By Alex Podlogar

As a high school kid I was a standard bearer at the 1994 U.S. Senior Open on Pinehurst No. 2 – one of those kids carrying around the sign with players’ names and scores so the gallery could see who was coming up.

I was in a group with Jim Dent and Dale Douglass. I remember Dale as being classy throughout and Dent as a force of personality and power golf, but with a teddy bear grin when you got close. My memory’s a tad fuzzy – it was 30 years ago, after all – but I remember it as July and storms threatened every day. But I can see the place with sincere clarity rooted in my mind.

It started with a backup on the par-3 6th tee. A marshal signaled me to have a seat on a bench adjacent to the tee, which I gladly accepted, resting the sign between my legs and its pole leaning against my shoulder. I remember its weight against me. I was a small kid.

The group behind had Chi Chi Rodriguez playing in it. Or it may have been the group behind that first one. It was quite a delay. He strode straight for the bench and sat right next to me. His forearms glistened with sweat, his wiry frame felt coiled and active, his signature hat fit snug against his head and not a stitch of clothing was out of place. We were the only two on the bench. He slapped my knee and immediately struck up a conversation. What was my name? How was I doing? Was I from here? How old was I? Did I play? And then, “How are you holding up?”

“Hanging in there,” or something similar to that, I guess I said.

“Good, good,” Chi Chi said, leaning his shoulders against the bench and resting his arms on the back of it. “It’s a hot one today, and I think you got it worse than all of us.” He paused, waiting a comedic beat.

“We just have to play golf. You’ve got to carry that frickin’ sign.”

I’ll never forget laughing with Chi Chi Rodriguez. I imagine if anyone was watching, they’d be wondering what Chi Chi Rodriguez had said to make the kid laugh and smile.

Later in the round, our group and the others around us were pulled into a trailer to ride out a storm. We got in first, then in followed Lee Trevino’s group, and Chi Chi’s. We were in there a good 45 minutes or so, tucked together. Among other things, Trevino started telling lightning stories, holding court in the room, and Dent was animated. I wish I could remember Trevino’s stories. But I do remember Chi Chi, at one point, looking at me and saying, “Ah, you got another break, kid.”

RIP, sir.