Read Chasing Greatness: Johnny Miller, Arnold Palmer, and the Miracle at Oakmont Online
Authors: Adam Lazarus
Tags: #Palmer; Arnold;, #Golfers, #Golf, #Golf - General, #Pennsylvania, #Sports & Recreation, #Sports, #United States, #Oakmont (Allegheny County), #Golf courses, #1929-, #History
Chasing Greatness: Johnny Miller, Arnold Palmer, and the Miracle at Oakmont (20 page)
BOOK: Chasing Greatness: Johnny Miller, Arnold Palmer, and the Miracle at Oakmont
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In typical Trevino fashion, his postround antics made news. U.S.G.A. protocol paved a short path from the eighteenth green to the scorer’s tent so that players could sign their cards. From there, several players were ushered into the press tent so reporters could speak to the leaders or perennial stars. Although Trevino was both a leader and a star, he walked right past the press tent and onto the practice green. His head down, a somber look on his face, he spoke to no one, stroked putts for a full hour, then retreated hurriedly toward his motor home.
One of America’s most popular sports figures, Trevino could not get away with skirting the press.
“There’s nothing merry about the Super Mex when things aren’t going his way,” wrote a Richmond columnist. “After his one-over-par-72 Friday, Trevino refused to come to the press tent to be interviewed. Instead he went to the practice green, where he remained in the middle of the big green to avoid questioning. His complaints about his lack of privacy are fast becoming boring.”
The unshakable fear that Trevino had long masked with humor and a grin-that he would soon wear out his welcome in the elite game—felt legit without his “Happy Hombre” facade.
That evening, Trevino’s grumpiness diminished when he learned his third-round playing partner would be Jack Nicklaus. Trevino always seemed at his best when dueling with the Golden Bear. In fact, of his four major title victories, three had ended with Nicklaus the runner-up. The pairing was less encouraging to Nicklaus.
“Trevino had beaten me in majors, not to mention the other defeats he had handed out,” Nicklaus observed about their fierce rivalry. “I had played close to my best every time, which always helps you feel a little better about yourself than when you’ve tossed a tournament away. But there could be no question by now that Lee Trevino was the player who had given me the most trouble up to this point in my career.”
As an angry Trevino stormed off the eighteenth green early Friday afternoon, Nicklaus stepped to the first tee. His start was inauspicious: He drove into the rough, launched a six-iron over the green, and chipped poorly to score a bogey. Fifteen minutes later, he missed a very makeable birdie putt from five feet.
Nicklaus grabbed a stroke back with a birdie on number five; a missed green on the short, par-four eleventh produced an annoying bogey, and he fell back to one over par. Six shots behind Player, Nicklaus headed to the twelfth tee. The 603-yard behemoth—once the longest hole in U.S. Open history—
should
have been ideal for a player of Nicklaus’s power to regain control of his round. But Nicklaus had never birdied the twelfth in six prior rounds of U.S. Open competition (including his play-off with Palmer). And a few swings into his seventh stab at the long hole, he seemed destined to come up birdieless again.
should
have been ideal for a player of Nicklaus’s power to regain control of his round. But Nicklaus had never birdied the twelfth in six prior rounds of U.S. Open competition (including his play-off with Palmer). And a few swings into his seventh stab at the long hole, he seemed destined to come up birdieless again.
After a good drive, his three-wood drifted into deep rough, and when his nine-iron flew the green into a bunker, even a par appeared unlikely.
For years, the only knock on Nicklaus was his mediocrity out of green-side bunkers.
“The good Lord gave Nicklaus everything—and I mean everything—except a wedge,” Trevino once said. “If he had given him that, the rest of us might never have won any tournaments.”
At least on this day, Nicklaus proved his detractors dead wrong: He blasted his ball out of the sand and into the cup for an incredible birdie four.
“That shot was the turning point of my round,” Nicklaus said—for the second straight day.
Buoyed by his good fortune, Nicklaus took advantage, as he promptly knocked a six-iron stiff on the thirteenth to grab another birdie. He expected to gain another stroke back on the seventeenth, where a repeat of his marvelous eagle the day before might challenge Player for the thirty-six-hole lead.
But the U.S.G.A. had other thoughts.
The $10,000 that Oakmont’s members spent to lengthen the hole had failed to achieve its goal on Thursday, so the next morning the U.S.G.A. took one last stab at Nicklaus-proofing the hole.
“They had the tees so far back on seventeen that I had to watch that I didn’t hit some trees on my backswing.”
The additional yardage worked. Still defiant and determined to have his way, Nicklaus again selected the driver and launched another majestic shot. This time, however, the ball faded a bit to the right, carried through the fairway, and stopped just short of an out-of-bounds fence that separated the course from the driving range. After nearly fulfilling Trevino’s pretournament prediction about how dangerous it was to “go for the green” on the seventeenth, Nicklaus retained his customary nonchalance and managed to save par. And, to cap his performance, he struck two fantastic shots at the home hole that left only a four-foot birdie putt, which he stroked into the center of the cup for a back-nine score of 33. His 69 moved him into a three-way tie for third place, just three behind Player. But a seemingly crestfallen Nicklaus walked into the press tent early Friday evening, annoyed that he hadn’t knocked more strokes off par.
“The greens were much softer than I expected they’d be,” he said. “The rough was there, and the course is longer than in the past, but the greens weren’t as fast.”
FIRING A THREE UNDER PAR 68 on Friday put Jim Colbert in some elite company. Along with Ben Hogan, Deane Beman, and Gary Player, only Arnold Palmer, in the second round of the 1962 Open, had ever shot as low as 68 prior to Friday. Colbert’s 68 had tied the fourth-best championship score in course history: At Oakmont, “going low” essentially meant breaking 70.
Colbert chalked up his fine round to more than solid ball striking, brilliant putting, or the shrewd guidance of his young caddie.
“The greens are soft, men,” he observed early in the afternoon after completing his morning start. “If you drive well you’ve got a lot of short irons and the ball’s coming back when you hit the greens—they definitely were softer today than yesterday. That’s why you’ll be seeing some low scores today.”
Colbert was right. For the first time in seven decades of Oakmont golf, breaking par, even shooting in the 60s, was not particularly exceptional, especially for those who teed off in the morning. And, naturally, the greens told the story.
Ever since W C. Fownes and Emil Loeffler had reconfigured Oakmont’s putting surfaces in the early 1920s, the greens had intimidated, irritated, and occasionally humiliated just about every great golfer in the world. Except Jack Nicklaus.
“I would prefer to see the greens as hard as a table and just as fast,” he told reporters. “Then I don’t think many players would be able to handle them.”
No one shared the view of the man who, in 1962, had miraculously carded just one three-putt in ninety holes at Oakmont. But even Nicklaus admitted that near eighty-degree temperatures during round one—and the possibility of three more days of midsummer sun—meant that the greens needed to drink. Without
some
water, players would be putting on char by the end of the championship.
some
water, players would be putting on char by the end of the championship.
U.S.G.A. and club officials, along with members of the grounds crew, met Thursday evening. Ultimately, U.S.G..A. executive director P. J. Boatwright authorized a five-minute watering of the greens.
Oakmont’s course superintendent was Lou Scalzo, who started at the course in 1930, left seventeen years later, then returned the following decade to fill a vacant superintendent post. In 1971, the club installed a new automatic sprinkler system, and he was delighted to use it.
“Scalzo punches some buttons and the sprinklers go on at night,” the
Pittsburgh Press
noted prior to the start of the championship. “[And] he seems almost smug that he will have the course in prime condition by the first round on Thursday. ‘Rain won’t bother it too much anymore,’ he said.”
Pittsburgh Press
noted prior to the start of the championship. “[And] he seems almost smug that he will have the course in prime condition by the first round on Thursday. ‘Rain won’t bother it too much anymore,’ he said.”
Scalzo nurtured each hole at Oakmont like a family of prize Thoroughbreds; he especially rejoiced in exasperating professional golfers.
“I don’t have a favorite [hole], but the most stubborn is the eighth. The easiest to take care of is the twelfth, and the undulations on the fifth make it the one with the best sense of humor. But they’re all fast. I like to have ’em fast so golfers in the Open can’t break par.” With the Fownesean arrogance that made Oakmont notorious, Scalzo concluded: “I know there’ll be a lot of golfers complaining about the greens. But I don’t listen to anything they say.”
Those prayers of dissenting golfers seemed to be answered that morning. Something went terribly wrong after Scalzo punched the buttons late Thursday evening. Unbeknownst to anyone, the five-minute watering cascaded into a deluge.
In the wee hours before dawn on Friday, first Boatwright and U.S.G.A. executive committee vice president Frank “Sandy” Tatum, then Scalzo and the others recoiled when they walked the course and the turf squished underneath them. Whether the sprinklers were simply left on too long, or the system malfunctioned and then restarted after it shut down, or some other unknown mishap, no one knows for certain. One explanation passed on since that day seems most unlikely: The act-of-God scenario that claimed a bolt of lightning struck the sprinklers and restarted the water flow after the system had properly shut down.
Regardless of how it happened, the putting surfaces were saturated.
When the players gathered on the course early Friday morning, no one informed them of the problem or its source. A few assumed several sprinkler heads had broken, while another joked that he saw “casual water” on the greens.
The situation was not funny to everyone.
“Let’s just say the greens are softer than I’d like to see them. They won’t be watered tonight,” said Boatwright.
Boatwright tried to hide his frustration, but apart from the unaesthetic look—a few greens looked like mush—the wet greens infuriated U.S.G.A. officials. But not nearly as much as they drove Oakmont’s proud members insane. Some even accused the U.S.G.A. of surrendering to players who complained about Thursday’s high scoring.
Green speed is relative. The sprinkler-induced flood slowed down the surfaces early in Friday’s round, but—as Oakmont claimed the fastest greens known to man—they were still “keener” than most other putting surfaces on tour. Oakmont was tamer—just by a hair—not tame.
Oakmont’s greens had earned their infamous reputation not simply because they were fast but because, under normal conditions, they refused to hold all but the most perfectly struck approach shots. Many seemingly excellent irons landed on the green, then rolled and rolled and rolled before finally sliding into trouble. Only the course’s unique variants of Poa annua—so fine and without grain—could explain how this happened time and time again.
On a typical day like Thursday, a golfer might try to carry a ball onto the center of Oakmont’s slanted sixth green, then watch in horror as it darted through the putting surface and into a bushy plot of rough or one of several deep bunkers. Before the second round, anyone who shot “for the flagstick” at Oakmont was plain foolish. On Friday morning, by contrast, players encountered much softer and more inviting greens than the day before or, perhaps, at any time in Oakmont’s prior U.S. Open history.
Significantly slower
and
receptive greens invariably altered how the course played. The 150-man field on Friday quickly figured out that approach shots would actually stick close to where they landed or—an incredible sight at Oakmont—spin backward after impact. Even players who teed off in the afternoon, after the course started to dry out, could be aggressive in attacking the flagstick. Iron shots and even fairway woods settled only ten or fifteen feet from where they landed; on Thursday, those same shots would have bounded another twenty or thirty feet.
and
receptive greens invariably altered how the course played. The 150-man field on Friday quickly figured out that approach shots would actually stick close to where they landed or—an incredible sight at Oakmont—spin backward after impact. Even players who teed off in the afternoon, after the course started to dry out, could be aggressive in attacking the flagstick. Iron shots and even fairway woods settled only ten or fifteen feet from where they landed; on Thursday, those same shots would have bounded another twenty or thirty feet.
In Friday’s predawn hours before the first group teed off at seven thirty a.m., Lou Scalzo, his grounds crew, and several frantic U.S.G.A. officials scurried around the course tamping down towels or raking squeegees over the greens. With so many rounds to complete before cutting the field to less than half, a delay in the start time was not an option. The damage had been done: Oakmont’s greatest defense against subpar golf was vulnerable, and a record number of golfers took advantage.
First to do so was Larry Wood, a thirty-three-year-old former club pro, whose only tour triumph had come in November 1970. Teeing off at 7:38 a.m., Wood shaved eight strokes off his Thursday round to shoot par 71. For decades, even par at Oakmont during a major championship was an extraordinary feat. But by sundown on Friday, twenty-six more golfers—better than one-sixth of the field—would match or break Oakmont’s hallowed par. Nearby—so the legend says—Emit Loeffler and the Fowneses were rolling over in their graves.
Forrest Fezler, a twenty-three-year-old tour rookie, quickly eclipsed Wood. Back in February, Fezler had torn through the field at the Jackie Gleason Inverrary Classic, leading at the end of rounds one, two, and three. He continued to lead through fourteen holes on the final Sunday, before Lee Trevino overtook him late on the back nine.
Fezler contended on a few more weekends throughout the season, and later would win the PGA’s Rookie of the Year honors for 1973. But the highlight of his season came Friday morning at Oakmont. Minutes after Wood surprised everyone in the scorer’s tent with his even-par 71, Fezler wowed them again with his two under 69. The U.S. Open newcomer shaved eleven strokes off his opening-round 80, a radical reversal in fortune at traditionally bulletproof Oakmont.
BOOK: Chasing Greatness: Johnny Miller, Arnold Palmer, and the Miracle at Oakmont
3.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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