Chi Chi : On helping kids, the death of showmanship, and why he just can't stop the music - Chi Chi Rodriguez

While so many of today's players see the game primarily as a business, Chi Chi Rodriguez remains a refreshing throwback to a more crowd-pleasing era. Whenever he converts a birdie putt or executes a spectacular approach, he immediately launches into the shtick we've seen a zillion times since the early 1960s.

No matter. The sword dance is always endearing. He's that rare entertainer with an act that never seems to grow old.

The body, of course, is another matter. In October 1998, Rodriguez suffered a near-fatal heart attack. Four months later, he was back on the Senior PGA Tour stage.

It would be unfair, however, to dismiss Chi Chi as a man who only makes people laugh. In 1979, he helped establish the Chi Chi Rodriguez Youth Foundation in Clearwater, Fla., which runs four programs, including a school and two public golf courses for abused and neglected children. The foundation now has a $10 million endowment to fund the programs. Each year, 450 at-risk youngsters learn respect and responsibility. This most giving of golfers clearly owes his place in the World Golf Hall of Fame not only to his combined 30 victories on the PGA and senior tours, but to his humanitarian efforts as well.

Golf World Associate Editor Michael Arkush, who covers the Senior PGA Tour for our sister publication, met with Rodriguez at length last year at Chi Chi's home in Jupiter, Fla., and at The Tradition in Arizona, following up with several phone calls.

GOLF DIGEST: Is it true that when you're in a restaurant, you always have to be facing the entrance?

Rodriguez: Yes.

Why?

I have to have control, and control means whoever comes through that door, I have control. If I have my back to that door, I can't control anybody. If a guy comes here to hold up this place, I can take off my ring and put it in places where he can't get it. But if I have my back to him, I can't see him, so my ring will be gone and my money will be gone. I have to have control of everything I do. What would happen if you weren't in control?

Then I'm a loser. Losers lose control. A winner controls. I've always been in control. I don't gamble, because then I wouldn't be in control. When you gamble, the house is in control.

When you had the heart attack, you weren't in control. God was in control, and that's more important than me.

How are you feeling?

My heart is perfect. My heart attack had been brewing for four or five years, and, actually, they call it the "widow maker." Fifty percent die from it. So I was one of the lucky ones. My cholesterol is perfect, my blood circulation is perfect. I actually feel as good or better than I've ever felt in my entire life.

How scared were you?

Not so much for me, because I know that when I die, there's a spot in heaven for me. I was afraid for the work that I wouldn't accomplish. I have a few more years to save the lives and make better citizens of some kids.

Did you think you were going to die?

I knew I was going to live, but I started crying. As weak as I felt, I thought I could never hit a golf ball again. I said, "God, I don't care if I ever play competitive golf again. Just let me get out of here so I can play with my friends."

Do you pray every day?

No, and I don't normally go to ministers. In other words, I cut the middleman out, just in case he's on bad terms. I go straight to God.

What do you think happens after death?

I've always felt that it's so good over there that they don't let you know--because if they did, everybody would commit suicide.

How has the heart attack changed you?

My wife and I took a week off not long ago, which I had never done before, and went to Hawaii. All I ever did was sleep, eat and work. I found out that in those three and a half, four months that I was off, that maybe I'd been doing my life wrong. It's not all work. When I go to Tampa and Clearwater, I go on the bridge and see the same guys fishing all the time, some of them without a hook. I used to say, "How can you be that lazy?" Maybe they're doing it the right way.

Does it bother you that you'll be remembered more for your theatrics on the course than for your play?

No. I don't care about how many tournaments I won. Winning tournaments is very important for your ego, but winning the people is very important for your soul. I've never been a great golfer. I want to be remembered as a guy who was the kids' pal.

Did your entertaining style distract from your play?

Maybe I would have been a better golfer if I had just thought of my shots and what was happening on the golf course. But I'm always thinking of other stuff.

You'd rather make fans laugh than concentrate on the shot?

It's always been that way with me.

You might have had a better record.

Maybe, but I have a good record with the people, and that's just as important. Did other players ever talk to you directly about your behavior on the course? Arnie did. He said, "Look, you've got to tone down your antics, because if you don't, I'll ask them not to pair me with you again."

Hey, I was young and I was at the Masters, and, actually, I was hitting the ball inside Arnie. I figured all those big hands coming in were for me, but they were for him. He was the King, and I was too young and too naive to know what was happening. I kept putting my hat over the hole and stuff, and he rightly got a little upset. You must have been a little shaken. I was. I used to put my hat over the hole if I made any putts. But after that day, I would wait until it was my turn, till I was the last guy to putt. Did anyone else ever say anything? Yeah. Al Balding told me to take the hat away so he could putt.