The Back Nine

On ten, Palmer hooked his drive into the trees. I was on the fairway, but the wet grass kept my ball from rolling all the way down the hill to the green. After talking it over with Arnold, I hit a four-wood cut shot that put me on the green about ten feet past the cup. I two-putted for par, and we halved the hole.

On eleven my nerves finally started to catch up with me. I hit a bad tee shot up to the right and bogeyed the hole. Palmer stepped up, though, and holed a long putt for a birdie; we were one up on the back nine.

Augusta’s twelfth hole is a short, 155-yard par three. Its green is guarded by three bunkers and a little water hazard called Rae’s Creek that has nagged Arnold Palmer throughout his career.

In our practice round the day before, Arnold had landed in it. Byron Nelson commented then that Palmer looked as though he were trying to guide the ball instead of just picking his club and swinging normally. And in 1965, when he was going for his fifth Masters win, he blew it right on this hole when he splashed a seven-iron into the creek.

Our practice round fit right into that pattern: Arnold teed up and put the ball right into the water. Fortunately, I was able to sink a short putt for a par, and we halved twelve with Hogan and Von Nida.

Thirteen at Augusta is a long par five, where the big hitters tend to go for the green in two. That was never my game, so I laid up short and took my par. Arnold got on the green in two, but he was pretty far off and three-putted.

I remember something now, in retrospect, which shows how wide the gulf really was between me and guys like Palmer and Hogan. We were all practicing, getting ready for the Masters, where they had thousands of dollars at stake; but the biggest thing on my mind after he missed that second putt was thinking, “Arnold, come on now. You’ve got to bear down on these putts. We’re playing for ten bucks!”

Hogan and Von Nida also parred the hole, so we halved thirteen.

Fourteen is a tough par four, and that’s what Arnold, Hogan, and I all shot. Von Nida, though, birdied to pull his team even for the back nine.

Fifteen is another long par five, with its green is guarded by a water hazard directly in front. Arnold was the only one of the four of us to make it on the green in two.

At this point I started thinking about how this all might turn out for me. If I could get past the water here and on sixteen, I was gonna have a really good round of golf against three of the best players in the world.

I laid up short, in front of the water.

Next, I hit a nice wedge that put me on the green about 15 feet from the cup. Arnold had a forty-foot putt for an eagle, which he missed it by about eight feet. I knocked in my birdie, Arnold followed with one of his own, and we won fifteen.

Because of the water at the left of the green, this was the last hole that I thought might really give me trouble. I teed off with a five iron, and when I looked up the ball was running down the flag. The ball came to rest about five feet above the cup; I rolled it in for a birdie.

Hogan also birdied sixteen; Palmer and Von Nida parred it, so we had halved the hole. Arnold and I stayed one up on the back nine going in to seventeen.

The left side of the seventeenth fairway at Augusta is guarded by a then 60-year old, 65-foot tall loblolly pine that has caused short hitters like me no end of grief over the years. (Big time bombers like Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods probably wouldn’t even know it was there except for the little story I’m going to tell you here.)

In 1956 Dwight Eisenhower, then president of the United States and a personal friend of Bobby Jones, hit that tree so many times that he’d had enough. At the governor’s meeting the Chairman, Clifford Roberts, was wrapping things up and asked if anyone had any new business. Eisenhower, who was at the meeting, raised his hand and got up, proposing that the tree be cut down. Roberts slammed the gavel down, declared him out of order, and adjourned the meeting. The tree got a name–the Eisenhower Tree–and the rest of the world got an illustration of the limits of presidential power in this wonderful country of ours.

Now it turns out that I have something in common with our thirty-fourth president, because my tee shot clipped that tree, dropped, and rolled to a stop just short of the top of the hill. That left me out of sight of the green–a tricky five iron with no visual point of reference. I played it and went running up the hill to see my ball resting about five feet from the hole. I rolled it in for my third birdie in a row, and we went two up on the back nine.

At this point in a typical match I’d have expected the other side to want to fresh the bet. But I think the other guys realized that I was having the round of my life, and they were nice enough not to put any additional pressure on me. I checked my total on the score card, and it turned out that if I birdied the eighteenth I was going to tie the course record at Augusta National!

The eighteenth hole favors a drive to the left side of the fairway–a large, open area with a modest rough. The right side is barricaded by a stand of trees. Up until now, almost everything had been going my way. My luck wasn’t exactly about to run out, but somebody up there had taken notice and decided to make me at least work a little harder to tie that record.

I should mention something at this point. If you’re a fan of the game and you watch the Masters on TV, my description of this hole won’t sound exactly right. That’s because a few years after this story took place, Jack Nicklaus started playing eighteen by teeing off way to the right, hitting the ball to the open left where the gallery had stood in 1960. The course designers, in their infinite desire to take away what the Lord hath given, decided to put a pair of sand traps where Nicklaus had learned to place his drive, forcing him to play back to the center.

I hit my tee shot, intending to drive it down the right side of the fairway. But for one of the few times all day, it didn’t go well. I was too far to the right, not actually in the trees, but into the rough on that side, with the trees blocking my way to the green. It wasn’t a terrible shot, but it did put me in a tough spot.

I had two choices. I could use a three iron to hit a low cut shot that’d run the ball around the trees and up onto the right side of the green. That’d be the normal play and a safe shot, but it’d make it almost impossible to get the birdie I needed.

But up in the trees to my right, there was a small gap that led straight to the flag. I thought a seven iron might just get me through and onto the green, with a chance for me to get the birdie and tie the course record.

“Nothing’s gone wrong yet,” I told my caddy. “Give me the seven iron.” That shot flew off about as perfectly as anyone could hope–through the gap without touching a leaf–and headed right for the flag. It looked like it might even go in for an eagle two.

But it came up short, just in front of the green. Then, instead of bouncing up, it rolled back down off the edge, leaving me with a little chip shot. I put that about a foot from the hole and rolled in the putt.

I had a par four on the eighteenth hole, 34 on the back nine, and 65 for the round. That put me one shot off of Lloyd Mangrum’s then-record 64 (Nick Price and Greg Norman share it at 63 now). We were three up on the back nine, eight up for the match, and I’d won $40. (Remember, I’d never played for more than two dollars in my life!) As we walked off the course I could barely feel my spikes touch the ground.

Lloyd Mangrum himself, whose record I’d just missed tying, was sitting on a little portable chair as we passed. Lloyd was known as a terrific gambler–guys would say he used to win more money between the tournaments than a lot of pros won during them. Hogan called out to him, while nodding toward me, “Hey Lloyd! I got a guy here I’m sicking on you tomorrow!”

That’s another Hogan recording I wish I had!

I’ve still got the scorecard from that round. Arnold Palmer signed it first, but on the second line, thoughtfully leaving that for Hogan. Von Nida signed third. Hogan shot 72; Palmer, 73; Von Nida, 74. My 65 was the best round of my life.

I wish I could tell you that I set the course on fire in the actual tournament, but if I had you’d already know my name and wouldn’t be reading about me for the first time here. I shot a 74 in the first round, then a 79 in the second, missing the cut. I made it back again in 1973, but that didn’t work out too well.

In 1960 Palmer shot a 67 in the first round and won the green jacket, his second of four. He was six under par for the tournament. Hogan tied for sixth place at one over; Von Nida missed the cut and ended back in the pack, one stroke ahead of me.

You know, in sports it seems like every year some team will come out of nowhere and make it to a title game or the playoffs. Then they’re so happy just to be there that they let down a bit and get blown out by a veteran outfit in the big game. I guess I had a little bit of that going on back in 1960, putting my heart and soul into what was, after all, a practice round.

But how many guys who ever pick up a club get to do what I did? How many guys can say that, even in a practice round, they shot a 65 at Augusta National and beat three of the best players who ever set foot on a course? I can, and it’s a thrill I’ll take with me to my final peace.

Thanks for letting me share this story with you; I’m honored that you took the time to read it. I’ll be back with more, but now it’s your turn. Line up some partners, get out there, and play!

I hope you have a great round.

Charles