GENE PERRET'S WIT STOP

When He Couldn't Get a Grip, One Student Was EXPELLED From GOLF SCHOOL

Spouses, money, leisure time all get a good-natured working-over in Gene Perret's new book, Retirement: Twice the Time, Half the Money, released this month by Witworks, a division of Arizona Highways Books. Retirees and those looking forward to the day will appreciate this fresh collection of droll one-liners. To order ($6.95 plus shipping and handling), call toll-free (800) 5435432. In Phoenix, or from outside the United States, call (602) 712-2000.

ARIZONA IS POLKA-DOTTED WITH MANY beautiful golf courses. She also has several excellent golf academies. I recently attended one of these. I won't tell you which one. First, you might see my golf swing sometime and say to yourself, "Boy, I'll never attend that golf school." Second, because the teachers at the golf academy saw my swing and asked that I not mention which school I attended. I'm going to respect their request because they asked it of me through their attorneys.

Classes began with the teaching pro saying, "I want to watch each of you hit a few balls, and from that I can tell what we have to work on." When my turn came, I hit one ball - badly. He nodded his head up and down. I hit another shot - badly, but a different kind of badly. He shook his head back and forth. I hit a third shot - another version of badly. He said, "Are you here for the threeor the fiveday course?"

I said, "The three-day course.

He grimaced as if to say that three days was hardly enough time to cure my golfing ills.

"The first thing we have to work on is your grip," he said. That was probably because the first thing I did with the club was hold it - badly. I took my normal grip, and he adjusted my fingers and the position of my hands. He tenderly moved this hand that way and that hand this way, moving the thumbs slightly up or down. When he got everything arranged in the most uncomfortable fashion imaginable, he said, "There. Now that's your grip."

He wanted me to hit a few shots with my new, improved grip. I had hit the original shots badly. With the new, improved grip I hit them badlier. I realize there's no such word, but if you had seen my swing and those shots, you would agree that such a word was needed.

The pro said, "It will take a little getting used to."

I attempted another shot. He said, "There's no chance you can stay over for the five-day course?"

After lunch, the pro adjusted my posture, my stance, my backswing, my forward swing, my release at impact and my follow-through. The only thing that was right about my golf swing was the shoes I wore.

I followed his advice and kept hitting golf balls with the adjustments he recommended. I kept hitting them badlier and badlier.

The second day we worked on the "short game." We were supposed to hit little pitch shots about 30 yards to the green. I had trouble. If you pictured me standing in the exact center of a clock and the green was at 12 o'clock, all of my shots were going to 3 o'clock or later.

The pro was dumbfounded. He said, "Try to hit some shots with just your right hand." I did not very well. He said, "Try hitting some shots with just your left hand." No improvement.

"Put your feet together and try a few." The ball still headed toward 3 o'clock. He said, "Come over here." He took me away from the other students. I got the feeling he was removing the bad apple from the barrel.

He said, "You just keep hitting balls toward that flag over there."

"Okay," I said.

He added, "But I want you to put your right arm behind your back, swing with only your left arm, but raise your left foot in the air behind you." I didn't know whether this guy was teaching golf or the mating ritual for adolescent flamingos. But I did what I was instructed.

The last day, we were scheduled to play a round of 18 with the pros. All the others drove off while my pro and I were left behind. I said, "Shouldn't we get a golf cart?"

He said, "No need. Where you hit the ball, you can take public transportation."

I said, "What is that supposed to mean?"

That's when he brought out the legal team who had me sign a document stating that I wouldn't tell anyone which school I attended.

But I don't think it's binding. When I signed, I held the pen with my new, improved grip. No one will ever be able to prove it's my signature. AlH