64 Proves a Lucky Number for Clearwater

You might not hear much of Keith Clearwater after today, but just in case, there are a few things you might as well know about him, starting with the fact that when God passed out the handsome rations, this kid went back for seconds.

We know it sometimes looks as though the professional golf tour’s qualifying school lines up all of the guys with potential, weeds out the ugly ones, then distributes the membership cards. But this cannot be true, because Clearwater would not have taken so long to get one. This kid doesn’t just look like Arnold Palmer. He looks like Jim Palmer.

If that was all it took to succeed in this business, Clearwater would have it made. He would be rich and famous. He would be playing the final round of the U.S. Open today and having lunch with Robin Leach tomorrow. Groupies in the gallery would be screaming for an article of his clothing, a ball marker, a bag tag, anything.

It did not come that easy, though. Instead, for four years after turning pro in 1982, Clearwater scrounged around on the Tournament Players Assn.’s mini-tour, the bush league, eating at Burger Kings and sleeping at Days Inns and picturing himself in fancier restaurants and hotels. Big Time Golf was out there somewhere, somewhere close. He could smell it.

Four times he went after his tour card; four times he failed, until finally, last fall, he played well enough to get one. That put him in good standing for the 1987 PGA Tour, where the big purses are. The time had come to make some real money. Time for a Clearwater revival.

He picked up $8,715 at Pebble Beach by tying Jack Nicklaus, Ben Crenshaw and Lennie Clements, the big boys, for 15th place. He made a grand in the Andy Williams at La Jolla, and $1,602 in the L.A. Open. Every two bucks counted. At least it was Big Time.

A few months later, in mid-May, something interesting happened. Clearwater went to Colonial Country Club in Fort Worth, upon which he had never set foot. For two days, he did OK: 67-71. Then, on a course still moist from a Friday rain, Clearwater put together consecutive 64s. He won the tournament and $108,000.

Needless to say, he partied, partied till 2:30 in the morning. Which might have been all right, except at 5 a.m., Clearwater was supposed to wake up and haul his clubs over to the Lost Creek golf course just outside Fort Worth, where the U.S. Open’s regional qualifying tournament was being held. Sue Clearwater told her husband to get out of bed. Keith told his wife to get off his case.

“There’s gonna be a lot more Opens,” he said. “This is my first win on the Tour. I want to enjoy the day.”

Sue wasn’t having any of it. She had traveled enough back roads with her husband into the sticks of golf to know that neither of them wanted to go back. “A week from now, you’ll have wished you had gone. It’ll drive you crazy,” she said.

So, with a shove, he got up and went to Lost Creek--”the worst golf course I have ever played.”

And he qualified for the U.S. Open--which might turn out to be the best place he has ever played.

Clearwater, 27, born in Long Beach but raised in Walnut Creek, about 25 miles east of here, tied the Olympic Club’s course record Saturday and catapulted himself into contention at the Open. He shot his lucky number, 64, to end up tied for second place, after beginning the day in 56th place. How did it feel? “How else can it feel? It feels wonderful,” he said. “But I’ve still got to go play Sunday. So many guys have had tremendous third rounds, and then walked away shooting 78, and then they forget who you are. It’s like we’ve played six innings of a baseball game.”

Still, it sure does beat a year ago. Where was this guy a year ago?

“Beats me,” Clearwater said. “Probably Joplin, Missouri, or someplace like that.”

All those years when he was sneaking onto a municipal course in Walnut Creek, or coming here to Olympic for the Pro Junior or the State Amateur qualifying or some other event, Clearwater believed his day would come. “I always knew I’d make it. I told myself I was going to keep playing until I do, whether it took me to 40 or 60 or whatever.”

He played on a Brigham Young team, with Bobby Clampett, Rick Fehr and Richard Zokol, that took the 1981 National Collegiate Athletic Assn. championship. A year later, he turned pro. He had the ability. He knew that. A lot of the big boys on the pro tour knew it, too. Clearwater was no secret to them, even while they were playing Pebble and he was playing Joplin.

His game has been impressive all along. “It just hasn’t been recognized,” Clearwater said. “I’m recognized today because we’re out here in the big arena. But look at Bob Tway. It took him four tries to make the tour, too. Two years later, he was the player of the year.”

If Keith Clearwater should become the player of the year, or at least the player of the moment, his striking, blue-eyed face is going to be a lot more famous. But famous doesn’t scare him. He has never been paired with Jack Nicklaus or Tom Watson for a round of golf, but when that day comes, he is ready for it.

“I’d be nervous more about my game than about playing with them,” Clearwater said. “The ball doesn’t know that Jack Nicklaus is standing next to it.”

Well, maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Nicklaus has a face that’s launched a thousand chips. But even Jack’s ball doesn’t have dimples like this kid’s.