PGA Tour commissioner Tim Finchem has made a lot of golfers very, very rich — and a few very, very angry

"What he's forgetting to mention," says Tim Smith, a close friend dating back to their undergrad days, "is that his license had been suspended for 60 days. He was solidly up in the campaign with 10 days to go, then his opponent rolled out this radio ad. I'll never forget it: 'Tim Finchem wants to be the top law enforcement officer in Virginia Beach. We have only one question: Who is going to drive him to work?' It's hilarious now, but at the time it torpedoed his political career."

Losing the election, Finchem admits, "is one of the greatest things that ever happened to me. Otherwise I might still be in Virginia Beach prosecuting cases."

Instead, in 1978 he joined the Carter Administration as deputy adviser to the President in the office of economic affairs. Washington was a fresh start in other ways, as Finchem's first marriage had recently ended. On his fourth day on the job he volunteered to chair a committee meeting on inflation. He was 31, lording over the proceedings in the White House's glorious Roosevelt Room.

"I called my mother right after that meeting," he says. "I told her, 'I don't believe I'm doing this.' I was pretty proud of myself. She, of course, was pretty proud too."

In the fall of 1979 Carter's reelection campaign was suffering from a serious fund-raising shortfall and a spirited challenge from Massachusetts senator Ted Kennedy. To reinvigorate the reelection effort the President made Finchem the national staff director, giving him broad powers to shake up the campaign's machinery.

"Tim saved that campaign," says Smith, who served as general counsel for the reelection bid.

The next year Finchem attended the Democratic convention two decades after having been inspired by JFK's performance there, and this time he took his mother, the person who had sparked his political awakening.

"Working in Washington, trying to make a difference, that was a very meaningful time for me, a period of personal growth," says Finchem. "Not that it ever left me, but it all came back to me [in February] when my mom died. The last time I saw her, she said, 'I want you to take me to the convention this summer.' I mean, she's had two strokes, she's in a wheelchair, she's failing. But she says, 'You know, you haven't taken me since 1980.' No sooner had she said that then she dozed off in her chair, so I got her settled in her bed. I kissed her on the cheek and then started walking to the door. As I'm leaving I hear her voice, 'Don't forget the convention.' I look back, and she's asleep again. Those were the last words I ever heard from her."

After Carter lost the 1980 election Finchem founded the blandly named National Strategies and Marketing Group, a consulting firm that helped corporations break into new markets. Finchem couldn't completely leave politics behind.

In 1984 he served as national finance director for Walter Mondale during the presidential primaries, and then for the general election he was bumped up to vice chairman of the Democratic National Committee.

It was also in '84 that the PGA Tour, then under longtime commissioner Deane Beman, became a client.

In '86 the Tour asked Finchem to help organize a new Senior tour event, the Chrysler Cup. One of the first meetings was attended by a woman named Holly Bachand, who was working for Arnold Palmer's event management firm.

"I was immediately smitten," Finchem says. "After the meeting I told my staff I'd handle this one myself."

It took weeks of Finchem's pestering before Bachand would consent to a date.

"I was there when she finally said yes," says Smith. "Tim was on a pay phone at Congressional Country Club. He hung up and did what can only be described as an Irish jig. I distinctly remember him clicking his heels together."

Finchem and Bachand were married six months later, with Palmer attending the wedding reception.