Interviewed By Guy Yocom
Photo By Dom Furore July 2005

Age 65 • Hall of Famer• Flower Mound, Texas

I started out trying to win one tournament. Then I wanted to win a second to prove the first one wasn't a fluke. Then I thought, Maybe I can keep doing this. The next thing I knew, I had 88.

The way Annika Sorenstam is going, she's got an awful good shot at breaking my record. Your next question is going to be, does that bother me? The answer is, not at all. I never thought about records when I was in the process of winning all those tournaments, anyway. For what it's worth, I don't think Annika loses sleep at night wondering if she'll win 89 tournaments. She knows that record will be hers if she keeps doing what she's doing.

If not for a career decision by Mickey Wright, my total never would have set the record. Mickey was the best I've ever seen, without a doubt. She retired earlier than she had to, and if she'd kept going she surely would have won more than the 82 she had when she quit for good. Just playing along normally, she easily could have won more than 100. I set a standard for Annika to surpass, but it would be a lot more interesting if Mickey hadn't hung up her spikes as soon as she did.

Here's how great Mickey was: Four years after her retirement in 1969 she decided to come back and play the Dinah Shore in 1973. That's a major championship, and with no tournaments in between, she teed it up and won. She retired again. Then, in 1979, she came back and played in the Coca-Cola Classic. And Nancy Lopez ran in a long putt to beat her and four others in a sudden-death playoff. Maybe it's the type of accomplishment only another pro athlete can appreciate, but let me tell you, that was strong stuff.

The press makes a big to-do about the number of top-10 finishes a player has. Like a lot of pros, I don't understand it. Mickey Wright finished second more than 50 times. My seconds numbered somewhere in the 90s. Gosh, I was in 23 sudden-death playoffs. Not one of those seconds felt very good. Each one was a testament to the fact that I hadn't played quite well enough to get the job done.

Many times I missed putts that would have won a tournament or gotten me into a playoff. Usually it was for the same reason: I was thinking about how badly I needed to make the putt instead of what I had to do to make it. Think about that. If you can get to a point where your routine, focus and determination are so good that you truly treat every putt the same, you're going to be one tough player to beat.

I joined the LPGA Tour in 1959. At that time we played in a lot of small places: Caldwell, Idaho. Ogden, Utah. Las Cruces, New Mexico. Midland, Texas. The field was sometimes only 35 players. The bad news was that we paid only 15 places or so. The good news was, there was no cut. The galleries were incredible; sometimes it seemed like the whole town was out there, and they got to walk along with us because there were no ropes. The enthusiasm was remarkable. Slowly, the small-market events on all three major tours are disappearing, and it's really a shame.

We helped each other. We shared cars, roomed together, and if someone was really struggling financially, we would help them get to the next town. A dollar went further, of course. Gas was 15 cents a gallon, and a motel cost $5. We caravaned a lot, four or five cars, so we could be there for each other if there was a problem. There were no cell phones or even CB radios, so we communicated by holding up signs in the car windows—"I need to go to the bathroom" was flashed a lot. There was poor radio reception and no air conditioning, and I also got a lot of flat tires. So many, I got to where I could change a tire and be on my way in less than 20 minutes. Those experiences stay with you. Today, every time I get in my car I think how nice it is to have cruise control, air conditioning and steel-belted radial tires.

In 1982 I was looking for a place to invest the money I had accumulated. I ended up investing a good piece of my worth in an equities firm. It was described as a sure-win thing, but a couple of years later there were rumors it was having problems. I was assured by everyone that things were going just fine. Well, this company went out of business almost overnight, and a lot of people were wiped out. Athletes, doctors, professional people, a lot of lives were ruined, and there were a number of suicides. Me, I lost virtually all of my retirement.

I had to go back to work, and that meant going back on tour. That was a very difficult time in my life, because I'd never played golf feeling like I had to do it to survive. The fun was gone, and I didn't play worth a darn. But I had no choice but to keep playing, because it was an inroad to pro-ams and outings, anything I could do to get back on my feet. No job was too small, and I worked a lot harder than I wanted to. I came out of it eventually. It was a gut-wrenching time, but I'm very proud to have worked my way out of it.

There is concern about the number of foreign players dominating on the LPGA Tour. The top Americans aren't even in the majority anymore, but that sits fine with me. Remember, we're getting the very best these countries have to offer. And a great many of them—Annika for instance—learned to play over here. When people ask why we aren't developing more top players, I say, "We are. Look at Annika."

My mother was a huge collector of S&H Green Stamps. Remember those? They were given out as a premium for buying gas, groceries and whatnot. When you filled a certain number of books with stamps you'd trade them in for merchandise. To my mother these green stamps were like gold. One day she gave me some of her books to buy a Spalding driver and 3-wood. Real clubs, and new! I felt so privileged. Many years later, I won a tournament called the S&H Green Stamp Classic. First-prize money was modest, but the sponsor threw in a ton of those books already filled with stamps. My mother was at the awards presentation, and when they gave me all those books, the longing in my mother's eyes was too much for me. I gave her all of those stamps, and it was like I'd just handed her a winning lottery ticket. It's one of my happiest memories.