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Jim Thorpe's roots run deep among golf's back roads, where shifty characters operated in the shadows of a genteel game. Paper bags full of cash served as ample enticement for the ninth of 12 siblings as he looked to elevate his name beyond the legendary one he borrowed. That this Jim Thorpe has been a survivor these many years is a testament to determination and the luck of the longest of long shots. n Thorpe's golf swing is so full of moving parts it appears he's fighting off a swarm of hornets in a phone booth, yet it wears well on a senior tour full of odd passes and quirky personalities. That swing produced a pair of victories in 2001 and earned Thorpe $1,827,223 in prize money, only a hundred grand less than he made in two decades on the regular tour. Thorpe, who knows what it's like to lead a U.S. Open with no money in his pocket, has won more than $4 million since joining the over-50-crowd three years ago. n Before Thorpe made the most of his midlife mulligan he was known more for a loss than a triumph. In the 1985 Western Open, an amateur from Oklahoma State named Scott Verplank beat Thorpe in a playoff. Six weeks later Thorpe rebounded to beat Jack Nicklaus for his first PGA Tour victory. n Thorpe's passion for horse racing and the gaming tables occasionally overshadows what he accomplishes between the ropes. And he has been known for his occasional outbursts of vivid language on the course. Through it all Thorpe remains an original with no shame in his game and no apologies for his lifestyle.

Golf Digest: How did you go from a golf hustler to a guy who's making millions on the senior tour? Jim Thorpe: In 1973 I met [wife] Carol. She was a rich man's dream and a poor boy's prayer. She told me the things I needed to hear . . . not what I wanted to hear. She told it straight.

Back in the early days, Carol would give me $700 to pay the rent, but I went to the golf course with it. I'd get one of those Detroit bankrolls--about 100 one-dollar bills and put $50s on top of it, and everybody at the golf course would come at you, man. I was loaded for bear.

She said, "I've got nothing against hustling, but if you're going to do this, why don't you do it on the professional level?" She talked me into going to qualifying school. I didn't think I was ready; I was not ready. Then I started playing the chittlin' tour--that's when I met all the black guys who could really play.

How did you get into hustling?

Hanging around Baltimore there were a lot of hustlers. There was a course there called Clifton Park, and there were a lot of games going on--$20, $25 a match. You'd get into these games realizing that your game was superior to theirs, and you'd shoot whatever you had to shoot to win.

I was a hustler. Hell, if I had to shoot 36, I shot 36. If I had to shoot 40, I shot 40. I won the matches before I teed off. Then I started going to Washington [D.C.]. The course there was East Potomac. There was a lot of money there. A guy named Waldo used to wear pants three sizes too big with at least $20,000 in each pocket.

Easy pickings?

Yep, because I was the best player there. I'd shoot 30-29 and make like $14,000.

Is that the most you ever made in a hustle?

No, I beat a guy in Detroit out of $55,000--and probably shot my worst round of golf, about a 71 or 72. This was early in my tour career, around midseason of the first or second year [1976 or '77]. I was having a hard time getting financial backing on tour, so I did what my game was suited for--found me some money matches. I figured if this guy wasn't on tour, he couldn't beat me. I was right. He played like a dog, and I beat him pretty bad. We played at Radrick Farms in Detroit the first day, then at his club, Toledo Country Club, the next day. He played better, but I still took him. Two or three people put up the money for me, and I'm sure he had the same kind of deal. In the end my backers and I split $55,000. My cut was about $15,000.

You didn't always win?

Of course I lost sometimes. I was playing this guy at Coffin Golf Club in Indianapolis. I was playing him for $5,000, which was a lot of money. I shoot 33 on the front, he shoots 32. On the back nine we play for another $5,000. I shoot 33, he shoots 32. I said, "You know what, my friend? You're the best."

Did you meet all kinds of guys while you were hustling?

Pimps, numbers runners, probably some drug dealers, too. Guys came to the golf course with paper bags of money and wads of cash in rubber bands. I used to talk so much trash to them, they just wanted to beat me out of spite.

Had to be some interesting characters.

There was Potato Pie and Possum. None of these guys ever used their real names.

You used yours--a famous one at that.

When I was young I went by Jimmy Lee Thorpe. My Daddy and his brothers all talked about this Indian who was the greatest athlete who ever lived. Then as a kid I saw something on television--when we finally got one--where they took his trophies or something. I was about 18 when I went to get a new birth certificate, and I told them my name was just Jim Thorpe.

Has it worked well for you?

So well I've been misidentified many times. I remember playing golf in California one time and an elderly lady walked up to me and said she used to hang out and drink with my "uncle." I just went along with it and said, "He was a hell of a man who loved his booze."

What's the strangest thing that ever happened to you over your name?

They gave me a week's vacation in Jim Thorpe, Pa. In 1984 I had a chance to win the U.S. Open at Winged Foot. I got these letters from some barbers up there, so I sent them some stuff for a golf tournament. They invited me, and when I got there they had bands and parades, all kinds of stuff. Everybody in town must have been there.

Three years earlier, you led the '81 U.S. Open at Merion after the first round. What do you remember about that?

I remember going there dead broke. No one knew but me. My wife didn't even know. We had just bought a house in Buffalo [N.Y.]. If they hadn't had breakfast at the golf course, I would have had to go without. My credit cards were maxed out. I remember being on "Good Morning America" after the first round, because no African-American had led the U.S. Open. I was very calm. In fact, I was never nervous until late in the second round. In retrospect, I played much too aggressively, started hitting my driver off the tee. It was a learning experience. You have to take what the golf course gives you. You can't force things.

It was another Open, in 1996 at Oakland Hills, where you played with Ian Baker-Finch when he was struggling to break 90. I believe your line was, "If it'd been me out there, there wouldn't have been any grass left.''

It was almost like a blind man playing golf. He hit 4-iron off the first tee and missed the ninth fairway off to the right. Had to be 150 yards right of where he started. He'd duck-hook it 50 or 60 yards off the tee. I'm saying to myself, "What in the hell has happened to Baker-Finch, man?'' I'm talking to the scorer, I'm talking to my caddie, because I haven't played with Ian in a long time. I just knew he had lost his game. Beautiful golf swing, but he played like a 20-handicapper. Even duck-hooked it out-of-bounds.

At some point you had to feel sorry for him.

You had to. He's such a nice man. You just can't figure out what happened. I have nothing against guys who teach the game, but there's a case of him getting too much instruction.

Ian won a British Open. He won at Colonial. He was a magnificent ball-striker and he was a wonderful putter. Then you get these troubleshooters who want to build the perfect golf swing. The next thing you know he's got a perfect golf swing, but he can't break 100.

What happens to guys like Baker-Finch and Chip Beck?

Whenever you change things for the sake of looking good, you're asking for trouble. An opera singer can't stand and sing opera by looking pretty. You got to get on down and get it. Same thing with golf.

Two of your three PGA Tour victories were in match play. Why were you so successful in that format when you often had trouble closing the deal in stroke play?

Match play brings out the guy who has guts, and it exposes those who don't.

Do you like the gamesmanship of match play?

Oh, yeah. I'll never forget the Tucson event in 1985 when I got paired with Dan Pohl. I had Herman Mitchell caddieing for me. I was 3 up on Dan and giving him the lip. All of a sudden Dan reversed the gamesmanship and broke my concentration. Next thing I know we're dead even.