Picard's call to Hall is late but justified

Sixty-eight years ago, Henry Picard earned personal glory as winner of the fifth Masters. Yesterday, he was granted everlasting fame.

Picard, the onetime PGA Tour great -- a Plymouth native who left home in 1923 at age 17 to pursue his dream of a golf career -- was one of two players elected to the World Golf Hall of Fame, the other being three-time major winner Larry Nelson, 58. In a career that began when Bobby Jones was at the pinnacle of his greatness, Picard won 26 times on the PGA Tour, the highlight being his two majors, the 1938 Masters and his 1939 conquest of Byron Nelson in the final match of the PGA Championship.

''I had my day," Picard said in an interview with the Globe in 1995, two years before he died. ''Don't kid yourself. I knew who could beat me, but once in a while I beat them."

A quiet and humble man who pursued golf far before it was the show it is today, Picard was most proud of his victory at Augusta National Golf Club in the spring of 1938. He had been in the field for the original Masters, in 1934, and when he beat a field in '38 that included all the great names of his generation, Picard was saluted by the premier sportswriter of that era, Grantland Rice.

''Henry Picard," wrote Rice, ''Massachusetts' gift to Hershey, Pa., is one of the coming greats of golf."

At the time, Picard was the head professional at Hershey CC, a job he later left and handed over to a young, struggling professional named Ben Hogan. It wasn't the only favor Picard did for Hogan: he also cured the Texan's nasty hook, an act of golfing kindness that was never forgotten. Hogan dedicated his book, ''Ben Hogan's Power Golf," to Picard, and Sam Snead often said it was Picard who encouraged him to pursue professional golf.

As a teacher, Picard was considered a master. Among his students was Jack Grout, who went on to achieve great fame as the instructor who showed the way for none other than Jack Nicklaus.

Yet, despite his impressive playing record and a head professional career that included lengthy stints at Canterbury in Ohio and Seminole in Florida, Picard was mostly overlooked, a fact that annually frustrated his many supporters when Hall of Fame voting was announced. This spring, only Nelson (65 percent) received enough votes to get in on the regular ballot. Picard (53 percent) was second, but fell short again, only to get voted in by the World Golf Hall of Fame board of directors. He thus becomes the fifth Massachusetts native enshrined. Francis Ouimet and Pat Bradley are also members recognized for their playing careers; Fred Corcoran and Richard Tufts are enshrined because of their contributions to golf.

In that Globe interview, Picard brushed aside any concern about being overlooked. He had been voted into the PGA Hall of Fame in 1961 and that thrilled him greatly; besides, ''I loved winning that Masters. It meant more to me than the money."

Had fate dealt him a better hand, it may have been Picard's second Masters win, but a fluke kept him out of the winner's circle in the second playing of the event, in 1935. ''You could hardly see the dogwood from the smoke Henry Picard raised," wrote Rice in his account of that year's second round, one in which Picard shot 68 to open a four-shot lead. Rice nicknamed him the ''Hershey Hurricane," but when Picard reached for his wedge early in Round 3, he discovered it was gone.

''I don't know if it was stolen or what," he said. ''In those days, you simply left your bag in the golf shed. I played the last two rounds without it."

When he shot 76-75, Picard fell out of contention and was a mere bystander to the legendary shot made by the late and great Gene Sarazen, a 4-wood holed at the par-5 15th, a double eagle that became ''the shot heard 'round the world." It carried Sarazen to victory over Craig Wood, but a few Aprils later, Picard would have the Masters spotlight all to himself.

Of course, it wasn't quite as intense a spotlight. Picard said at the time that it didn't rank much more important than the North and South Open (he won that twice), and was only a notch or two higher than the Carolinas Open (he won that seven times). But as the Masters grew in stature and Picard would make his annual pilgrimage to the Champions Dinner, he took greater pride in his accomplishment.

A few years after winning his 26th PGA Tour event, the 1945 Miami Open, Picard decided to stop the traveling and settle down with his wife, Annie, and four children. He said what made up his mind was a stinging loss in the semifinals of the 1950 PGA Championship, when he went from 6-up with eight holes to play to being defeated on the 38th hole. ''I stayed out a lot longer than I thought I would," Picard told the Globe. ''I told myself [that day], 'Now I'm going home. After all, I'm an old man.' "

He was only 44 at the time, and Picard continued to teach the game at Canterbury, at Seminole, then later in Charleston, S.C., which became his adopted home. When he was in his late 80s, Picard stopped playing, but he would show up daily at Charleston CC, dressed, as always, in a shirt and tie.

''I just want to be around the game," he said.

Yesterday, he was granted admission inside the game's greatest room.