In the early sixties, Tony Lema, on a rare break from the tour, pulled his car into his mother’s driveway. He had spent the morning running mundane errands around San Leandro, a suburb of Oakland, California. He spotted his nephew, Marc Matoza, an eleven-year-old, in the backyard looking guilty. Marc was curious about his uncle’s golf clubs and experimented with one in the backyard. He hit a few balls before he unleashed one that traveled straight towards the house breaking through a window. Marc confessed his sins to his uncle who loaded the boy into the car and drove him to the hardware store where they bought supplies to repair the broken window pane.
Tony and Marc repaired the window before Tony loaded his young nephew back in the car. This time they drove to Airway Fairways Driving Range. The two went inside and found Lucious Bateman who worked at the range. Bateman helped Tony with his golf game as he grew serious about the game. Bateman helped many of the kids around Oakland with their golf games utilizing an understanding nature and a hands-on in-depth approach to the game. He incorporated many of the core values and teaching methods now employed by the First Tee programs around the country.
Tony introduced Marc to Bateman and asked him if he would help teach the youngster the game. Bateman was happy to help Tony–he always had a soft spot for the boy who grew up without a father on the wrong side of the tracks in the blue collar working suburb of Oakland, San Leandro. Bateman took great pride in his recent success on the PGA tour.
Bateman, an African-American, grew up in Biloxi, Mississippi where his family moved from Louisiana shortly after his birth in 1901. A white woman helped raise him while his mother worked in the fields doing hard manual labor. The woman read little Lucius the Bible and instilled in him the idea of helping others.
As soon as he was old enough to work, he found employment at the nearby Edgewater Hotel and Golf Club in Biloxi. He soon caught the eye of Arthur T. Saunders, the head pro at Edgewater. Saunders was impressed with the attitude of the young boy and enlisted his help during group lessons he conducted for the young boys at the club. Lucius began his teaching career as he absorbed the methods of Saunders and passed on playing tips to more than 250 boys who caddied at Edgewater. He conducted lessons for both kids and adults while at Edgewater through the 1030s.
He took full advantage of the playing privileges the job included as a perk. He diligently worked on his game and became an excellent golfer even holding the course record at Edgewater, a three-under 69.
A stint with a construction company in Panama, followed by his enlistment in the Air Force, sidetracked his golfing career. His hitch in the Air Force took him to California, which he took a liking to.
After an injured back resulted in his discharge, “Loosh” returned to Mississippi with the intention of working on his golf game in order to become a touring pro. Because of the Professional Golf Association’s “Caucasian only” only clause, it was not easy for an African-American to play professional golf. He eventually moved back to California, to the Bay Area, and took a job in a San Francisco shipyard. Still, he had his eye on a golf career.
Once in California, he went to the ancient Alameda municipal golf course to work on his game. He immediately attracted attention. In his first round on the unfamiliar course he shot a blazing 66. In one period of a few weeks he set the course record at Alameda with a 63, posted a 66 at Crystal Springs and another at San Mateo municipal, a 67 at Tilden, another 67 at Hayward, a 68 at Lake Chabot and a 69 at Hillview in San Jose.
Earl Fry, the pro at the Alameda course, conducted an intensive junior program and needed assistance. He approached Loosh asking him if he was interested in helping teach the many juniors in the program. Lucius accepted the offer and soon built an enthusiastic following as a teacher. He soon quit his job at the shipyard deciding to return to golf full-time.
Rig Ballard, owner of the Airways Fairways golf complex near the airport recognized Loosh’s talents and in 1943 offered him a job at his driving range. Lucius soon set up shop at the driving range, working the shop selling buckets and repairing clubs. He also gave lessons, both to adults and the many kids that hung around the range.
Ballard soon made him the head pro at the range and he worked with junior golfers, pro bono. He helped the kids with their golf swings in exchange for their help picking up balls from the range in the evenings. Many of the better known golf courses in the Bay Area offered him professional positions—even though he could not become a member of the PGA due to the color of his skin. He turned down every offer.
“I’m not a rolling stone,” Bateman explained to Walt Roessing, author of a profile that ran in the January, 1965 issue of Golf Digest. “Besides, Rig Ballard gave me a job here when none of the others were interested.”
He became Ballard’s right hand man running the driving range arriving for work at dawn. Often, he would sneak out in the afternoons for a round of golf at the Alameda municipal course. He also found time during the week to travel to other courses for money games against some of the Bay Area’s toughest money players—and he always held his own.
Bateman liked to tell of the time he beat touring pro Charlie Sifford, the first African-American to play regularly on the PGA Tour, out of $5. Bateman finished the story explaining that Sifford never paid him.
Lema stumbled upon “Loosh” after picking up the game at Lake Chabot where he tagged along with his brother, Walter, to caddy.
“Tony was a scraggly little kid who loved golf,” Bateman remembered. “At first I didn’t think he was going to be a very good golfer. He didn’t seem to have much talent, but he was a fighter.”
Typical of a “Bateman Boy,” Lema began to improve dramatically under “Loosh’s” tutelage. It wasn’t long before the older man included the scrawny young man into his money games as a partner. Opponents were eager to line up against the unlikely pair.
“Tony was impressive in those money matches,” Bateman said. “He would always come through in the clutch on key holes to help us win.”
Bateman would tell Tony before these matches that he should know the talent he had, play up to it, and “don’t choke.” Lema seldom choked and the two usually ended up on collecting money.
Bateman rarely charged for lessons, never when teaching a young person. In fact, he never collected a regular salary turning in a time card to Ballard only when he was in need of money. His daily routine started at dawn opening the range, selling buckets of balls and repairing clubs. After his afternoon round of golf he would return to the range and work with the kids giving swing pointers or teaching the mental aspects of the game.
Boys that learned the game from “Loosh” who went on to professional success in the game in addition to Lema included Don Whitt, John McMullen, and the Lotz brothers, Dick and John. His students became known as the “Bateman Boys.”
Bateman started young Marc Matoza’s lessons in the game by taking the youngster to the Alameda municipal course. The two walked the course as Loosh explained what the players were doing on the course including the finer points of strategy and etiquette. Matoza’s second lesson was caddying for Bateman who explained how he was playing shots.
For the third lesson, Bateman showed the young boy how to make a 7-iron. When he completed the task, Bateman took Matoza to the practice putting green at Airway Heights and taught him the chip and run shot. He then left the boy to perfect the shot. Bateman taught him how to make a putter during the next lesson and then showed him the finer points of the art of putting before again leaving the boy alone to practice.
Finally, Matoza was allowed to hit balls with his 7-iron. He hit bucket after bucket of balls with the iron before Loosh was satisfied he had the golf swing under enough control to move on up to some longer clubs. After more than six months of lessons with Loosh, Matoza finally made it to a golf course for a real full round of golf. He went on to play competitively as a junior golfer and carries a single digit handicap to this day.
A testimonial dinner was held in Bateman’s honor In November of 1971 . John Lotz, who played on the PGA Tour paid tribute as one of the many speakers that night. He recalled the time he threw a putter in Loosh’s presence.
“You’re not really as bad as people make you out to be,” Loosh told the young Lotz.
Puzzled, Lotz asked, “Why’s that?”
“Because you always throw your putter in the direction of the next tee,” Loosh explained teaching his young pupil a lesson without the need of discipline, chastising or denigration.
Bob Hanna, executive director of the Northern California Golf Association also spoke that night.
“His influence is like a stone thrown into a pond—the ripples continue forever and ever,” Hanna said. “Long after Lucius is forgotten, his influence will still be felt.”
Lucious Bateman passed away on Friday, April 21, 1975 in the Alameda Hospital. His body was buried in the Mountain View Cemetery overlooking Claremont Country Club where his old friend Tal Smith was the head pro.
