A short time later, one of the tournament leaders bunkered his tee shot into the 16th green, then skulled his ball clean across the putting surface into another bunker. After the poor fellow holed out with a sorry triple bogey and retreated into the pack, I commented, "Now it's a whole new ballgame."

"From whom did you learn that expression, you dumb Limey?" Chirkinian roared. I glibly replied that I'd learned it from his American underlings. "Well, let me tell you this," he bellowed. "You are employed as a Limey, and all Limeys speak like they have plums in their mouths—wah, wah, wah—and nobody here understands a thing they say. If I ever understand another word you say, you're fired!"

I was so distraught over my failure, I actually telephoned British Airways, fully intending to flee home to London, but all seats were booked on that evening's transatlantic flight. Otherwise my CBS career would have come to a premature end that weekend.

So I stayed, and after some reflection, I concluded that Chirkinian was absolutely right, even if he had the strangest ways of making his point. As I would learn over the ensuing years, Frank was passionate about making each broadcast the best it could be, and his forceful methods were simply his way of ensuring the vision was achieved. I also learned that beneath the gruff exterior was a warm, compassionate man. Over the years, I came to consider him not only the best producer-director golf has ever seen, but also one of my dearest friends.