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  Jack shot a 32 for the front nine, including an eagle at the fifth hole, to claim his first of many U.S.Open leads. Ohio State football coaching legend Woody Hayes appointed himself an acting marshal in the Nicklaus gallery and shooshed any who dared stir while OSU star Jack prepared to hit. Playing with stoic Ben Hogan, and battling him for the lead, Nicklaus felt intimidated enough not to ask an official about repairing a ball mark on 13 (which was within the rules). His putt from just a foot and a half away hit the indentation and missed the cup. Suddenly, five players were tied for the lead: Boros, Fleck, Souchak, Nicklaus, and Palmer.

  Nicklaus, rattled for the first time all weekend, bogeyed again on 14. Now only Fleck and Palmer were tied at the top. Arnie was separated on the course from Nicklaus and Hogan by Gary Player, who stumbled home with a 76 to knock him to 19th. By for all the young guns shooting for the Open, it was the grizzled Hawk, Ben Hogan, who grabbed a share of the lead even as his agonizing putting threatened to undo an amazing run of 34 consecutive greens reached in regulation. Communication on the course was such— and his concentration so intense—that Hogan did not even know that it was Palmer he was tied with for the lead. When informed as much, Hogan responded, “He’s not a contender, is he?”

  Hogan laid up in two on 17, as did Nicklaus. Hogan went for birdie and the ball landed on the green, but backspin pushed it into the water. He took off his shoe—then put it back on without his sock—and hit out of the drink.

  Hogan’s bogey—and Nicklaus’s par—left the pair thinking they had no shot at winning the tournament. Without updated leaderboards visible, players learned their fate from officials or fans who passed on information, and were not always correct. Both Hogan and Palmer could have birdied 18 and forced Palmer to make birdie on the last two holes. Hogan’s tee shot hit the water—this time irretrievable—and he triple bogeyed. Nicklaus bogeyed. Palmer played it safe and sank a short putt on the final hole, firing his sun visor into the crowd in celebration.

  Arnie had indeed shot his 65, bringing home a 280 for the tournament to set a U.S. Open record. Nicklaus placed second, his 282 an Open mark for an amateur. Hogan wound up tied for ninth place—the Hawk would never again get this close to his fifth Open title or tenth major.

  Nicklaus and Palmer, on the other hand, were just beginning their rivalry. Nicklaus was married shortly after the Open in Cherry Hills, then returned to college, won an NCAA title, captured another U.S. Amateur, and—in an utter reversal of the average recreational golfer’s dream—gave up his 9-to-5 ambitions to become a professional golfer. In 1962, in Arnie’s backyard at Oakmont, Jack fired a 69 in the final round to catch Palmer, force an 18-hole playoff, and win the first of his record 18 majors. Between 1962 and 1969, Nicklaus posted 29 wins (seven majors, including the career Grand Slam) while Palmer won 28 times (three majors).

  The rivalry burned white hot at times, reaching a boiling point when Arnie’s Army openly rooted against Nicklaus at Baltusrol in the 1967 U.S. Open, but Jack shot a 65 on the last day to beat Palmer by four strokes. Tom Watson would become far more of a Nicklaus nemesis in the 1970s than Palmer, yet the public always relished the Jack-Arnie rivalry, even as both men moved away from playing and focused on golf-club manufacturing and course design. The respect has remained.

  In a 1994 Golf Magazine interview with the two legends, Nicklaus said, “Today, because of high tech equipment that minimizes errant shots, if a player hits too many shots offline, there are enough other guys out there hitting the fairways and greens and making putts that someone’s gonna pass him. So there really isn’t room for a personality like Arnold to show that exciting brand of golf—to come out of trouble and into the winner’s circle.”

  Just like Palmer did at the 1960 Open. Golf hasn’t quite been the same since.

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  AN INTIMATE STORY OF MISS ALEXA STIRLING’S GOLF VICTORIES

  H. E. HARMAN

  IT is just ten years ago since I built a bungalow opposite the famous East Lake Golf Club, Atlanta, and at that time Dr. A. W. Stirling, father of Miss Alexa, had just finished a picturesque home, only two blocks away. Thus, being near neighbors, the Stirling family and my own became fast friends, and during these ten years I have observed with an ever-growing interest the steady development of the present woman golf champion of this country and Canada.

  During the early years of my residence at East Lake, Miss Alexa Stirling began her first work as a golf player. Her home being opposite the links, she dropped into golf playing naturally. Her father and I played a few frames together each week, and even as a girl she used to join us in our rounds. At first there was nothing remarkable about her playing, but as the years went on her game developed rapidly, and “wisehead” golfers used to say, “There’s a coming champion; watch her.”

  When her game commenced to show unusual skill she was taken in hand by the East Lake expert, Stewart Maiden, and a large part of Miss Stirling’s success in these after years must be credited to the splendid help given by her teacher. Maiden worked with her over and over the links, with untiring interest, and no doubt did more to develop her game than anything else. The reader can therefore understand the fundamentals of Miss Stirling’s success as a golfer—taking up the game in early girlhood, falling into the hands of an interested and competent teacher, and a characteristic determination in the girl to make a success of whatever she undertook to do.

  These characteristics stand out boldly in her other achievements. She plays the violin with exquisite touch and ease, partly from talent in that direction, but largely from constant practise. When the war came on she entered, almost as a girl, into war work and became an expert auto driver, in which she still excels.

  And yet when we analyze the wonderful record Miss Stirling has made in the golf world we must admit that her unswerving Scotch character has had its big share. Those who have noticed her games during the last year or so, and especially during the three recent matches in Canada, Cleveland, and Philadelphia, know just what that has meant to her. Calmness, poise, and determination go with her from green to green. Bad playing on one hole does not seem to influence her playing on the next. She has learned a self-confidence to such extent that many of her competitors would give anything to possess it themselves.

  These are the things which have made Miss Stirling now three times the southern champion, three times the national, and once the Canadian—with many, many other golf honors heaped upon her, besides. Having won about all she can in this country, her friends are now planning a tour abroad for next year in search of foreign championships, provided they can induce the young champion to go.

  A remarkable feature about Miss Stirling’s golf is the little interest she now takes in the game while at home. The entire fall and winter months pass with rarely a game being played. She is busy with other things and thinks last of golf. A month before the summer games she usually begins to practise at East Lake, and in a few weeks her game is up to its usual standard and she is ready for the fray. This may be accounted for largely from the fact that she started golf right as a little girl, studied the different plays under a real master, learned thoroughly the best methods, and now she needs only to get into practise to make unequalled records. That’s easy when one knows it as she does.

  The Atlanta Athletic Club is very proud of Miss Stirling’s achievements in the golf world, to which club her membership is accredited. For three years she has kept the national championship cup in this clubhouse, to say nothing of the other honors she has won on the links in all parts of the country.

  About the Stirling home life there is a simplicity and charm which is exquisite. The whole atmosphere breathes a literary spirit. Dr. Stirling, in addition to being an eminent specialist, has a national reputation as a scholar and a writer. In this home, with its refinement and poise, Miss Alexa has grown up to young womanhood, and it is hardly any wonder that she has gone forth to accomplish real big things in life, with so much in the home to stand back o
f her and encourage.

  Miss Stirling’s golf record begins with 1911, when in the Southern Tournament, played at East Lake, she won the low score for approaching and putting, and in a local tournament won the only prize.

  In the 1912 Southern Tournament at Nashville, Tennessee, she won, defeating eight; also, the same year, she won the Blount trophy at East Lake.

  In the 1914 Southern Tournament played at Knoxville, Tennessee, she played only the last day, on account of illness, winning the handicap gross score and broke the record of the course. This year she contested in the National at Nassau, Long Island, but was put out by Miss Bishop. She also played in the Berthellyn Tournament and won in driving competition.

  Miss Stirling won the Southern Championship in 1915 at Birmingham, Alabama, also the low score. This year she also won first flight, Davis & Freeman cup, Atlanta; also other local cups.

  In 1916 she won the National Championship at Boston; the Southern Championship at Chattanooga, Tennessee; and the Berthellyn cup at Philadelphia.

  During the war years 1917–1918, Miss Stirling through the East and Middle West played in behalf of the Red Cross and thus helped to make thousands of dollars for the cause. She also did a vast amount of war work in the motor corps, from private to lieutenant.

  She again won the National Cup in 1919 at Shawnee and also the Southern championship at Memphis, Tennessee, together with many low score records.

  The present year, 1920, Miss Stirling has exceeded all her past records by winning three championships on one trip, the Canadian at Hamilton, Ontario, the National at Cleveland, and the Berthellyn at Philadelphia. During this trip she broke three course records, at Hamilton (75), at Cleveland (80), and at Philadelphia (81). During this year she has also broken the records on a number of other courses, especially in the South.

  A great many experts have watched Miss Stirling’s golfing for a number of years and have been of the one opinion that she stands to lead the world as the woman champion. Her playing up to this year, however, has been far surpassed by her 1920 triumphs. This year she has developed a game of such steadiness that few women see any hope of overcoming. If this improvement continues, as it promises to do from all her past efforts, Miss Stirling stands to hold the world championship among women players, provided she wishes it.

  And just here comes the rub. While her American friends in the golf world, and they are legion, would like to see this timid girl hold this title, Miss Stirling seems to be entirely indifferent about it. Her modesty is such that she will not even discuss her past victories, and certainly not the promise of future ones. She has the highest opinion of the foreign women golfers and frankly admits her doubt of winning from them, in case she plays abroad. This indifference to her accomplishment, by the honors heaped upon her, is one of the crowning charms of this clever girl, whose name is a household word in the golf world of today.

  PART II

  GOLF AMATEURS

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  THE STORY OF BEGINNING GOLF

  W. PROUDFOOT

  An old friend told me the other day he would say, “Don’t” to every man who thought of beginning golf. I looked surprised, and paused for an explanation. “It’s difficult, it’s expensive, it’s an acute irritant, it’s heart-breaking. By the way, will you play me at Barnton tomorrow?” Rather a comical non-sequitur it seemed to me; yet very eloquent testimony of the irresistible fascination of the game, despite every detraction his lips could utter.

  Beginning golf is what someone is doing every day. What the writer did more than thirty years ago. There is nothing he remembers more vividly. He learned to drive with a spooned putter, which was, of course, all wrong; but which did not prevent progress. He would have begun in the orthodox fashion, hereafter to be mentioned, had circumstances permitted. Res angusta! The putter was an old castaway of his father’s; and necessity being the mother of invention, a liberal reduction of lead and ample spooning of the face soon converted the rejected club into quite a serviceable weapon and made it an unfailing source of juvenile joy. It was a shade upright certainly, but a little humoring as to stance prevented heeling, or what is known in polite circles at St. Andrews as “richt aff the wuppin.” There is no trouble with boys in learning golf.

  The foregoing personal and, I trust, pardonable reminiscence may not be entirely intelligible to American beginners; but it does not much matter, as they are not likely to experience any such awkward introduction to the sport in a land where dollars are plentiful, and old wooden putters are rare.

  What method then of initiation is to be regarded with favor? Consider it well, ye who are about to dedicate a portion of your spare time to this grand game, “this royal, ancient, irritating sport.” Whatever be your motive in approaching this pastime— desire of health, conformity to fashion, an excuse for refreshment, the winning of some fair partner in life or only a handicap cruet stand, the prolongation of your days upon the earth, or the pure love of sport—if you attach any value to personal comfort and happiness, give no quarter to your own notions, which are certain to be hopelessly wrong. Assuming that you desire to play a good game, the first thing you must do, and its importance cannot easily be overstated, is to submit with the utmost docility to authority. What a multitude, who are now irredeemable, would have been saved from the pains of dufferdom had this simple condition been frankly accepted! Of course the “natural man” rebels against the uncompromising severity of this fundamental provision. “Why all this fuss about hitting a ball?” he asks himself. “Do they take me for a ninny?” and so on. With exulting breast he grasps the club, and * * * but let us draw a veil over the tragic scene. Or, rather, let us hear General Grant’s peculiarly American comment on a similar proceeding—quite inimitable, we think, in the way of criticism. When the General was in Scotland some years ago, he heard a good deal about golf, and on a fine afternoon he asked one of his many admiring friends to explain the use of the bulger in a practical way. Out to the spacious park they went, and the obliging host, who was very much the “natural man” in regard to the game, teed the ball and waggled the club with all due solemnity. The General’s expectations were running high, as he carefully observed the impressive preliminaries. Presently there was a heavy thud, a flight of turf, and the little ball still sat on the tee. Again, and yet again a thud, heavier than before, with turf still flying, with ball unmoved, with “natural man” perspiring and perplexed. Whereupon the distinguished guest quietly remarked: “There seems to be a fair amount of exercise in the game, but I fail to guess the use of the ball.”

  Of course the “natural man” may easily improve on that exhibition. In defiance of all authority, he will be able to hit the ball—in a way—but powerful in build though he be, he cannot shut his eyes to the fact that many a slim golfer, who would at once succumb to his superior strength in a football maul, easily out-distances his most successful drives on the links. How does it happen that a mere stripling so often outdrives a big, strong man? Both are fired with the same laudable ambition, but to compass it, the former submits to authority and succeeds. He keenly watches and loyally imitates an able exponent of the game in every movement. While the latter follows his own delusions and reaps vexation of spirit. His thuds are very grievous to the face of mother earth, he mutters dark sayings, he complains of the total depravity of inanimate nature, and runs up a formidable bill at the clubmaker’s.

  But let us indicate some of his errors. By a hundred chances to one the “natural man” will have the thumb of his right hand straight and tight down the shaft, instead of placing it loosely across, slanting wise, thereby reducing his driving power by at least 50 yards, and very probably, in a moment of extra press, spraining his thumb. To beginners the position of that thumb is of the utmost importance. It does not drive the ball, and unless it is rightly adjusted, it will very seriously interfere with the fullness and freedom of the swing. In fact, the whole of the righthand grip should be comparatively loose.

  Another comm
on aberration which handicaps the strong man’s driving is a certain ugly hitch of the body. You see him rising tiptoe on both feet as the club reaches its altitude, instead of keeping the right foot flat and allowing the left heel gradually to lift in obedience to the backward draw of the club—a perfectly simple and harmonious movement both of the body and foot.

  This is well sketched in the October number of Golf page 19, where Willie Dunn is playing the cleek shot, and on page 27, where H. R. Sweeny is driving from the tee. [Editor’s Note: page numbers reflect pages in original source.] The correct position of the thumb is also clearly shown on page 19, where you have an excellent representation of Willie Dunn addressing the ball. A careful study of all such useful illustrations might quickly act as a wholesome corrective to false methods and deliver the adult beginner from his own mischievous devices. He requires to be saved from himself, and if he lives, he will bless the man and book that helped to nip his budding fads; for he will have little difficulty in finding a portrait of what, but for timely interference, he might have been in the obdurate duffer who is superior to all counsel.

  A candid caddie was not far off the mark in his somewhat caustic comment on one of these incorrigibles. A foursome was just leaving the putting-green of a short hole, when up came a ball with startling velocity over the bunker that fronted the green. The distance would be about 130 yards, and the above-mentioned party naturally looked for the arrival of the second ball. “You needna fash yersels, gentlemen. You’re quite safe,” said the caddie, who knew the calibre of the player. “He couldna cairy that bunker, though he played a hundred years.” The ball fell far short. He was a young man who despised lessons, and who had accordingly acquired a style of his own—incurable, original, and, therefore, not warranted to hurt a full cleek range, even with a bulger.