"You're a little wristy," I said. "Try to cut down the wrist a bit and come through with a stiff arm."
He hadn't been using hardly any wrist, anyway.
"I'll try it," he said.
Then Flip putted a few, turned to me and said, "Man, that feels good. That's it. Thank you, Frank." He went out and played right in front of me, and I saw him sink some good putts. He shot a 68. I guess he thought I was a genius.
One of my closest friends on the tour is Charlie Coody. We get along very well, and I love him to death, but he's like an old grandmother at times. He's so slow getting ready in the morning. He's so slow doing everything. He's so meticulous. He likes to go to bed precisely 12 hours before he's going to tee off. If he's got a 9:12 a.m. tee time, he tries to go to bed at 9:12 p.m. He keeps records on everything he does in golf. He keeps every one of his scores, the number of greens he hit, fairways hit, fairways missed, putts, chip-ins, bunker shots up and down, bunker shots missed, everything you can imagine. I don't think it helps him a lick.
He keeps track of his money the same way. I'm not a big spender, not by far, but Charlie really pinches his pennies. He writes down every cent he spends. I remember one time last year he got all upset because his records didn't balance. He was missing one penny, honest to God, one penny short. He turned to his wife Lynette, and he wanted to know where that penny went.
Lynette got so mad at him, she just said, "I put it in the gum machine for a piece of gum." I just about died laughing. I suppose old Charlie put it down in his records: one penny for gum.
I see on the final 1969 money list my friend Charlie made $79,996.26. That's a lot of cash to take out of circulation.