Riding High

For me, as a kid growing up in Los Angeles's San Fernando Valley, golf was invisible. Hell, I was invisible, if not disposable. I was a young Mexican-American who didn't know his father and whose mother left him to be raised by a grandmother. In golf terms I started life OB, three-putt, snowman.

My first memory of golf was watching it on TV, where I saw someone who not only looked like me, but someone who had grown up dirt-poor and been abandoned by his father yet had gone on to become one of the greatest players of all time. Because of Lee Trevino, I was the first person in my family to wield a club that wasn't swung in anger. Trevino became my symbol of opportunity.

During the ensuing years I turned my opportunity into professional success, which eventually allowed me to become friends with Trevino. This past September, I lured Lee back to Pebble Beach for the first time in 22 years to be my professional partner in the Wal-Mart First Tee Champions tour event.

Lee and I had scheduled a practice round for the day before the event. He wanted to go to Cypress Point, one of the most exclusive courses in the world, but I had already booked us a time at Pebble. Luckily, I persuaded him to come over, or we would have missed one of the proudest moments of both of our lives.

As we strolled toward the green on Pebble's 3rd hole, a downhill par-4, the sight of two Mexican golfers with white caddies caught the attention of the maintenance staff. (I guess the fact that it was Lee and me had something to do with that as well.)

All work stopped, and many of the laborers gathered to watch us play through. I realized that, in a way, Lee and I were walking symbols of opportunity for these men, who were working so hard to prepare the course--and to create a better life for their families.

The superintendent approached and asked if we wouldn't mind getting in a photo with his guys. I noticed a large lawn mower nearby and asked to have it brought over. Then I called to Lee, and we all climbed aboard. You'll notice in the photo that the driver's seat is empty. That's to symbolize that we are all equal and that anyone, regardless of race, gender or financial status, can rise to captain the ship and control his or her fate. Lee did, I did, and so will those men.

It's my favorite shot of all time, and the photo hangs proudly in both Lee's house and my own.

Perhaps it's appropriate that it was taken with a disposable camera.