A female voice cries out, “Rickie, be in my selfie!” Fowler, 27, looks up, aligns himself visually with a boisterous group, strikes an Instagram-proven pose, awaits squeals of affirmation, and moves on, golf’s millennial man in full.
By coincidence it’s Wednesday, the day of the week that Tanaka, after retiring from his flame-cutting steel company in Southern California 24 years ago, would set aside to give his then-3-year-old grandson the choice between spending a few hours at an Inland Empire fishing hole or at the rustically pure Murrieta Valley Driving Range, learning golf. Before the tradition ended with Fowler going off to Oklahoma State on a golf scholarship, Tanaka got to a 10-handicap and his grandson was shooting 62s to win high school tournaments.
“Good days,” says the 77-year-old in the faint Western twang often developed in an area with high-desert backdrops favored by Hollywood for cowboy movies. “Rickie took all our quarters on the putting green, and he found out he had a gift. It was wonderful to watch.”
The man called Taka by family and friends is lean and spry, wearing hand-me-down Puma-logoed golf shirts from a certain three-time PGA Tour winner that happen to fit him pretty well. He and his wife, Jeannie, get to about half a dozen of their grandson’s tournaments a year, although it has gotten harder to see Rickie as his galleries have grown. This pro-am should afford some clearer views, as well as allow him access inside the ropes if he chooses.
But Tanaka stays outside them, sitting on a portable seat, feeling uneasy about being a possible distraction. “Rickie’s got a lot of people he has to attend to today,” he says. Tanaka even declines the privilege when Fowler reaches the famed par-3 16th hole at TPC Scottsdale, where the grandfather could have entered the eerily cavernous enclosure through the players’ entrance to get an up-close view of his grandson getting a gladiator’s welcome.
“It’s all right,” Tanaka says. “What I really like is to see how he treats all the little ones who run up to him wearing orange with the big caps. He just has the touch with kids, and he knows it gives him the chance to motivate them to something better, not just golf.” Tanaka was especially proud to learn that Fowler had honored his commitment to put on a junior clinic for The First Tee of San Diego the Monday after winning in Abu Dhabi, going from plane to tee in 18 hours covering 8,500 miles. “True golfers give back,” Tanaka says.
Photo by Walter Iooss Jr.
For all of Fowler’s flash—he’s expanding golf’s fashion boundaries to include high-tops with ankle straps under skinny-fit joggers—at his core, he’s old school. When his frequent practice-round partner and friend Phil Mickelson publicly criticized Tom Watson in the immediate aftermath of the U.S. team’s latest loss of the Ryder Cup, Fowler nobly stood up for his largely abandoned captain. When Fowler won in Abu Dhabi in January, he sent champagne to the media room, à la Tony Lema. After the victory lifted him to No. 4 in the world, Fowler resisted the media’s urging to declare The Big Three of Jordan Spieth, Jason Day and Rory McIlroy was now The Big Four. “We’ve got to take care of a major,” Fowler said, “and then maybe I can join the crew.” According to the tournament director of the John Deere Classic, which Fowler has skipped the past five years, he even says “no” with a well-mannered empathy. “Rickie was brought up in a humble home where he was never crowned,” says Clair Peterson, “and it shows.”
