Hartford Courant

A Conversation With Michael Moschen -By RINKER BUCK

Golf Golf has a very special place in my heart because I started Golfing when I was 4 years old. My Dad was an avid Golfer, and so was my brother. It was not only the physicality but the primary human understanding of the sport cuts theough all different levels of human experience and reveals who people really are. It's a ridiculous pastime because you have this tiny little ball, and a club with which to hit it with, and people ask at first, "How difficult could this be?" When they are out there and humbled by the experience - it's a lesson in mainting your level of uncertainity, as I put it, for as long as you can. The other thing I like about Golf is that people learn they can't run away from themselves. There are a lot of liars in this world, a lot of cheaters. It's hilarious to watch them - fusging their handicap, kicking their ball out of the rough. But at the end of the day, they know they've done this; they've faced themselves. They've tried to hide who they really are but Golf has shown them who they really are. His Father's Death I think I was very fortunate because, from the earliest age, the things that I was interested in, my father could give me. I think my most seminal experience was when I was 4, and my father took me to this smoky local bar where the champion pool player, Willie Mosconi, was shooting that day. This wasn't a place you would take a kid and expect him to enjoy himself. But I loved it. My father could see that I understood the game intuitively, and he decided to encourage that. So we did everything together. He bought me my first five-iron when I was 4. I was always the kid in the faro-fly who wanted to go with him when he laid stone. 'Michael, here' he would say. 'Let me show you how to move that stone. Here's how to ease it into the wall so it sits true.' I don't think he knew what he was raising. He didn't think, hell, my boy's going to be the next Joe DiMaggio. It was just, my son's got great physicality, lots of interest, and I have these wonderful manly arms that run machines and lay stone, and I'll show that to Michael; that will be my gift to him. Later, he would come to my place and see all the props lying around, and he came to my shows. "God, Michael, how can you live like this? No paycheck. Where did this talent come from?" One time, I just looked him in the eye and said, 'From you, Dad. My talent came from you. And he knew it, and it was our love, what existed between us. He had given me my physicality, these great throwing arms. Then, six or seven years ago, his Parkinson's got rea1, bad. It was awful -- I was either off performing somewhere or rehearsing. But I always broke off from my schedule and drove up over the mountains to see Dad. Toward the end, he couldn't do anything except wink at me, to acknowledge my presence. I didn't understand at first what was happening, but then it finally dawned on me. I would give him back the gift he had given me, my arms. He could only wink at me now. I could only wrap him in my arms. So that's what I did. I just decided that I would hold him until the end in arms he had trained, the arms that he had given me. I was showing him how much I loved him for that gift and that I would be fine, just fine without him. Dad, you can die now. Here are my arms to help you do that. And that is how he died. In my arms. People say that sons feel liberated by their father's death - they are finally their own people. Well, it may be true. But what I felt after my father died was that I could finally go a little easier on myself. I could accept my success. There wasn't so much to prove now. My father was dying, and I knew to give him back the gift of arms and, well, what is there to prove after that? I had already put in the best performance of my life.

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