money playing gin. I had a good memory, so I always knew what cards had been played. I could pay attention — did you know most people put all of their high cards on one side of their hand? And I had experience. If you have those three things, you can clean up. If you're missing just one, you should play for pennies or else stick with golf, because you'll wind up a pigeon.
If you want someone to be on time, don't tell them to be there at 9 o'clock. Tell them to be there at 8:58. When you nail down an exact minute, it stays in their mind. They'll think, This guy's precise.
Like a lot of tour pros, I escaped a hundred speeding tickets. We left our driver's licenses in the trunk of the car. When you retrieved it for the highway patrolman, he'd see that big, shiny golf bag with your name on it. A dozen balls and a signed photograph, and you were on your way.
One time I couldn't talk my way out of the ticket. I had to pay $30 on the spot. When I got back in the car, my son, Brad, who was 6 at the time, said, "What happened — you find someone who doesn't play golf?" I said, "Shut up."
If you feel your friends overlook the Christmas cards you send, do what a friend of mine does: Mail them in July.
If I could jump in a time machine and go back 30 years, I'd do it in a second. Golden years, my ass.
- Text Size:
- Small Text
- Medium Text
- Large Text
