The Beemer and his world-weary caddie were such colorful characters that I immediately began working on a book about them that would be published in 2001 under the title "Bud, Sweat & Tees." (By then Rich and Steve had long since parted ways; they were so similar in so many ways their partnership was always doomed to be short-lived.) Steve was uncensored to a fault, and in the book he was candid about his taste for alcohol and strippers. But it is also the portrait of a dedicated father trying his best to create a life for his daughter while balancing the high-pressure demands of the Tour. In the course of reporting the book, Steve and I shared many meals, a couple rounds of golf and one memorable night exploring the strip clubs in his adopted hometown of Tampa. He was on a first-name basis with much of the talent.
Steve had a love-hate relationship with the book, which became a best-seller after Beem's stunning victory at the 2002 PGA Championship. He felt it had immortalized his bad-boy rep, but he also enjoyed the attention, and over the years often asked me to send him more copies, which he handed out to intimates.
Because of the book he was always linked in some way to Beem, and they remained close. I reached Steve on his cellphone in the minutes after Beem had outlasted Tiger Woods in a tense back-nine shootout at the '02 PGA. Steve was in an airport in Spain — I can't remember which city — having decided to spend the summer looping on the European tour, which has always smiled upon free spirits. He had been getting regular updates about the PGA via some stateside friends, and he was hoarse with emotion talking about Beem. There was no bitterness, or even a case of the what-ifs. He was simply ecstatic for an old friend.
Steve and I have always kept in sporadic touch, and the last time I saw him was in October, at the Fry's Electronics Open. He was working for the journeyman David Branshaw, and as usual Steve was getting the best out of his player. In his first 24 events, Branshaw had missed 17 of 24 cuts and finished better than 48th only once. In his first tournament with Steve, the Viking Classic, Branshaw finished tied for 5th. What made Steve such an effective caddie was not just his knowledge of the game but also his passion. On the course he spoke with absolute conviction, and his players knew he was invested in their success. Prior to the Viking, Steve had spent a week working with Branshaw, whispering encouragement and helping him smooth out the rough edges of his game.
During our conversation at the Fry's, Steve complained that one of the golf magazines had printed details about his recent arrest but did not mention that it was for an unpaid parking ticket. "That could've happened to anyone," he lamented, but that sort of thing seemed to always happen just to him. I asked after Sierra, and he said she was doing well. One of Steve's many ex-girlfriends lived in Hickory, N.C., and years ago this woman and her large extended family had fallen in love with Sierra. While Steve was on the road, they gave her a home and stability she had not previously known.
Steve and I made plans to have dinner that night. (He had always enjoyed putting a good steak on my corporate American Express.) Later that evening he called to say he had just been invited to a Phoenix Coyotes game. No good Canadian boy can turn down a hockey night, so dinner would have to wait for another time. At the end of our conversation I said what I always said: "Stay out of trouble."
"No promises," Steve parried. With a boyish laugh, he ended the call, disappearing into the night.
