Native Son; Pro Golfer Notah Begay Role Model for American Indians by Raul Dominguez Jr

Native son; Pro golfer Notah Begay role model for American Indians By Raul Dominguez Jr . EXPRESS-NEWS STAFF WRITER 08/06/00 Sunday Sports 01C Profile ; Feature Metro "I'm starting to get a better grasp on it. It makes me proud, it makes me want to work harder and hold myself to a higher standard. I'm just going to try and approach it on a daily and weekly basis, and hopefully I can continue to provide a source of inspiration for all these people." Notah Begay III, PGA Tour golfer, on what his success means to American Indians ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. - It sits, largely ignored, in the shadows cast by the electric glare of a casino that yields millions, a place dulled in contrast to the lush green grass of a nearby golf course. Indeed, the artificial splendor that attracts tourists from the state's largest city is absent in the Isleta Reservation that helped shape the person Notah Begay III has become. The Isleta Pueblo, which houses the reservation's people, rests where asphalt gives way to uneven dirt roads baked into trails that seemingly jar drivers to their pores, where the traditional construction of adobe houses mixes uneasily with skylights and satellite dishes - where poverty and despair hug the border of prosperity and hope. The pueblo is home to Allen Lucero and Bogart Fargua, who at 11 one recent morning already are a few drinks past closing time as they maneuver through the broken beer and liquor bottles littering the outside of their mobile home. It also is home to the Abeitas, a proud family that rejects the stereotype of the drunken, freeloading American Indian. The neighbors are starkly different, but united by a common man doing uncommon things. Begay, who has won four titles and earned $2.7 million in two seasons on the PGA Tour, has evolved into an almost mythical figure in the eyes of his people. "He's like a God to us," said Lucero, son of a formal tribal chief. "He just come up from I don't know where," said Fargua, teetering as he raises his sunburned face. "From the sky." The home "It's kind of scary because there are gangs. There are not a lot of opportunities. There is a lot of drug dealing and a lot of gangs that are robbing houses." Alicia Robertson, 12, who lives on the Canoncito Navajo Reservation Begay grew up in and around Albuquerque, where American Indian heritage is embraced spiritually and commercially. Reservations surround the city, as do casinos. He spent his youth on the Isleta and San Felipe reservations with his mother, Laura Ansera, who is divorced from his father. "When I lived in that house, there was no hot water," Begay said. "I remember if you wanted to take a bath, you had to boil water for about 15 minutes to get it heated up, then mix it with cold water. I never felt sorry for myself, nor did any of my family members. We never thought we had it bad, because the fact of the matter was, we were better off than a lot of people that we knew." Reservations typically are traps for depression. From 1980 to '90, 31 percent of American Indians lived below the poverty level, compared to the national figure of 13 percent, according to a census bureau study. Alcoholism there is also at a higher level than the national standard. Life has improved, thanks to the legalization of casinos, but pueblos still resemble South Texas colonias, not suburbia. Yet despite the difficulties and prejudice, there is pride. "Everybody thinks (if) you live on the (reservation), everybody gets everything free just because we're Native Americans, but that's not true," Leonard Abeita said. "We all pay taxes just like everyone else." Begay experienced life outside the reservation at 6 when he began living with his father, Notah Begay II, in a middle-class Albuquerque neighborhood. He had no idea the world was waiting for him on the other side of the wooden fence in his father's back yard. The athlete "They never saw so much green in their whole life. This is an ideal playground. You have got a swimming pool over there. Notah was over here, over here and over there. Clint was in there, diving for golf balls." Notah Begay II, discussing the Ladera Golf Course Begay and his younger brother, Clint, crawled through an opening in that wooden fence to reach the municipal course. After learning it was a place at which he could compete, Begay prodded his father to let him get involved. It wasn't long before Begay was excelling at golf, not surprising given his father's athletic talent. Notah II was a jockey until he grew too large at 15, but became an All-State selection in basketball and football. In 1961, he received a basketball scholarship to St. Joseph's College, an NCAA Division II school in Albuquerque that has since become a high school. When his sons took up sports, Notah II made sure they played them correctly. Notah III was taught how to dribble deftly with both hands, and was a technically sound shooter and passer. But when Begay decided to take up golf, his father, who knew little about the sport, was at a loss. He turned his son over to Don Zamora, head pro at Ladera. "Don helped me," said Notah II, who works for the Indian Health Services under the Department of Health and Human Services. "He knew that I was a single parent. He knew that I had to go to work, so he helped me take care of my boys. How much better of a human being can you have than somebody like that? He didn't really know me. He just knew that I had these boys that were energetic, but Notah is the one that took to it and Don saw it." Zamora encouraged Notah II to send his son to the Sun Country Junior Golf Academy, a weeklong camp conducted by PGA professionals. The camp cost $300, which the Begays did not have. Notah II couldn't deny his son the opportunity, so he put off some bills to pay for it. It was a nerve-wracking experience for the boy. When Notah II talked to his son, "His voice was quivering," the father said. As a result, he told him, "'You hang in there. You'll learn. You learn everything you can because this is an opportunity. Take advantage of it.'" The camp was a turning point. Notah II went to pick up his son afterward, but hardly recognized the child practicing on the driving range. "I walked up real slow because I didn't want to disturb him," Notah II said. "I stood about from here to there for the longest time. And you (should've) seen that kid hit, sweeter than hell. He was straight, straight, straight. Finally, he stops like he knows someone's behind him. He turned around, and the only thing he said was, 'Oh, hi Dad!' He kept hitting again." And never stopped. Begay practiced daily at Ladera, trading chores for rounds of golf and range balls. When people praised his game, Begay responded that he was going to play on the PGA Tour. They patted his shoulders as adults do when a child says he wants to walk on the moon. "They didn't believe him," Notah II said. "This kid at that young an age knew what he wanted." Begay soon was beating men twice his age - including his father. Having his 10-year-old son beat him was a severe blow to Notah II's pride. "When he beat me, I had to take a look at myself and say 'Where am I going to spend my time?'" Notah II said. "'Am I going to spend my time on me to perfect my game or am I going to spend my time on (his three sons)?' I made the right choice. I spent time with them. I coached them. I caddied for them. I took them all over to all the tournaments and got them coaches. I coached them in basketball. I coached them in soccer - I just got involved." There was a problem: Begay was constantly toppling his idols. "When he was growing up, there wasn't anybody that he could look up to that was a Native (American) person (in golf)," Notah II said. "There were older Indian guys that he kind of looked up to, but by the time he was 12, 13, 14 years old, he could beat them. At that age, who else was there? He had nobody." The role model "(Notah's success is) good for the Native Americans. There is somebody out there just like Ira Hayes." Leonard Abeita Hayes was a Pima Indian and Marine Corps member who joined fellow soldiers in raising the U.S. flag over Iwo Jima on Feb. 23, 1945, during World War II. That historic image has come to symbolize America's triumph in the war. Begay now carries the banner for American Indians - and Americans. He represented the United States as an amateur in the Walker Cup and is eager to do so as a professional in the President's Cup and Ryder Cup. Begay is equally proud of what he is - an American Indian. He is the grandson of Notah Begay, one of 375 Navajo Indians who served in World War II as code talkers who relayed messages in their native tongue.

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