There are tour pros who don't smile much, and the public wonders why. As one who didn't smile much, I'll tell you why: My whole life was invested in it. The people around me had everything invested in it and were depending on me. I wish I'd been different, but golf was way too important to smile about.
Mickey Wright truly was one of a kind. I admire Annika Sorenstam's ability to hit the ball solid every time, but she isn't quite in the same realm as Mickey when it comes to shotmaking. I'm talking about hitting a 2-iron off hardpan. I'm not romanticizing the past; I challenge any woman today to take one of those old-fashioned 2-irons, the head of which wasn't much bigger than the golf ball itself, and carry the ball 200 yards with a fade or draw on command. Mickey could do that consistently. I saw it, and some of it is preserved on tape.
Mickey wasn't the best player, though. That would be Kathy Whitworth. We've all heard about course management, but Kathy mastered "game management." She made the course fit the shots she liked to play. No one thing stood out. She could just play.
When I started in TV in 1984, I was quite sure I was going to be a miserable failure. I'm not a shy person, but I'm also not good at pushing my way to the forefront of a crowd. The saving grace was, I wasn't on camera. If that had been the case, I might well have frozen. By the time I got on camera several years later, I was ready for it. Even now I'm not entirely comfortable. One reason I wear glasses is, they act a bit like a barrier between me and the outside world.
I was having breakfast with Dave Marr when a friend of his stopped in for a cup of coffee. Somehow we started discussing women in the workplace, and Dave's friend said, "The trouble is, too many women try to be just like men. 'Equal' doesn't have to be 'the same.' " That really resonated with me. It relaxed me.
After we had finished a telecast one day, I walked into the production truck, and a fellow who works for ABC saw me and lit up. "Judy, you really did a great job," he said, and leaned forward to give me a hug. But halfway into that lean, he caught himself and actually backpedaled. "I am so sorry," he said. I felt so bad for him, that he had to arrest his expression of gladness and affection, for fear of sexual harassment. I'm fully aware of the other side of the coin with this issue, but it's a shame that we've had to redefine what constitutes normal behavior.
My father raised me, I got married early, and I had one son. I've been surrounded by men my entire life, so I'm comfortable with men and enjoy letting them be comfortable around me. Some things they do may horrify some women, but I pretty much take in stride. I like being one of the guys. I like to be treated well, but not special.
I don't mind the obligatory pecks on the cheek between men and women. But air kissing—pursing your lips and kissing the space next to their cheek—always strikes me as plain silly.
One shot I've seen in my TV life stands above all others. At the 1989 British Open at Troon, I watched Greg Norman birdie the first six holes. That was thrilling, but on the 16th hole, a long par 5, Greg's drive came to rest on a downslope on tight, bare turf. He pulled out a driver and I thought, "No way he can pull this off." The crack of his driver striking the ball is with me to this day. He hit it as flush as a ball can be hit, a high, towering draw, and the ball stopped 18 feet from the hole. For a second I stood there frozen. I couldn't find words to describe a shot that good.
At another British Open, Fred Couples strolled over and gave me a kiss on the cheek in the fourth fairway. It doesn't get much better than that, either.
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