For Sam The Price Is Always Right

He turned the car east on Spanish River Road, heading for the ocean and picking up speed. He passed cars, slipping in and out of the lane. He said his "touring pro" relationship with The Greenbrier had been severed after 38 years. He indicated that the parting had not been amicable, much the same as his split with the Boca Raton club six years before. He had been the pro at Boca, his winter base, 14 years. In both cases, he said, a new management had decided to cut corners. Snead was the biggest corner. First they took over his carts, a major part of his revenue, then the pro shop.

"The new manager at The Greenbrier offered me a straight salary. I said, 'How much?' He told me, and I said, The hell with it.'"

Shortly after that, he said, Tom Lennon, an old friend and the president of The Homestead in Hot Springs , called and offered him that job. The Homestead is 45 miles from The Greenbrier across the West Virginia line and is the course Snead grew up on as a caddie, where he turned pro in 1933. "We made a cash deal, and if I want to give lessons I can charge whatever I want." He grinned. "Feller says, 'If you want some lessons, I'll come get you.' "

He passed another car, getting back inside the middle line just ahead of a fuel truck.

"I can't complain," he said. "The Wilson clubs I endorse are still the biggest sellers they got, and I get about a penny apiece. That's $100,000 to $160,000 a year, for the last 10 years. That's not so bad, is it?" He said he has the house near Boca Raton and one in Hot Springs and a farm he works outside Hot Springs , and a 600-acre cattle ranch nearby and a couple little beer joints in Florida . Three years ago, he said, he had turned his finances over to Ed Barner's group in California . He now gets $7,500 for a one-day exhibition appearance and a minimum $15,000 for a four-day tournament overseas. In that time he has been to Japan four times, to Hong Kong , Brazil , Morocco and numerous European countries. He gets checks as "spokesman" for a chain of banks and a manufacturer of component parts, and for endorsing Niko whiskey and a line of clothing in Japan . He has a new instruction book coming out in December. Barner estimates his outside income is four times what he makes playing in tournaments.

"I played in 14 last year, which is a couple more than I'll average," Snead said, "and made more money [$55,562] than I ever did. If we'd been playing in 1949 and '50 for what they're playing for now at the same tune-aments I'da won $400,000 both years. [Miller earned a record $353,021 last year.] You can figure it up. Hell, a guy can be a millionaire in five years playing the tour today. Resent it? Why should I resent that? What other field can you do that in?"

At Route A1A, Ocean Boulevard, he turned the Cadillac north and, shortly after passing a sign marked Highland Beach, turned toward the sea, up a private drive lined with lush tropical plants and trees and curving past a garage over which were guests' quarters, to the front of a two-story white-brick house. He said the house was now worth $300,000, three times what he had paid for it in 1965.

"Just painted the doors on that garage," he said. "My hands were so stiff the next day I couldn't grip a club."

He took his companion around back to see the ocean. A stand of sea grape with leaves like giant olive-green pancakes bunched along the property down a slope to the beach. "I cut 'em back myself," he said, "but I see nobody else does, so the hell with it." He said the gardener had doubled his prices, so he was taking care of those things himself. He had been making repairs—painting, fixing sprinklers—anticipating the annual move north in the spring.

"The house next door burned down three or four years ago," he said, "and the rats were running around and the damn hippies were camping in the ruins. I finally had to go down to city hall to get 'em to clean it out." He said his house had been broken into four times in the 10 years since it was built, usually when he was away, but he now had a direct hookup with the police. He passed a rusting air conditioner. "Third one we've had," he said. "The salt air does it."