Nobody's Fool: Want to know how to play golf, how to teach golf, and how to run a great club without spending a fortune? Ask Jackie Burke, who doesn't pull any punches

Golf Digest, July, 2002 by Nick Seitz

JACKIE BURKE JR. IS A PEPPERY CONTRARIAN OF SALTY language deservedly called "America's grand golf sage." He's in the Hall of Fame for his playing record--17 victories, including the Masters and PGA Championship in 1956 and a 7-1 Ryder Cup record--but he just as well could be in for his success coaching tour stars like Phil Mickelson, Hal Sutton and Steve Elkington. Or for running perhaps the best local golf club in the country, Champions in Houston, which he co-founded with Jimmy Demaret and which he believes is home to more single-digit handicappers--more than 400--than any other club (you have to be a 15 or better to join). Or he could be in the hall for his fervid and influential punditry.

Fifty years ago, Burke became the last man to win four consecutive PGA Tour events in as many weeks. He was a boyish, wavy-haired 29, the nation's best-looking athlete according to Dagmar, a voluptuous sex symbol of the time. To Bob Hope, he was "the pro from Boys Town." Today he's a boyish, wavy-haired 79, the hair going silvery but the energy level a match for four 20-year-olds.

Retirement? "I watch retired guys who ran corporations go down--a big deal is screwdrivers on sale at Home Depot," he says in an expressive Texas twang moderated slightly by a hint of irony and straight-faced humor. "The mind has to keep working. When you don't want to help people anymore, the game's over."

Burke cannot help helping people who share his passion for golf, even if they inevitably fall short of it. He is scornful of modern gurus, or gu-RUS as he mockingly inflects the word, and tells tour pros, "If they can't beat you, they've got nothing to teach you." By any definition, Burke qualifies as a guru himself, particularly when it comes to the demonic art of putting.

One of the best putters the tour has ever seen, he has become a high priest of putting to latter-day disciples like Ben Crenshaw. "Just look at the guys he's helped," says Butch Harmon, whose first lesson was from Burke, at age 6, and who remains close to him.

Burke debunks systems, teaching through a gadflying Socratic approach and caustic parables, but he won't bother with you if he doesn't like you, and he will get your attention. Billy Ray Brown was working with Burke one day and missed a makable putt. Burke whacked him on the head and said, "Son, I want you to feel pain when you miss a putt."

Jim McLean, the well-regarded gu-RU, tells a Burke story on himself. When McLean was playing for the University of Houston, he spent as much time as he could around Champions. One day he and Burke were discussing driving the ball under pressure. "McLean," Burke barked like the Marine drill instructor he once was, "I'll tell you what I want you to do: I want you to go down to Galveston, tee up three balls on that hard sand and hit them into the Gulf of Mexico."

The next day McLean, knowing his was not to reason why, drove an hour to Galveston, teed up three balls, drove them into the gulf and returned to Houston. Burke asked him what he learned. McLean said he wasn't really sure. Burke then asked how he hit the three balls. McLean said he hit them well, very well. "Well, gawdam, that's it!" Burke said. "You've been steering that s.o.b. out there! You've got to let it go! The Gulf of Mexico's not big enough for you! Think of the Atlantic Ocean--there's no way to miss it!"

McLean says being befriended by Burke was the most important development of his career. Burke helped him land club jobs when McLean was young and employers were leery of hiring a bachelor. So Burke came up with reasons why hiring a pro who was single made sense. Then Burke traveled to New York to do clinics with McLean and impress his new customers.

Sutton says, "Mr. Burke is a psychologist. The man gave me my career back. He likes to say your clubs don't know when it's raining, which in my case meant they didn't know I was playing poorly, and it was time to turn the page and start a new chapter. Most of my lessons from him have been over lunch at Champions."

That's where a visitor finds Burke and his wife, Robin, during the Tour Championship (Champions gets a fifth Tour Championship in 2003). One of his prize pupils, Robin is a nationally ranked amateur who won the Southern and Doherty tournaments last year.

Burke, wearing a loose-fitting dress shirt open at the collar, jumps up from his fried chicken to brace Bob Estes, a Texan who enjoyed his best season in 2001, with two victories and almost $3 million in earnings. Burke lectures the taciturn Estes animatedly.

That's an opportunity to ask Robin, who is almost exactly half her husband's age, about living with a hypercaffeinated mate for 15 years. "I'm quiet and have selective hearing," she says with a smile. "And I can kick him when we do martial arts. That's good marriage therapy. With pads, of course."

They met when her wealthy father sent her to Burke for a summer's worth of lessons. "He says he taught me how to hold the pro, not the putter," she says. Under his tutelage she went from shooting in the high 80s to making the Curtis Cup team. The two have a 13-year-old daughter together, Meghan, like Robin a reigning club champion. (Burke has five grown sons and daughters by his late first wife.) Robin practices all day two to three times a week, until Meghan's out of school.