(8 of 9)
After his Miami victory, however, Trevino did not win another tournament for 13 months. He abruptly dropped out of the Philadelphia Classic last year and fled with his wife to a mountain cabin in New Mexico for a ten-day rest. After two days, Claudia saw Lee out in the woods hitting pine cones with a broomstick and realized that it was time to get back. Two weeks later, following a dizzying round of banquets and public appearances, Lee failed to show up for the first round of the Westchester Classic and was disqualified. After explaining that he had overslept (he had gone to bed at 4 a.m.), he flew off to Acapulco for another try at rest and recuperation.
The gay caballero was, by his own admission, "tired, mentally tired." Troubled by business problems, a slightly strained relationship with Claudia, and the lingering illness of his mother, he started out the 1971 season by dropping out of three tournaments. During an exhibition match in Palm Beach five months ago Nicklaus took him aside in the locker room and told him: "I hope you never find out how well you can play. If you do, it will be trouble for all of us." Says Trevino: "That word of encouragement changed my life. It stopped me from being the nervous character I was. I realized that I could reach the peak." He cut back on his outside commitments, and tempered his night-owl habits. Last April, Lee won the Tallahassee Open and started off on his fiery streak.
No Complaints
Now that he can afford steak instead of his old diet of Texas hash and Kool-Aid, he has a problem keeping in shape ("Five feet seven and a half is a little short for 185 Ibs."). His avowed goal is "to win a million bucks. After that, I might slow down a little and go see what my kids look like. The way I'm spending money, I have to win a million." Although he is determined that "the next generation with my name won't have to be laborers," he confesses that "money is just pieces of paper to me." Knowing that, Claudia handles the family finances. "We can go out to shop for a pair of socks," she says, "and he'll spend $500." An eager gambler, Trevino has been known to blow a wad in a poker game, hit his wife for some money ("Honey, give me a check for a couple of hundred"), and hustle across the border to bet the greyhounds at the Juarez dog track.
Last year, when a deal involving the Horizon City housing development in which he was living soured, Trevino felt compelled to sell his prized five-bedroom adobe villa with its putting green and garden (okra, jalapeño chili, black-eyed peas) out back. Temporarily, Lee, Claudia, Daughter Lesley, 6, Son Tony, 2, are making do in an El Paso apartment. But, says Trevino, "I don't complain, about anything. The game has been too good to me. You see, nobody loves to play golf more than I do. Besides, what would I be without the tour? A lot of young pros are college graduates and could make money doing something else. I can't. I couldn't make a living doing anything else, except maybe pumping gas somewhere. For me, golf is it, baby.