Alva Review-Courier -

Perhaps ten years before his Pinehurst victory, I “met” Payne Stewart while attending one of the Colonial golf tournaments in Fort Worth, Texas. I was in a crowd of several hundred people, watching a foursome of golfers play the ninth hole, when one of the player’s hit a marginal shot, and it wound up in the small lake short of the hole.

An unknown person immediately behind me called out to the errant golfer in a voice slightly louder than normal, “Dave, so goes life.” I turned my head slightly to identify the speaker, and found myself face-to-face with Payne Stewart. He was totally oblivious to my presence, his utterance clearly intended to buck up a fellow competitor involved in a golfing disaster. I was so stunned by the sudden shock of being only a foot or two from one of golf’s foremost celebrities, that I have no recollection of anything occurring afterwards.

Perhaps a decade afterwards, Payne Stewart was lost to the world, killed while at the peak of his celebrity – the victim of a crash in a private jet. His death left a painful void for the entire golfing world, much like the removal of the brightest color from an artist’s paintbox.

And yet, my wife, Patti, has retained just a tiny bit of Stewart’s color for the two of us – namely Payne Stewart’s autograph – obtained years before during another Colonial tournament. The treasured signature is now locked up securely in a safety deposit box, but Patti has several photocopies which she proudly displays in various places of our two modest homes.

Now all of you would-be autograph hounds, sit up and take notice of how the collecting can be done – more specifically, that of getting the all-important signature of a popular celebrity in a crowded setting. At the Colonial tournament where Stewart’s signature was obtained, Patti and I had been watching perhaps as many as 35 - 40 pro golfers warm up on the practice tee before their competitive rounds began. At the time, we were making mental notes as to how we could incorporate some of their professional techniques into our own (mere mortal) golfing repertoires.

I noticed that one of the new placards denoting individual practice spots on the tee included Stewart’s indicated location. Patti quietly whispered to me, “Oh Randy, do you think that I could get his autograph?” In response, I waved my arm past a sea of fans gathered around the natural amphitheater of the practice tee, and said, “Patti, get real. You’ve got to realize that there are perhaps a thousand fans here that are going to try to get his signature when he leaves the practice ground. There’s just no way that . . . .”

Before I could complete my statement, Patti “got the bit in her teeth,” and began pushing and jostling her way to a position immediately behind the retaining ropes where the players exited the practice tee after warming up. The place she chose was near as possible to where the caddie was placing Stewart’s golf bag, in front of his placard. This clearly indicated the place where Stewart would begin his warmup. Thinking that Patti was on to something, I quickly moved after her before the rest of Stewart’s fans began to mass around the location.

Patti and I watched Stewart go through his warmup routine, starting with silky smooth shots from his sand wedge, working eventually up to magnificent full shots which boomed outward and upward from his driver. During this time, I provided a whispered account detailing with how and why he performed various maneuvers, and the necessary adjustments he made with the various clubs. (Lots of techy proficiency-type stuff, you know.)

It was truly a masterful analysis, delivered with all of the oral skills accumulated during my decades of being a lawyer and college professor. Within seconds, as a result of my informative lecture, everyone began moving as far away from us as possible.

Even Patti (unbelievably) tuned my whispering out, choosing instead to focus her gaze unwaveringly at Stewart’s form as he lofted one majestic shot after another into the air. Each shot would finally drop to earth, softly as a marshmallow, hundreds of yards away at the end of its flight. When Stewart finished hitting several full shots with his driver, he then began to work back downwards through his shorter clubs, evidently working on shots that he felt needed some extra attention.

Near the end of his warmup, his pace of hitting became more deliberate, finally working his way back to several softer touch shots with his sand wedge. Then Stewart stopped practicing and approached his caddie. He maintained his hold on the wedge while the caddie wiped the blade of the club clean with a towel. Then clearly trying to gather himself for the public relations task ahead prior to leaving the practice ground, Stewart slowly began to reinsert the club into his bag, and turned to face the crowd which was now pressing forward against the ropes.

Patti’s eyes fixated on Stewart’s from the moment he began turning around. At the very moment Stewart’s club contacted the bottom of his bag, Patti leaned slightly forward, while continuing to maintain a steady eye contact, and extended her hand (with a program and pen atop it) outward to Stewart. Her actions caused him walk up to her before all others. Then he took her pen and signed the program, returned her items, and in an instant was gone.

Not a word was said during the exchange. And it took several moments before I regained my bearings to discuss what had just happened. I finally found my voice, and asked, “Patti, if you could manage that so well, why on earth did you ask me if it would be possible to get Payne Stewart’s autograph?” After almost three decades of marriage to her, I still don’t know why – or for that matter, how she acquired such a thorough understanding of human nature.

As for Stewart, his memory of the event was doubtless that of a trivial matter which lasted only seconds. But for Patti and I, his autograph is priceless, and the process of obtaining it will remain a memory that will last for a lifetime.

(Next time, some additional hints to obtain autographs.)