Golden anniversary of king's crowning achievement
AUGUSTA, Ga. - For as far back as those infant days of steel shafts, early April has been colored green at Augusta National Golf Club, though there once was a magical stretch of hours when that was not the case.
Fifty years ago, the splendor of those fairways framed by Georgia pines and the manicured grass upon which the best golfers marched was awash in the color blue.
It signified royalty. The arrival of a king.
It was the year golf changed forever and an unmistakable duende enveloped the American sports landscape. It was the year we learned that genteel could coexist with fury and there was no shame in losing, so long as you valiantly tried to win.
It was the year Arnold Palmer won the Masters for the first time.
Fifty years have passed since a stunning victory helped transform a man into a king and a tournament into a happening. Fifty years.
"That is a long time. But it doesn't seem very long right now," said Palmer, now 78, but still the sport's most endearing figure.
When 84 players drove down Magnolia Lane 50 Aprils ago, the PGA Tour still had those iconic bookends in place, Ben Hogan and Sam Snead, though the rising talents of the man from Latrobe, Pa., could not be denied. In possession of Popeye-like arms and a slashing, hard-as-you-can-whip-it swing, Palmer turned pro just four years earlier, at the age of 25, and made the 1955 Canadian Open his first victory. Two wins arrived in 1956 and during the 1957 campaign, Palmer led the Tour with four victories.
He surely wasn't an afterthought entering the 1958 Masters, especially with his eighth Tour win having come two weeks earlier at the St. Petersburg Open Invita tional, but neither was he yet The King. Still, that central ingredient to his greatness - an unshakeable confidence - was percolating that week.
"I felt like I could [win], like I was playing well enough to win," said Palmer.
He had finished tied for 10th in 1955, his Masters debut, and was 21st the next spring. A year later, Palmer felt like he had a chance to win, if only he could burn it up on the back, but "I promptly made a [double-bogey] 6 at 10, so that took care of that." Palmer's closing 76 left him tied for seventh, eight behind Doug Ford, but when 1958 rolled around, he was able to block out any past disappointment and focus on the job at hand.
Part of that explained his greatness. Part of it came from the Augusta itself, for while Palmer was making just his fourth visit, he already had become enamored with the place and those who lined the fairways clearly had become captivated by him. One could argue that no player and course have been linked so romantically as Palmer and Augusta National.
"I suppose I have thought about that," said Palmer. "I think I was raised in a Masters environment. The Masters was always there. It was a way of life. Everything about it was magical."
After shooting rounds of 70 and 73 to sit tied for sixth and three shots behind Ken Venturi, Palmer posted what was at that point his career best at Augusta, a 4-under-par 68, to get into a share of the 54-hole lead with Snead at 5-under 211. There was more golf to be played, but by now, that streak of great pride that ran through Palmer had at least been fed, because he felt he had proven the critics wrong.
"In my early years at Augusta, the experts . . . I remember it running in my ears the fact that I didn't hit the golf ball the way you have to hit it to win at Augusta. I always hit the ball low and on the line. Very rarely did I ever hit up."
His style of playing that low, hard-running draw couldn't stand up over 72 at Augusta, or so the critics contended, and Palmer just winced and squeezed the club even tighter.
"That [criticism] made my determination to win Augusta even more," said Palmer. "A low ball still made it possible to win."
If he was going to win that year, Palmer was going to have to outplay Snead, who at the time was tied with Jimmy Demaret for the most Masters wins (three). He was not, however, going to get the honor of going head-to-head with Snead, because the practice of pairing low scorers together for the final round had not yet been introduced; at the time, final-round pairings were still randomly chosen, thus was Palmer off with Venturi (68-72-74 - 214) for those last 18 holes, with Snead several groups later.
Beneath the sprawling oak tree behind the clubhouse, players mingled with patrons and press before the start of the fourth round. Ford, who was at 215, figured he was still in position to defend his title, though he accepted that another scenario surely could play out.
"If I don't win, Palmer will," said Ford. "He's strong enough for this big course."
Though he wielded an unorthodox, home-made swing, Palmer had become a favorite of reporters. His aggressive style often was written about, as was his strong physique. "Husky," is the word Lincoln Werden of The
It did not disappoint, because with a brilliant stretch of play over the first 11 holes, Venturi cut two shots off his deficit and he walked to the tee of Golden Bell, the 155-yard par 3, trailing Palmer by just one.
But just as witnesses were not cognizant royalty was unfolding before their eyes, neither did they realize that a priceless personal attachment to Augusta was about to be introduced. Let the record show that on the same day Palmer became a king, Amen Corner was identified.
Amen, indeed
As Palmer and Venturi prepared to hit at No. 12, the inquisitive and passionate eyes of Herbert Warren Wind followed their every move. Then a staff writer with Sports Illustrated, the Brockton native had been at Augusta every April since the 1930s, but his appetite for golf was too rich to be left simply to player accounts. No, Wind had to watch with his own eyes.
And oh, how a series of shots and events gave Wind plenty to write about, starting with the approaches that set up matching pars at the 11th green, which sits not far from the 12th tee. Wind watched Venturi negotiate a deft shot onto the green at the 12th, but in a serious miscalculation, Palmer chose a 5 iron and drilled his ball into a breeze that wasn't as strong as he figured. When his ball flew the green, Palmer's lead was precarious, at best.
What none of the observers knew, since they can't get that close to the 12th green, was that Palmer's ball was embedded. No surprise there, given that an overnight rain had saturated the course, but Palmer was sure he could get relief. He knew that that morning rules officials had decided to adopt a local rule and afford players the right to take free drops from embedded balls. What complicated the situation, however, is that the walking rules official, Arthur Lacey, apparently missed the memo and thus he did not grant Palmer relief. Standing nearby as the ruling was made, Venturi nodded his head, convinced his opponent should be required to play it as it lies.
The quiet was deafening and what happened next has been presented with two contrasting points of view. It's a matter of record that Palmer played the ball as it lay and barely moved it, then pitched on with his third and two-putted for a double bogey, but he then allowed himself a free drop and played a second ball, which he got up-and-down to save par. But Venturi contends to this day that Palmer violated the Rules of Golf by taking an illegal drop, that he was required to announce before he played his first ball that he would also play a second ball. In his book published a few years ago, "Getting Up & Down: My 60 Years in Golf," Venturi indicated Palmer declared his intention to play a second ball only after he made a double bogey with the first, thus the second ball, the par, should not have counted.
For Palmer, the son of a greenskeeper and a man whose legend is built upon a foundation of honor and dignity, the happenings behind that 12th green were seemingly just a footnote in Masters history until Venturi revived them. It rankled Palmer, because he said he never had a doubt that he proceeded within the rules.
"I was very positive as to what the result would be," said Palmer.
Having advised Lacey of his decision to play a second ball, Palmer's actions were relayed to the Masters committee, but it would not be something that could be ruled upon immediately. Thus, as Wind wrote in his notebook, Palmer marched to the 13th tee and took advantage of a tee shot that suited his style: Right to left. He drove it beautifully and walked to his ball in the fairway, some 200 yards from the green, and pondered his choices. Taking on Rae's Creek and trying to reach the green was never a question; it was his makeup to do just that. But instead of the 1 iron or 2 iron he often preferred, Palmer selected a 3 wood.
"He settled into his stance for the slightly sidehill lie and moved into his swing, very smoothly," wrote Wind, who watched with thousands as Palmer's shot landed hole-high, roughly 18 feet to the left.
As he strode toward the 13th green, Palmer conferred with rules official Bill Kerr, an Augusta National club member, which Wind reported prompted a spontaneous crowd reaction. "As Palmer headed for the green," Wind wrote, "shouts broke out all along the lines as the grapevine communicated the news to the thousands clustered along the hillside that Palmer had been given (however unofficially at this point) a 3 and not a 5."
With a stillness embracing Augusta National, Palmer drained his eagle putt to increase his lead to two over Venturi, who despite making birdie, lost ground. It could be argued that Venturi sensed the tournament was slipping away. When he three-putted for bogey at the par-4 14th, he fell three back, then came the twinbill of bad news at the 15th. Not only did Venturi three-putt for another bogey, but John Winters, representing the tournament rules committee, arrived as the players headed down the fairway toward their tee shots and relayed the official news: Palmer had indeed been entitled to relief behind the 12th and thus, his 3 would count.
Fifty years later, Palmer says having the score hanging in the balance did not affect him at all. "I was very confident I was right and I played with that confidence," he said, and Wind reported just that in his Sports Illustrated story that didn't run until 15 days after the final round. Wind had covered the tournament with a story in the issue that came out days after Palmer's win, but he felt the trappings at the 11th, 12th, and 13th holes deserved a more exhaustive look, the sort of treatment he excelled at. Thus did he begin his essay entitled "The Fateful Corner" thusly:
"On the afternoon before the start of the recent Masters golf tournament, a wonderfully evocative ceremony took place at the farthest reach of the Augusta National course - down in the Amen Corner where Rae's Creek intersects the 13th fairway near the tee, then parallels the front edge of the green on the short 12th and finally swirls alongside the 11th green."
Certainly, it was a rather innocuous introduction of a term that is synonymous with the tournament, but which Wind concedes came to him as he thought of a favorite jazz song of his from years earlier, "Shoutin' in That Amen Corner."
Having signed for a 73 to finish at 4-under 284, Palmer waited and watched. The most anxious moments came when Ford missed a birdie chance that could have forced a playoff, then Fred Hawkins did likewise. Then Palmer shared a victory hug with his father, Deacon, who simply said, "Good going, son."
Legacy cemented
Though it would take years for Wind's "Amen Corner" term to be ingrained into the major championship golf culture, the emergence of Palmer's star was immediate. The 1958 Masters was his ninth PGA Tour win, but more importantly it ignited a stretch of golf that made him arguably the world's most popular athlete. From the 1958 Masters to the 1964 Masters, Palmer won all seven of his major championships in just 23 starts. The 1960 US Open certainly rates historically, as do the 1961 and 1962 British Opens, a championship that had all but disappeared from the major landscape until Palmer defined it, in 1960, as the third leg of the Grand Slam.
But it's not his 64 PGA Tour wins or British Open and US Open triumphs that come to mind when Palmer's name is mentioned. No, it's his four green jackets, and while the man who knocked him from the top of the golf world, Jack Nicklaus, won more of them (six), you could argue passionately that when you mention "Augusta," you think "Palmer." You would be doing so, of course, thanks in large part to what took place 50 years ago, the echoes of which could be heard yesterday as a delightful calm settled in over Augusta National.
It is impossible to walk through the gates without conjuring up thoughts of the legends who've won here - Gene Sarazen and Byron Nelson, Hogan and Snead, Nicklaus and Billy Casper, Tom Watson and Seve Ballesteros - and even as the incomparable presence of Tiger Woods during a practice round made yesterday notable, it is Palmer's achievement from 50 years ago that will be a storyline all week.
And just how will the game's grandest ambassador celebrate? Palmer winced when asked if he had plans.
"No," he said. "Except that I will be there and I will play the tee shot to open [the tournament Thursday]. Other than that, I'll probably have a couple [drinks] in the afternoon to celebrate."
Jim McCabe can be reached at jmccabe@globe.com.
