BODY WATCH : Young at Heart : Eight years ago, Arthur Schoenberg said goodby to his family and went into the hospital to die. Instead, he got another chance at life.

Interesting,” Arthur Schoenberg mutters as he strolls toward the tee on the fourth hole at the Palos Verdes Country Club. The cup is 190 yards away on a green flanked by bunkers built low on the far bank of a ravine.

Schoenberg loves this game, loves to play it well and often. He is not as strong as he once was. His heart is young, but the rest of him is 74 years old.

On Sept. 21, 1986, Schoenberg became the oldest person in the United States to receive a heart transplant. At the time, the recommended cutoff for heart recipients was 55, so at age 66--having survived four heart attacks and one bypass operation--he was an unlikely transplant candidate.

His heart had weakened to the point where doctors were amazed that his flow of blood was enough to sustain him. He had been denied a transplant once before because of his age, but a last-ditch request was made to the selection committee at the UCLA Heart Transplant Program.

Despite his age, the committee agreed to place him on the waiting list; but because of his age, he was given low priority. There was little hope he would survive long enough to receive a new heart.

Within 24 hours, however, a 23-year-old man was killed in a motorcycle crash. Organ procurement officials went down their list of candidates, unable to find a match until they came to Schoenberg’s name.

And, now, eight years later, Schoenberg is taking a deep breath, looking out over the ravine and seeing possibilities in the unlikely.

He drives the ball hard and true, and he can’t keep the thought from entering his mind. In his life, he has hit four holes in one--three since his transplant.

“Could be,” says Dr. Jim Cicciarelli, a member of the foursome, as he watches the flight of Schoenberg’s ball. “Maybe,” thinks Schoenberg.

*

Jane and Arthur Schoenberg met in 1951, married in 1952. For 24 years, Arthur worked for a handbag manufacturer, leaving in 1974 to become vice president of a weather-stripping company.

His first heart attack occurred in 1966 while he was water-skiing, the second while playing volleyball, the third during a tennis match, the fourth in 1977 while on the golf course.

He accepted the likelihood of death without anger or bitterness, content in knowing that his life had been good and full prior to the months leading up to the transplant.

His wife cared for him at home, witnessing his decline. He was unable to eat solid foods, and walking even a few steps would exhaust him.

To pass the time, they played cards in their Los Angeles home. She would deal four to him and four to herself, play her hand, then hold his cards in front of his face. Too weak to speak, he would motion with his nose to indicate which card to play.

She would shuffle and deal again.

Jane was never convinced he was being truthful when he said he was not in pain. It was hard for her to know how to feel, whether she should hope for him to hang on or go quietly and quickly.

She would talk to him about their good times, their three children, family vacations. “We had three grandchildren at the time,” Arthur says, “and we took great comfort in that.”

Son David recalls a conversation not long before his father was taken to the hospital. At that point, the decision had not yet been made to place him on the waiting list.

“He said, ‘You know, when my quality of life gets to this point, I don’t want to live anymore.’ ” It was the only time David has seen his father cry.

Not long after that, David carried his father to the car to take him to the hospital. He could feel his father’s lightness and fragility and recalls thinking to himself how little time was left.

A rabbi had been contacted. The eulogy had been written. Arthur was going to the hospital to die, having already said his goodbys.

His daughter, Marcie Schoenberg Lee, had made most of the funeral arrangements.

“We said goodby, and I told him how sorry I was that he wasn’t going to be there to see my son grow up,” Lee says. “He said, “I know, but I don’t want to live this way.’ ”

Meanwhile, Schoenberg’s doctors were lobbying for a transplant. Dr. Davis Drinkwater was on the screening committee at the UCLA Medical Center and eventually performed the surgery.

“He was definitely a test case,” Drinkwater says. “He had a terrific family, a very supportive wife and family, and his mind was as sharp as a tack. His kidneys and everything else were working fine. . . . All doctors are advocates, but his had really connected with him and saw him as a vital person who had been active all his life and had the potential to get back there. We were all struck by that.”

It was Jane who delivered the news to Arthur when the heart was found. His eyes were closed, as she lowered her head next to his “They found a heart,” she said. “They’ve really found a heart.”

*

Schoenberg recalls awakening for the first time with his new heart, turning his head to the bedside monitor and seeing a strong, steady signal. “I looked at that and just thought, ‘Oh boy.’ ”

He was hospitalized 11 days following the operation and then embarked on his recovery. He began exercising, walking to the corner and back, then around the block, eventually two blocks and now two miles. (Last week he walked in the 5K portion of the L.A. Marathon.)

Within three months of the surgery, he was back on the golf course. “I don’t think Jane appreciated that,” he says. “It was a little too early.”

He had already given his old clubs to son Edward before the transplant. “Does this mean I’ll have to give them back?” his son asked later. Schoenberg, figuring it was a good time to buy new ones, told him to keep them.

Schoenberg and Irene Furlong--a heart recipient who also lives in Los Angeles--have founded a chapter of Transplant Recipients International Organization Inc. (TRIO), a group that brings together transplant candidates and recipients.

Their most important message is the urgent need for donor organs, that people should not only sign donor cards but also inform loved ones of their intent. And for those fortunate enough to receive new hearts, there is a lot of life ahead.

“He thinks that he’s going to live to be over 100 years old, and he acts like it,” Furlong says. “He lives his life like that.”

It is that spirit, says Drinkwater, now director of the pediatric transplant program at UCLA, that has played an important role in Schoenberg’s recovery.

“He’s a survivor in every sense of the word, and to say that there is not a cerebral component for how patients do around the time of surgery and after surgery is to deny the fact that the human spirit has a lot of influence. . . . If he were to, God forbid, keel over on the ninth hole tomorrow, I think everyone would say it was worth the trip.”

There are 3,044 people nationwide waiting for hearts, 107 of whom are 65 or older. In the Los Angeles area, the list contains 151 names, says Elizabeth Flynn of the Regional Organ Procurement Agency of Southern California. At UCLA, a 71-year-old man received a heart within the past year.

“Art broke new ground for a lot of people,” Flynn says.

*

Schoenberg’s spirit is soaring as he watches the ball plop down on the green and roll toward the cup on the fourth hole at Palos Verdes. It rolls just right of the flag and comes to rest about eight feet from another hole in one.

Most people would be thrilled, but Schoenberg had briefly expected more--the improbable. That’s the way it is with golf, a game better known for breaking hearts than mending them.

His disappointment shows only briefly. After all, there is a lot of daylight left, a lot more golf to play, a few bucks riding on the outcome--and, besides, the eighth hole is a Par 3, 145-yard drive.

Who knows?

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Chances for Success

One-year survival rates for organ transplant recipients, 1987-’91:

Organ Survival Rate % Change Lung 68% Up 15% Heart-Lung 57% Up 4% Liver 91% Up 2% Pancreas 91% Up 2% Kidney 94% Up 1% Heart 83% Up .05%

Source: United Network for Organ Sharing