At his best Simmons was mischievous
and outlandishly funny, cocky about his
golf and his hustling and utterly loyal to
his friends. At his worst he was undis-
ciplined and uncontrollably angry. One
year at the NCAAs Simmons finished his
round, walked to the parking lot and broke
every club in his bag. In a day when such
things were largely political, his fits and
his habits kept him from college accolades.
His temper was a bottle rocket fueled by
a sense of betrayal. Jo Hannon, the wife
of the Texas coach, followed Randy every
round he played, carrying his watch and
trying to keep him calm. “He had a temper
that would tear the paper off the wall, and he thought God
was always mad at him and was against him,” says Jo. “He
His friends could see it coming. “He was very normal
to a point,” says Lyons, “and then he wasn’t normal at all.
He never thought of himself as a lucky person. He thought
everything was going to work out wrong for him. You’d say,
‘Where do you come up with this stuff?’ He’d say, ‘Look at
what’s happened to me before.’ ”
One of his closest friends at Texas was Bob Mase,
another teammate, who traveled to Shreveport to deliver
Simmons’ eulogy in the Frost Chapel of the First Baptist
Church. “Randy won some money gambling one summer
and bought a brand new Monte Carlo. None of us had good
cars, and he had a Monte Carlo,” says Mase. “A friend
of one of my roommates was bad-mouthing something
I’d done, some score, and Randy was tired of hearing it.”
Simmons told the kid to stand on his head and they’d play
for whatever fell out. The kid backed down, but Simmons
wouldn’t let it be. “The bet finally became Randy’s Monte
Carlo against 20 bucks,” says Mase. “On the first tee
Randy handed his keys to my other roommate and went
off and beat the snot out of the kid.”
After Simmons lost to Bean in the Western
Amateur, he and Houston traveled to the Buffalo area for
the Porter Cup. “We’re sitting in a bar and in walks O.J.
Simpson. All these huge, huge guys. Back then, he was
a hero,” says Houston. “He gets up to leave and Randy
walks right into the middle of these guys—they’re a foot
taller and weigh 300 pounds—and Randy goes, ‘Juice, I’m
Randy Simmons from Shreveport, Louisiana.’ Of course,
O.J.’s grandparents were from Northwest Louisiana. Next
thing I know, it’s like they’re best friends.” Then, inexpli-
cably, Simmons pulled out of the Porter Cup. “Played nine
holes and walked off,” recalls Houston. “Only Randy.”
shreveport and Bossier City are bisected by the Red River. Like shade trees on opposing banks, they’ve sprouted casinos—Horseshoe, the El Dorado,
DiamondJacks, Boomtown. The population of the metro
area is around 400,000 and, yet, it has produced two PGA
Above: Action
on the course in
Simmons’ native
Shreveport was
followed by cards
and pool at The
Cub. Right: Randy,
shortly before his
death in 2006 with
older brother Barry.
champions, Sutton and Toms, and
more good players than come out
of most states. “Golf is played with
a passion in Shreveport,” says
Akins. “And some of the greatest
pool players that have ever played
the game came out of Shreveport.
Quarterbacks. When I was a little
boy, there were about seven NFL quarterbacks [e.g., Terry
Bradshaw, Bert Jones, Joe Ferguson, etc.] starting on Sun-
day who grew up within 50 miles of my house.”
The gamblers came to Shreveport long before the
casinos arrived. “People came from all over,” says Akins.
“There was always a game. You could play cards for what-
ever you wanted to; you could shoot pool for whatever
you wanted to; and you could play golf for whatever you
wanted to. Shreveport was this town where, if you were
looking for action, you could find it.”
Simmons grew up playing at Shreveport CC and East
Ridge CC, where his father had the course’s first hole-in-
one, but the big games were at Querbes Park. Jim Belton
was a pro there for 17 years. Belton, who was Raymond
Floyd’s roommate in 1960 at North Carolina for the few
months they were both students in Chapel Hill, was
considered one of the best money players in the South.
“Raymond went on the pro tour, and Jim went on the hus-
tling tour,” says Akins. Amarillo Slim stayed with Belton
on his visits to Shreveport. Belton partnered with Titanic
Thompson on occasion too.
The golf games were at Querbes, but the pool and the
cards were at a place called The Cub within walking
distance of the course. The bar, in business since 1939,
is small with a ceiling stained the color of Galliano from
cigarette smoke. Outside the building is a metal awning
above two rows of parking spaces and an old neon sign
that says, “Drive-In Liquor.”
“Jim used to play golf all day. Amarillo would play cards
all night,” says Akins. “You could walk in The Cub Lounge
and bet on anything you want to bet on. ‘I want a Bud
Light, and I’ll take $100 on the Redskins.’ Titanic Thomp-
son used to hang around Querbes and The Cub. Some of
