Caddy for Life

by John Feinstein

  The Today show wanted Tom and Bruce to appear the next morning. Since the two of them were flying back to Kansas City that night, that would mean waking up at about 4 a.m. to do the segment. But it was too good an opportunity to turn down. Marsha and Kim Julian had been working on setting up a website called Driving4Life, and this was a chance to talk about it on one of the most-watched programs in the country, and about the work being done on ALS research at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston, where Bruce was now being treated.

  “What this comes down to is simple,” Marsha said the next day. “We’re looking for a needle in a haystack. It won’t be easy. But we’ve got to find it.”

  The publicity generated by the Open was overwhelming, dwarfing the post-Masters response. Money came in, good wishes came in, requests for more interviews came in.

  And people claiming to know where the needle was came in.

  Watson and Marsha were both bombarded with calls and e-mails from people who claimed they knew how to help Bruce. They knew about a drug or a doctor or had a friend who had found a way to slow the progress of the disease. There were also a handful of people who insisted that Bruce didn’t need to find a cure for ALS. That’s because they didn’t think he had ALS. They thought he had chronic Lyme disease. One of the reasons the Mayo Clinic had tested Bruce for Lyme disease in January was because there are times when the symptoms of ALS mimic the symptoms of chronic Lyme. Both are neurological diseases, the difference being that one is treatable if caught in time and one is not. The key, in the case of Lyme, is diagnosing it as early as possible.

  Both Watson and Marsha were extremely skeptical when people first began to bring up the issue of Lyme. Bruce had been tested for it. The test had been negative. Doesn’t matter, some people insisted; the spinal tap done at the Mayo Clinic wasn’t foolproof. Sometimes people have Lyme and it doesn’t show up in that test. Further testing should be done. The more Bruce and Marsha heard about this, the more curious they became. Watson remained the skeptic. There were several doctors—notably one in Philadelphia—who kept insisting that Bruce needed to come see them and undergo their tests for Lyme. Finally Bruce told Watson he wanted to go see the doctor in Philadelphia.

  “What have I got to lose?” he said. “What if he’s right? If he’s not right, I still have ALS and nothing changes. If he is right, everything changes. It certainly can’t be worse than just waiting to die.”

  Watson understood that Bruce wanted to at least find out if there might be a needle out there. He agreed with Bruce’s plan to go to Philadelphia after the Open. Bruce flew in, spent a day in Philadelphia, and underwent various tests. The doctor told him he was convinced he had chronic Lyme disease but couldn’t be certain until the test results came back. Bruce rested at home for a few days before the Senior Open and arrived in Toledo believing there was a reasonable chance that he had Lyme disease. “It’s also possible,” he said, “that the tests might show I have both. I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high, but I can’t help but hope at least a little.”

  That was certainly understandable under the circumstances. What Bruce really wanted to focus on was trying to help Watson win the Senior Open. Watson had finished second the year before and had not won that title in his first three attempts. What’s more, a victory, as Bruce had pointed out on Sunday in Chicago, would ensure a return to the Open the following year.

  The weather in Toledo was predictably hot and humid. On Wednesday Watson and Bruce taped a public service announcement that would air during the NBC telecasts that week. The USGA is allowed two PSAs during each telecast. They are used, most often, to promote the USGA’s role in the game—putting on thirteen championships each year, growing the game, and helping to write and rewrite the rules of the game along with the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews. They are, in essence, thirty-second fund-raisers. USGA executive director David Fay had offered to cede one of his PSAs to Watson and Bruce for the week to allow Watson to talk about the two ALS organizations that they were now trying to raise money for in the wake of what had happened in Chicago.

  They taped the PSA on the range after Craig Smith, the USGA’s communications manager, had written a brief script. “You know Bruce and I have been together for more than twenty-three years,” Watson began.

  “Twenty-seven years,” Bruce interrupted.

  “Is it that long?” Watson said.

  “Nice memory,” Bruce answered.

  Watson was ready to try it again. A production assistant held a copy of the script a few feet away from where Watson was standing.

  “Can you read that?” he asked.

  “Sure I can,” Watson said.

  “Liar,” Bruce interjected.

  The stuff that never made it on the air was clearly more entertaining than what did.

  Watson got it right in four takes, talking about all he and Bruce had been through together on the golf course, then adding, “But now we’re in the fight of our lives, specifically a fight for Bruce’s life.” He talked about ALS and the fund-raising organizations. When he was finished, Bruce said simply—unscripted—“Thanks Tom, you’re the best.” Then, turning to the camera like an old pro, he added, “And thank you everyone, for all your support.”

  One take.

  He was really getting good at this stuff.

  The weather was far more comfortable when the tournament began on Thursday, June 26, than it had been during the practice rounds. That was a relief to both Watson and Bruce. The hot, humid weather had worn Bruce out on both Tuesday and Wednesday. The USGA had told him, first in Chicago and now in Toledo, that he could use a cart whenever he felt the need. Bruce was absolutely determined to make it through the two Opens without resorting to a cart.

  “If I do it at a Senior tournament I don’t stick out like a sore thumb, because there are carts all over the place,” he said. “But at a regular tour event or any USGA event”—where carts aren’t allowed—“it would just put more focus on my situation, and I don’t want that. Plus I like to walk, I like to be there on the fairway next to Tom. It’s what feels normal to me after all these years.”

  He had gotten lucky in Chicago, where the weather had been comfortable all week. The two practice days in Toledo had been miserably hot, and he had been as tired as he could remember after the Wednesday round. He had given up the 162-pill-a-day protocol in May and was now receiving a daily B-12 shot, recommended by the doctor in Philadelphia, to help his system. He had lost twenty-five pounds, most of it muscle, since his diagnosis, and now carried a very lean 145 pounds on a 6-foot frame. At the golf course, Watson was almost like an overattentive mother, checking Bruce frequently to monitor how he was feeling. He had arranged for a doctor to give Bruce the B-12 shot each day in Toledo. On Wednesday afternoon, tracking down the doctor after the practice round was a bit of a concern. He finally showed up while Watson was in the player’s dining area of the clubhouse sipping a postround soda.

  “You have your shot yet?” he yelled in the direction of the locker room at Bruce, knowing the doctor had arrived.

  “Did you hear me scream in pain yet?” Bruce answered.

  Watson smiled. “The amazing thing to me is that there’s been no change in the sense of humor, dating back to that first night when he was diagnosed,” he said. “He just won’t give in no matter what he’s going through, how he’s feeling, or through all the poking and prodding from the doctors and different pills and protocols they keep coming at him with.”

  Watson could see clearly, though, what was happening to Bruce. The loss of weight was obvious, and having walked golf courses with him for so many years, he knew how much more easily he was tiring. “This is three weeks out of four,” he said. “The weather doesn’t help. We’ve talked about the fact that when we get to Dearborn [Senior Players Championship] in two weeks, he’s going to have to start using a cart. At least there, it won’t be as noticeable, because other guys will be using them. That makes it easier for him mentally.”

/>   The two men had also decided earlier in the spring that Bruce would not make the two-week trip in July to Great Britain for the British Open and Senior British Open. This was tough for Bruce because, having missed all those years caddying in the British, he loved going over there. The Senior British was being held at Turnberry, a place that held so many memories for Watson—the great one in ’77; the disappointing one in ’94—and Bruce had looked forward to going. But doctors had told him that if the weather turned cold and rainy—a definite possibility—his joints might lock up and it would become very difficult for him to walk, much less walk and carry a forty-pound golf bag. On that basis, it had been decided he would stay home and rest after working four weeks in six. Neil Oxman had told Bruce in the spring that he wanted to do some caddying in the summer since he had relatively few elections to work on in an odd-numbered year. He asked Bruce if he could line him up with someone.

  Oxman was excited, happy, and disappointed when Bruce told him he had a bag for him for two weeks overseas: Watson. “My attitude was, of course I’d do it and it would be a thrill to work for Tom,” Oxman said. “I had always worked with middle-of-the-road type players; good guys and all, but certainly not in Watson’s class. But there was another part of me that was hoping he would change his mind at the last minute and go. I booked flights, but I held off on booking a room.”

  Watson was paired for the first two rounds of the Senior Open with José-María Canizares, a solid player from Spain, and his old friend and rival Fuzzy Zoeller. Playing with Zoeller was always different, because he kept a steady stream of one-liners going all day, directed at himself, the crowd, and anyone within hearing range. The morning was breezy and pleasant, and Bruce, after watching Watson warm up, was very optimistic. His swing looked much the way it had early in the week at Olympia Fields.

  Concerned about how tired Bruce had looked Wednesday, Watson asked him how he felt as they walked down the 10th fairway (their first hole of the day). “I feel pretty good,” Bruce said. Then he smiled. “I went to bed at nine.” That was virtually unheard of for Bruce, but he had understood he needed the extra sleep. “Kept waking up, though. My body’s not used to keeping those kind of hours.”

  The morning turned out to be a mini-reprise of Chicago. After parring the first three holes, Watson played the par-five 13th in Watson-of-old style: He missed the fairway to the right, laid up in the rough, then hit a wedge that ran through the green and stopped against the collar on the fringe 25 feet behind the flag. “When the hell did they move a highway in here?” Zoeller asked as Watson’s ball scooted through the hard, fast green. That got a grin from Watson, who then bladed a perfect wedge straight down the hill and into the hole for birdie. Classic Watson: His ball had never come to rest on the fairway or the green and he walked off the hole with a birdie. When the crowd went nuts, Watson smiled and said, “Heck, you’re supposed to birdie a par-five.” Walking to the next tee, when Bruce commented on that being a flashback to the old days, he nodded and said, “Yeah, that really was an old-time Watson birdie.”

  The rest of the day was pretty much just that way. Watson rolled in a 35-footer for birdie at the next hole and said pointedly, “That was a good read, Bruce.”

  “Wasn’t a bad putt either,” Bruce answered drily.

  They had a lengthy discussion about a hard-breaking 20-footer at the 15th before Watson made that one too to go to three under par. Zoeller shook his head after that one and said loudly, “What the hell do you do about that except say, ‘Damn nice putt.’” Watson saved par at the 17th, making a tricky six-footer, and then made his fourth birdie at number one, drilling a 30-footer. Two holes later, after Bruce had convinced him there was more break in the putt than Watson thought, Watson made a 20-footer from the fringe. “You had it exactly right,” he said to Bruce, who was grinning from ear to ear.

  Watson was in the lead by that point, but this had a completely different feel than Chicago. For one thing, Watson leading the Senior Open was no surprise. For another, if he were to shoot 90 the second day it would matter. He had only one real goal for the week: to win. This was a more typical Thursday. Get off to a good start in order to be in serious contention on Sunday. There were “Bruuuce” chants around the golf course, but both he and Watson had become almost accustomed to them by now.

  Watson’s first bogey came at the par-four fourth hole, which would be statistically the most difficult hole of the entire year on the Champions Tour. He came back to birdie the fifth, then bogeyed the par-three sixth when his tee shot took another of Zoeller’s highway hops and went through the green. “What is this, the British Open?” was Zoeller’s comment on that one.

  He finished on the par-four ninth, with the gallery seemingly almost as large as it had been in Chicago. It was midday by now, and the weather had warmed considerably. Watson, who had been excellent off the tee most of the day, hit a perfect drive. Standing in the fairway, he and Bruce were between wedge and nine-iron. Knowing the humid air would make the ball fly and that his player was pumped up, Bruce preferred wedge. Watson liked nine. “Okay then,” Bruce said, “but just a little one.”

  Watson smiled and said, “Yes sir.” He hit his little nine to within four feet of the flag and nailed the birdie putt for a five-under-par 66. That gave him a little piece of history: He became the only man to lead both the Open and the Senior Open in the same year. More important, it put him right where he wanted to be, setting up the rest of the week. There was no hug this time, because this really was just a Thursday. Watson had his arm around Bruce as they walked off the green to the cheers of the very enthusiastic crowd.

  “There’s one goal at this event, that’s to win,” Bruce said later. “The Open was completely different for all the obvious reasons. We finish second here or anything that isn’t first, it’s going to be a disappointment.”

  Predictably, the second day was tougher. Watson actually hit the ball just as well as he had on Thursday, but he didn’t make the bevy of long putts he had made in the first round. “That was as good a putting round [Thursday] as I’ve had in a long time,” he said. “That’s the way I used to play. But these days, that’s not the norm. Friday was more the norm.”

  The result was a one-over-par 72 that dropped him into second place behind Vicente Fernandez, who came in late in the day with a stunning 64 to take a one-shot lead. Watson was still in very good position despite what he and Bruce hoped would be their worst day of the week.

  There was one difficult moment that afternoon. As the players and caddies walked toward the third green, the “Bruuuce” chant started again. The third is a par three, the green sitting in what amounts to an amphitheater, with bleachers behind and on the sides. The bleachers were packed and the crowd was loud, going on at length. Bruce had actually learned how to tip his cap in Chicago—there hadn’t been much need earlier in his career—so he tipped his cap quickly, hoping that would quiet the crowd.

  “Where in the world did all these people come from?” Zoeller joked as the chant picked up again after Watson had two-putted for par. Walking to the fourth tee, the players and caddies walked in between ropes, with fans crowding in on both sides. There were more shouts for Bruce and words of encouragement. The fourth is a forecaddy hole, the players walking back to the tee while the caddies walk forward to meet them in the fairway. The quickest route is down the right side, where the ropes are. Bruce walked straight across the fairway to the far side, away from the ropes and the fans.

  “I felt like it was starting to become a circus,” he said. “The last thing in the world I want is to be a distraction in any way for Tom or the other players. I needed to get away, just get to a place where it would be quiet for a couple of minutes.”

  While Bruce fled across the fairway, Cayce Kerr, Zoeller’s caddy, another longtime friend, stared at him. There were tears in his eyes. “I know they mean well,” he said of the fans. “But all they’re doing now, when we’re just out here playing and nothing special’s happening, is
reminding Bruce that he’s sick. He doesn’t need to be reminded. He can feel it every step he’s taking.”

  Kerr and the other caddies had noticed that Bruce, who had always been one of the fastest walkers on tour, just couldn’t keep a fast pace for 18 holes anymore. “He needs it slower,” Kerr said. “He won’t ever say a word about it, but we notice. The guy has so much guts, but you can see the exhaustion in his face. We got lucky today because it’s cooled off, but he’s still hurting. I can feel it.”

  Caddies will often help one another during a round—raking for one another, for example, if a caddy needs to get right to his player after he comes out of a bunker. On 18 that afternoon, Watson found the back bunker. After he played out, Kerr grabbed the rake just to save Bruce a little work. “All the guys are doing that when they can,” Watson said. “I notice it when they do it, and I’m grateful. But I know they aren’t doing it for me. They’re doing it for Bruce.”

  Watson didn’t play badly on Saturday, shooting a one-under-par 70, but Bruce Lietzke, who had started the day two shots behind Watson, in third place, played what he later called the round of his life, shooting 64. That put him at nine under for the week, giving him a four-shot lead on Watson and Fernandez. Sometimes the most frustrating thing about golf is not being able to play defense. Lietzke was a talented player who had won thirteen times and made a lot of money on the regular tour but had never won a major. He had made a conscious decision early in his career to play enough golf to make a good living but took off long stretches during the year to spend time with his two children. If that meant missing majors, he simply missed them. He had never played in the British Open and had last played in the U.S. Open in 1985. Now his kids were almost grown, and like a lot of players, he was finding playing with the over-fifty set quite enjoyable.