Ron Stieglitz loves his retirement job as a ranger at Cog Hill Golf and Country Club in the Chicago suburbs, but he cringes every time he sees a certain television advertisement.

"That comes off giving the ranger a bad image," he says of the commercial that features an overzealous ranger, with golf cart lights flashing, locking up golfers who don't use a certain driver. "We don't feel we're that way. Most of us are pleasant and players are surprised to find us friendly and receptive to suggestion. We try to put players in our golf shoes."

Courses, public and private, are trying to change the image and the job description of the ranger. Stieglitz, who spent 35 years behind a desk at United States Steel before he retired, rides around in a cart labeled "Player Assistance." Other facilities have taken to calling them "course advisors" in an attempt to change players' perceptions of those on the job.

"Ranger seem to connote the police, marshal or law enforcement," says Frank Jemsek, who operates a group of courses with his father, Joe, in the Chicago suburbs. "When you try to push people, they usually push back."

After countless years of using the ranger as a policeman, many courses are trying the "player assistance" philosophy. Rather than espousing a tough-guy approach, the trend is toward a more friendly, but firm attitude. "We wanted to put away 'the guns' and be nice to people," says Cog Hill general manager Nick Mokelke.

Whatever the title, the responsibility is more than that of a traffic cop. Not only do they monitor play and make sure players are on their best behavior, but rangers might rake a bunker, help look for a wayward ball or serve as a moving lost and found. They might even buy you a drink.

"We are paid to be as helpful as we can," says ranger Jim Whiteman. "A lot of people ask us for favors. They may have lost something during their round and we try to help out. I've found golf clubs, umbrellas, cell phones, pagers — even a wedding ring."

The ranger is one of golf's most misunderstood figures. To many, the only time players see a ranger is at the most inopportune time. When their group has hit three balls into the woods and has fallen a bit behind, the ranger's always there; when they're playing behind a group that has two open holes in front of it and they're waiting on every shot, he's nowhere to be found.

"It's uncanny," said Miles Millek, a daily-fee player in the Chicago area. "They never seem to be in the right place at the right time. We don't see enough of them. That's my number one complaint."

With more players filling more courses, the truth is that rangers have become an important component in a course's operational staff. And if you don't see them during your round, that's usually good news. It's probably because you're not the problem, which is where the ranger is.

"You can't discount the importance of the ranger," said Ben Blake of LinksCorp, which owns or operates 24 courses throughout the United States. "They are one of the keys to our business. Speed of play is one of the biggest problems in golf and the ranger can help."

For years, many rangers had little ammunition to combat slow-play offenders. It was usually his word against theirs. "It's the guys in front of us" was the typical plea. Most of the time, the ranger didn't have evidence to the contrary. In recent years, however, many courses have acquired sophisticated computer programs that chart a group from the time it hits its tee shots at the first hole to the point when the final putt drops. Fall behind and the clock is your judge and jury.

Cog Hill's Dubsdread course, the home of the Western Open and the site of the 1997 U.S. Amateur, uses a combination of timers and rangers to get players through at about a four-hour pace. Groups are timed at the fourth and eighth holes and are promptly informed if they fall behind the expected pace. The "player assistance" cart is called in for problem groups.

"They should be under an hour and two hours at that point," said Bill Matyskela, a Dubsdread timer who happens to be a retired police officer. "If they are over, we let them know about it. Most people are cooperative. One out of 10 gives us a bad time: 'We paid $110 and we'll play at our own pace.' You have to know how to talk to people. You want to massage them instead of rubbing them the wrong way."

Many LinksCorps courses have equipped their rangers' golf carts with a computer system that displays a running clock on every group on the course. Players need only check their clock against clocks positioned around the course to see where they stand. It also helps to deflect some of the anger aimed at the ranger, who, after all, is only trying to keep play moving at a reasonable pace. It's hard to get mad at a timepiece.

"It empowers a ranger to be able to walk up and say, 'You have to pick it up a little,' " Blake says. "That solves some major problems you might have with players confronting the ranger. Players like it and it's a tremendous asset to the ranger. Otherwise, the ranger becomes a bad guy."

"We don't want to whip them around when they paid $125," says Kemper Lakes director of golf Emil Esposito. "But they need to keep pace."

Sometimes a slow group will need more than a gentle nudge to get going. The long-standing philosophy might have stressed an ultimatum. Skipping a hole or refunding money to players removed from the course is a last resort, especially at high-end facilities where green fees are in the triple digits, or public courses that begin each day with a lengthy bag line. But rangers are now just as likely to use more imaginative methods to ensure a group never broaches the ultimatum stage.

"We try to explain the situation to them," said Tony Fiorivanti, a former high school wrestling and golf coach who works at busy Oak Brook Golf Club, a municipal course west of Chicago. "If they are a little slow, I might give them a ride if they are walking. People will usually move for you. If they speed up pretty good, I might buy them a lemonade or a soda as a reward. They laugh at it, but they get the idea."

Rangers at private courses might have a more difficult task than their public-course counterparts in one respect: Club members are the bosses and it's not always easy to tell your boss to play faster. This requires a ranger's most important characteristics: tact, smooth talking and the backing of the professional staff.

"It's easier to be tough on people you'll never see again," said Tom Ducey, director of golf at Old North State Club in North Carolina. "You have to be respected and that's not easy. Still, it's better to make one group of guys mad than the 40 behind them."

The increase in new golfers has added to some of the rangers' problems. New players who may not be thoroughly schooled in the etiquette of the game tend to be the ones who have trouble keeping up with the pace of play while replacing divots, fixing ball marks and keeping carts clear of tees and greens. It's not uncommon for a ranger to school newcomers on the fly.

"You have a ranger who is paid $5.15 an hour and he has to explain 100 years of American golf tradition to a new player," says Trey Van Dyke, the director of golf at Oak Brook. "That's no easy task and leads to a lot of problems. People don't like to be told what to do."

Earlier this summer, Fiorivanti faced a delicate situation when a golfer, new to the game, became confrontational after repeatedly being warned for slow play. At Oak Brook and elsewhere, rangers are generally instructed to leave the discipline to the course's professional staff. "It was one of those situations where it's real easy to lose your composure," Fiorivanti says. "With this job you have to roll with the punches. Most people are really nice, but you do get into those situations."

Most often, it's not what the ranger says but how it is said that makes the difference. Many rangers try to use a sympathetic approach in an effort to turn things around on the tardy group; "Can you help us out here?" is a typical line. The idea is that it takes a team effort to keep a course full of players moving and make the round enjoyable.

Rick Olson has been a ranger at Teton Pines in Jackson, Wyo., for four years. He has seen the usual — slow players or those looking for a tree to take a nature break — and the unusual, such as impromptu romantic interludes.

"Tell me it's not true," he recalls saying to a group one bright June morning. "The group behind you says you're letting the caddie play. I hope that's not the case."

It wasn't. The problem was that more than one player in the group was wearing a shirt nearly identical in color to the caddie's bib. Olson, a retired boat repairman, was able to report back to the complaining group and soothe its nerves.

"I think they try to do what they are here for, to keep play moving," says Terrel Gore, who regularly plays at public courses in Chicago. "The rangers here are good and fair, although there once was a guy, years ago, who would sneak around trees, hoping he'd catch you doing something."

Rangers walk a fine line. How slow is too slow and how fast is too fast? That's the dilemma the ranger faces every day. Sometimes doing too good a job can make the ranger unpopular. A ranger who is too wedded to his stop watch and his job of helping move players around the course at a suitable pace can make a round just as annoying as playing behind the slowest foursome on the course.

"Like anything else, some places overreact," Gore says. "One of the worse places I ever played was St. Andrews, Scotland. They herd you so bad, you can't enjoy the scenery. We'd wait and wait and then run to our next shot. We were playing as fast as we could, but one member of our group was elderly and couldn't play any faster.

"Some rangers are overbearing and take away the enjoyment. A lot of times you're behind because you've lost a ball or something. They don't say anything to people who don't fix ball marks and that burns me up. I'd rather see them get on that stuff than slow play."

Many players do not take the time following a round to thank a helpful ranger; a course is just as likely to overlook rangers when honoring employees, although Old North State Club is doing just that.

Lum Thompson, who died in 1998 after being at the course since it opened in 1992, was a retired Navy man who set the tone for play at Old North State and earned the respect of the membership. He stepped on some toes but for good reason.

"He was not loved by all," says Ducey, "but I told him that if I did not get any complaints, he was not doing his job. He had a special knack for people."

A memorial plaque is being built near the first tee at Old North State. It says: "Ranger, starter, friend."

If you were to ask Stieglitz, Whiteman, Matyskela and their brethren, it's an appropriate elegy for those who try to make the best of a difficult position.

Now, finish your lemonade and get moving.

Reid Hanley writes about sports for The Chicago Tribune. He has experienced first-hand Rick Olson's talents as a ranger.