The Magnificent Masters: Jack Nicklaus, Johnny Miller, Tom Weiskopf, and the 1975 Cliffhanger at Augusta (22 page)

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Authors: Gil Capps

BOOK: The Magnificent Masters: Jack Nicklaus, Johnny Miller, Tom Weiskopf, and the 1975 Cliffhanger at Augusta

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From the fairway of the 445-yard par four, Nicklaus hit a 6-iron to the middle of the green, not challenging the back-right hole location. He then made the uphill twenty-eight footer for birdie—his longest made putt of the week. As the ball was a few feet from curling in the hole, he turned his body and began walking away. Once the ball dropped, his head turned as well and he lifted the Sportsman Wizard high in the air with his right hand—a sign of celebrations to come.

Even though the 12th was the shortest hole on the course at 155 yards, Nicklaus had played it in nine over par in his career—his worst performance on a par three. Hitting to the second smallest green on the course while having to judge the ever-swirling winds that whistled
through the pine trees around this hollow, Nicklaus stood by one of his principles: club yourself for safety. On this afternoon, he caught the wind at the right moment, hoisting a 7-iron to the right hole location, hole high just seven feet away. After walking across the Hogan Bridge that spanned Rae’s Creek—it had been dedicated in 1958 in honor of Hogan’s record 274 in 1953 which Nicklaus broke twelve years later—he made the putt.

Finally on the 475-yard 13th – the shortest par five – he took a 3-wood off the tee, a club Nicklaus and many of the longer professionals usually chose because it was easier to draw around the corner. Nicklaus cut it close to the creek, the ball settling only six feet from it. He hit a 4-iron and liked it immediately, walking after it. The ball finished thirty feet away from the hole on the largest green on the course at 8,400 square feet. A two-putt was never a given on the 13th, but Nicklaus cozied his first attempt up to the hole for an easy birdie. It marked the second time he had accomplished the rare feat of birdying Amen Corner. Nicklaus had previously done it in the first round of his last victory at Augusta in 1972.

Nicklaus, draped in a burgundy cardigan, wasn’t stopped after Amen Corner. Although his bid for four birdies in a row was snapped with a missed eight-foot birdie putt at the 14th, he picked back up at the 15th. His driver stopped just barely on the upslope of one of those mounds on the right side of the fairway that cost Weiskopf. Nicklaus didn’t have any issues, though. He hit a 2-iron from 220 yards that landed hole high, fifteen feet to the right of the back-center hole location. His eagle putt slid just by, but his sixth birdie in a ten-hole stretch had given him a strangle-hold on the tournament.

He was hitting the ball so well, therefore thirty-one total putts on Friday was okay by him. “If you’re knocking the ball on the greens all the time, you’re going to have a lot of putts,” he said. Following pars on the 16th and 17th holes, Nicklaus came to the 18th as the last player in the field not to make a bogey. It was his longest bogey-free start ever at
Masters—thirty-five holes. The closing hole played as the most difficult in round two, with the northeast wind blowing into the players and the hole location tucked in the very back of the two-tiered green. On the uphill approach shot, Nicklaus whipped his 4-iron left of the green and chipped up. The seven footer for par hit the right edge of the hole and spun away. He turned his head toward the fairway in dismay.

After the round, a group of writers sought out Jerry Heard in the locker room. He shot 75, but they were eager to ask him who was better, Miller or Nicklaus. He was evasive in comparing his friend to his playing competitor, but about Nicklaus’s round he did say, “It was the easiest 67 you’ve ever seen. He just did everything you’re supposed to do. Hit it on the middle of the greens, knocked it on the par fives in two, and played very conservative.”

By the end of the afternoon, the name of Jack Nicklaus topped the Masters leaderboard for the first time in three years. Overall, it was the fourteenth time he’d led after any round. Nicklaus fired the low round of the day, a 67—good for a glass vase given by the club for the low score of the round (Nicklaus’s ninth such vase)—that was highlighted by six birdies and not a single bogey until the last hole. The round was his lowest second round in the Masters since a 66 in 1963 during his first title. He was the only player in the field with each of the first two rounds in the 60s. No one had ever shot all four.

His 36-hole total of nine-under-par 135 tied the tournament record, first set by Jack Grout’s mentor Henry Picard in 1935 and then matched by Byron Nelson in 1942 and Ken Venturi as an amateur in 1956. The number left him five shots clear of the field going into the weekend—matching another Masters record set by Herman Keiser in 1946.

“One of the great edges he had as a player was when Jack got his name to the top, you knew it wasn’t going to go away,” says Maltbie.

After his round, Nicklaus retreated to the press center, which always made him feel right at home. The building was a Quonset hut, although this one slightly larger than the style he hit balls from at
Scioto. This was a warehouse model, 40-by-100 feet, which since 1953 had housed writers covering the Masters. The 210 typewriters inside would be humming the same headline: “Nicklaus in Control at the Masters.”

“I’ve been trying to get it here all my life,” he said to the assembled writers. “I try to prepare my game to reach a certain peak, but that doesn’t always work. If it’s ever going to be, it should be now. I’m probably playing better than I ever have in my life.”

ONE GUY WAS
definitely out of it, and a lot of tears weren’t shed over him.

Johnny Miller may have been the new golden boy in the eyes of the public, but his blonde hair, upturned collar, squinty eyes, upright gait, cocksure attitude, and shoot-from-the-hip style were not endearing to the rank-and-file in the locker room.

When he went to Tucson in 1975, he was asked about the state of his game. Miller wasn’t one to avoid a question, lie, or sugar-coat his answers. So he responded by saying, “I’m going to win.” “Nobody says that,” says Miller. “It was like what are you doing saying that Miller you cocky son-of-a-gun.”

“Johnny was the most outspoken guy you had ever seen in your life,” says Heard. “He’d say stuff that came out in the paper, and I’d ask Johnny, ‘Why in the heck did you say that?’”

Miller never hit balls after a round at any point during his career. He wasn’t into the social scene and didn’t drink, smoke, or gallivant with the boys. It led few to understand him.

“He was aloof,” says Murphy. “He wasn’t that friendly. He wasn’t hanging around the locker room, laughing and giggling.”

“A lot of guys didn’t know Johnny very well. People just never got very close to him,” says Heard.

“Johnny used to piss Tom (Weiskopf) off with some of the things he’d say,” says Sneed. “Johnny pissed a lot of people off.” Players thought, “Who does this guy think he is?”