At age ten he didn’t know Sam Snead from Sam Sausage and skipped
right over the fabled Slammer to shake hands with Skip Alexander. Ten
years later he beat Ben Hogan head-to-head over thirty-six holes the first
time they ever met, still came out second, but learned a cool lesson from
the “Wee Ice Mon.” Two years after that he had the audacity to dethrone
the king, Arnold Palmer, in his own castle, only to be vilified in the process
and jeered later in King Arnie’s private Augusta preserve, as well as virtually everywhere east of the Monongahela River. Yet the same man would
become the unanimous choice as “Golfer of the Century.”
That should have said it all about Jack William Nicklaus. But it didn’t.
That adornment was the sum of all the totals—after the Golden Bear ostensibly had written the final chapter to the greatest fifty-year stretch of golf
in the game’s history.
The sum of all those facts should be forever sealed in a timeless capsule
over which earthlings of generations X, Y, and Z may exclaim incredulously.
To summarize them for mind-boggling reference, consider:
• His 20 major victories (18 professional, 2 amateur), 19 second-place
major finishes, 9 thirds, and 73 top tens in about half of the 154
consecutive majors he played. He is one of only five players to win all four majors—which he’s done
three times with six Masters, five PGA Championships, four U.S.
Opens, and three British Opens.
• He has seventy-one official PGA Tour victories, fifty-eight second
places, thirty-six thirds.
• His one hundred victories worldwide, six Australian Opens, five
World Series of Golf titles, six Ryder Cup appearances, eight times
low-scoring average for the season and six times second, eight times
leading money winner, PGA Player of the Year five times, ad
infinitum. As venerable old Casey put it, “You could look it up.”
• His regular PGA Tour career earnings of $5,697,038 pale only in
comparison to today’s standards; revalued in New Money terms, it
becomes a mind-boggling $128 million and small change.
Statistics are staggering, but also stifling playthings. Winning a major
his first year as a professional, then winning his last twenty-four years later
and other such baggage of legends. Nicklaus meant so much more to the
game of golf than figures that it is stupefying. Purely and simply, Jack Nicklaus is a gem of and for the ages. He was discovered, rough-cut and unpolished, by Jack Grout, a Texas compadre of Hogan, Byron Nelson, and
Jimmy Demaret, legends of earlier days, before the PGA Tour earned its
place in the sports cash registers.
He was so impressive as a fifteen-year-old that the immortal Bobby Jones
asked to meet him, not vice versa. Jones not too long thereafter would be
moved to anoint young Nicklaus with these indelible words, “He plays a
game with which I am totally unfamiliar.”
When he was ten, that uncut diamond in Grout’s first rough collection
of juniors at Scioto Country Club in Columbus was taken into the locker
room by Grout to meet some of the game’s great contestants in the 1950
PGA. Nicklaus found Skip Alexander and Lloyd Mangrum considerably
more interesting than defending champion Snead.
Six years later, meeting Snead for the first time in a special exhibition at
the new Urbana (Ohio) Country Club, he would be unflappable, bowing
in the Friday afternoon match 68–72 to the famed Slammer—a match
Snead would have but vague recollections of. Nicklaus, however, was
impressed enough that he returned to Marietta the following day to shoot
64–72 and become the youngest Ohio Open winner in history. While
164 Golf’s Greatest Eighteen
admitting to a bad case of nerves teeing it up with the great Snead, Jack
confessed that watching Sam’s every move in their match inspired his performance so much in the final thirty-six holes at Marietta that he even forgave Snead for calling him “Junior.”
Dan Jenkins, the redoubtable pundit of infallible judgment and inexorable opinions who grew up flat-out knowing fellow Texan Hogan hung
the moon, grudgingly conceded in saner later life that Nicklaus jumped
over the moon and Hogan. And in a very wry twist, it would be some
unforgettable words from Hogan when Nicklaus still was a twenty-yearold amateur that would reinforce in a most unusual manner the profound
teachings of Grout.
As in real life its own self, there are dissenters, the holdouts who staunchly
stand up for their idols, be they Hogan, Hagen, Jones, Palmer, or old Ad
Infinitum. For half a century they have chipped away at Jack’s image. He
had an upright swing and flying right elbow that would never stand the test
of time; he lacked charisma; he overswung; had a flawed wedge game; was
even “wristy” playing out of water; didn’t hold his thumbs correctly—whatever. Right, and the Rolls-Royce has dirty tires and full ashtrays.
There isn’t a golfer born who didn’t have a secret, or at least a principle
on which he staked his career, and in that regard Jack Nicklaus may be no
different from many other greats. He learned it when he was ten, had it
reinforced by Hogan, as previously mentioned, when he was twenty, and
has repeated it so many times since then that it’s probably written on his
forehead under his hat brim.
“The head is the most important thing in the golf swing.” Jack learned
this the very hardheaded way when his late beloved mentor Grout took
him under his wing in Columbus. “I’ll never forget it,” Jack recalled so
vividly this past summer as he had so many, many other times in discussing
his game. “I was taking lessons from Grout, and an assistant, Larry Glosser,
was the guy assigned by Mr. Grout to hold me by the hair to keep my head
still. I really hated the guy because that was in the days when all young boys
sported crew cuts.
“He had Larry come out in front of me and grab me tightly by my little bit of hair while I was addressing the ball. ‘OK, Jackie boy, now just go
ahead and hit that ball for me,’ Mr. Grout would say. And I’d swing and
keep yelling ‘ouch’ after every shot until I finally learned in a few weeks to
keep my head steady, every time on every shot, until the ball was well on
“THE MAN”—for Every Reason, Any Season! • Jack Nicklaus 165
its way. There is no doubt in my mind that that has been my number-one
fundamental in golf ever since.”
If, indeed, Nicklaus had a leg up on the rest of the golf world in his day,
it definitely was because of his head. Pay attention the next time you see
Jack draw his driver back—when he’s in the golden bearing of his waning
career, precisely as he was in the beginning. An instant before he starts the
backswing he cocks his head to the right—and locks it. Locks his head until
the ball is airborne. Lordy, what a simple game! It’s a swing key that has
proven its worth for more than a half century.
For all his splendid talents, it’s the inside of Nicklaus’s head that has
always has been the best part of his game, and many have acclaimed him
to be the most focused, soundest thinker golf has ever known.
Ironically, and in an interesting twist, Hogan deserves an assist for watering Jack’s head-seed in their first-ever confrontation. Cherry Hills, 1960
U.S. Open, Palmer was about to add another, if improbable, crown to his
kingly head. Lost in perhaps the greatest charge of Arnie’s splendid career
was the transformation of Nicklaus from a budding phenom into the greatest the game had ever seen. Jack’s career was ascending even as an amateur.
Old pro Hogan’s was descending. But they just happened to be paired
together in the final thirty-six-hole Saturday rounds of that Open.
Nicklaus had made significant waves in national golf circles but never
had come under the stern eye of the brilliant Hogan. Palmer’s closing
charge was one for the ages. But Nicklaus and Hogan staged a most memorable sideshow, matching 69s in the morning third round to get within a
shot of leader Mike Souchak and then letting it slip away in the afternoon
when Jack shot par 71 to finish second to Palmer and Hogan 73 that
dropped him to a tie for ninth.
Ah, now for the rest of that story, which would become a defining
moment in the meteoric rise of Nicklaus. Jack was awestruck by Hogan’s
demeanor and play and would later write: “. . . playing with Ben turned out
to be, if not what you might call a highly social experience, a perfectly pleasant one . . . he meticulously observed all of the courtesies a golfer is expected
to afford his fellows during competitive play, but without ever saying one
more word to me than he regarded as essential . . . not out of discourtesy . . .
or disinterest in a young amateur . . . but simply a side effect of his own
depth of concentration. . . . Ben had long ago discovered that to play his
best, he had to focus his mind 100 percent on his own game. . . .”
166 Golf’s Greatest Eighteen
Ben’s best dazzled Nicklaus. And his afterthought gave Jack pause and
great pride. Jack remembered Ben opening with an “indifferent 75, only
to follow with a second-round 67, hitting every green in regulation. In their
Saturday morning round, Hogan again hit all eighteen greens in a 69, and
in the afternoon round he hit sixteen in a row (making it fifty-two holes
in a row without missing a green) before his wedge approach to the parfive seventeenth landed on the green, only to spin back into the creek,
bringing a disastrous double-bogey, double-bogey finish for a 73.”
Hogan’s post-round words, however, may have had a greater impact on
Nicklaus’s future than he realized at the moment. Speaking to writers in
the locker room, Hogan conceded, “I guess they’ll say I lost it [two closing
pars would have tied him with Palmer] . . . but I’ll tell you something. I
played thirty-six holes today with a kid who should have won this Open
by ten shots if I had been thinking for him.”
The six inches between Jack’s ears that kept him from becoming only
the sixth amateur in history to win the championship certainly gained
invaluable knowledge from Hogan’s comments, however. On the other
hand, Nicklaus’s response much later to Ben’s remark was equally telling.
Said Jack, “I played with a great man today who would have won the Open
[his record fifth] if I had been putting for him.”
Defining moments in a career replete with defining moments? You bet.
There aren’t enough pages in any book to recount all of the magical defining moments that molded Jack Nicklaus into the greatest the game has ever
known. But for starters, try these:
• “Ouch”—Larry Glosser’s constant yanks that forever taught Jack to
keep his head still.
• A memorable first meeting with Bobby Jones in James River, Virginia,
that would start a friendship that lasted until Jones’s death.
• The stern admonition from his beloved dad, Charlie, “If you ever
throw a club again, your golf days are over,” after the one and only
time “Jackie-boy” threw a club when they were having a friendly
round at Scioto in Nicklaus’s formative years.
• Watching and wondering in awe who that guy with the blacksmith
arms was hammering quail-high shots on the practice range at
Sylvania Country Club—fourteen-year-old Jack’s first glimpse of
Palmer at the 1954 Ohio Open, preparing to defend his title.
“THE MAN”—for Every Reason, Any Season! • Jack Nicklaus 167
• His first confrontation with Snead in 1956, losing an exhibition
68–72 but leading to his victory in the Ohio Open.
• Jack’s remarkable thirty-sixth-hole victory at the Broadmoor in
Colorado Springs over all-time amateur standout Charlie Coe for his
first of two U.S. Amateur titles, which for the first time brought
Nicklaus to the attention of the entire world of golf.
• The marvelous pair-mix with Hogan at Cherry Hills when he finished
second to Palmer in the 1960 U.S. Open.
• Jack’s play-off victory over Palmer at Oakmont in 1962, when he won
the first of his four U.S. Opens, in his first professional year, an event
where he had but one three-putt green in ninety holes, on the most
treacherous greens in golf.
• Missing the cut in defense of his title at the 1963 U.S. Open in
Brookline, Massachusetts, where Nicklaus won a more important
battle with the media—an episode to be visited later.
• Certainly not to forget Jack’s last, stunning major bow at Augusta in
1986—“my most memorable victory”—when he captured a record
sixth Masters at age forty-six with a closing round of 65 that included
a 30 on the back nine.
Brookline 1963, strangely, was a huge victory for young Nicklaus. His
triumph over Arnie the year before not only was unpopular; it brought derisive shouts from Arnie’s Army calling Jack “Ohio Fats” and “Old Blobbo”
and making other unflattering remarks. Nicklaus, who had obviously benefited from his experience with Hogan, claimed to be impervious to the
catcalls, even if Dad Charlie was not. Arnie’s Army and other fans continued to bedevil Jack at the Masters, if not directly against him, cheering
lustily when a bogey was registered after his name on the course leader
boards.
Nicklaus, chubby to say the least, stoically marching the fairways with
imperturbable focus and dressed about as colorfully as a deckhand, was not
widely embraced by the eastern press corps in those days either. And while
wife Barbara, who would become Golf’s All-Time First Lady, eventually
took charge of Jack’s diet and dress code, charming the powerful eastern
media that was forever enamored with Palmer was another war to win.
Shooting 76-77 and missing the cut at Brookline did not dazzle the
media, but Jack’s appearances in the pressroom certainly did. This would
168 Golf’s Greatest Eighteen
herald the beginning of one of the great relationships between athlete and
sportswriter in history.
Asked to the interview area after his opening 77, Nicklaus was nonplussed and wondered aloud, “Why in the world do you want to talk to a
guy who shot 77?” After being told it was because he was the defending
champion, he obliged. Did he ever—Jack talked to the media for an hour
and left most of them scratching their heads instead of notepads. Jack was
even more astounded when he was asked into the interview after his second-round 76 that would have him packing and this time answered question after question patiently, frankly, and pleasantly for an hour and fifteen
minutes.
That did it. Crusty, hard-bitten eastern writers like Joe Looney, Lincoln
Werden, Dana Mozley, Al Laney, Pat Ward-Thomas, and many others came
out of the pressroom with lavish words of praise, saying things like (from
my notebook) “the kid’s amazing, shoots himself in the foot and talks up
a storm” . . . “boy, did we misjudge him” . . . “what a great interview—he
just kept talking and talking and made all kinds of sense.” Ad nauseam.
That Jack in later life would acquire the nickname of Carnac the Munificent—slapped on him mostly by close friends—is understandable because
over the years Nicklaus has emerged as the very best interview in all of golf,
if not sports. Never does he decline an invitation to come to the media
interview room. Never is he without an opinion; never ducks an issue. Better yet, he developed a most uncanny knack for remembering the names
of virtually every member of the press corps. And his eternal willingness
and remarkable endurance in signing autographs for fans outdoes even
Palmer and Chi Chi Rodriguez.
It’s easy to smile, be gracious and patient when you win, particularly as
often as Nicklaus. But one of Jack’s most endearing attributes is the way he
handles setbacks. If he is the greatest winner the game has known, he’s also
recognized as the most gracious golfer in defeat, a man without an alibi,
an unparalleled sportsman. Nothing illustrates this better than the 1977
Masters, when Tom Watson beat him and Jack said, “Tom played great and
deserved to win.” A writer asked Jack if losing was a disaster, to which Jack
replied, “It is when it’s a lovely spring day and you don’t have anything else
planned.”
Not that Nicklaus doesn’t take defeat to heart. “I do not like to lose; it’s
as simple as that. It is definitely my plan to win every time I tee it up,” he
“THE MAN”—for Every Reason, Any Season! • Jack Nicklaus 169
has said. “Pride probably is my greatest motivation. The only thing that
embarrasses me is not giving 100 percent.”
Ask him his biggest losses and Nicklaus never would single out a golf
defeat. Not the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach when Watson pitched from the
rutabagas and into the cup for birdie on the seventy-first hole to thwart
him in 1982. Not the 1972 British Open at Muirfield when Lee Trevino
holed out a “flier” from a bunker, then chipped in on the seventy-first hole
to turn a sure bogey into a par to beat him by a stroke. Jack congratulated
Lee, told him he was a great champion, then added with a wink,” Why
don’t you go back to Mexico? You’ve done this too many times.” After
laughs subsided, Lee in all seriousness told Jack how sorry he felt for him.
Ironically, the toughest moments in Jack’s private life also came when
he was on golf courses. His beloved dad, Charlie, who introduced him to
the game, died at age fifty-six in 1970 when Jack was on the first tee of the
Doral Open. His mother, Helen, died in August of 2000 when Jack was
playing a PGA practice round at Valhalla. And his mentor, Jack Grout, died
in May 1989 when Jack was on the first tee at his Memorial Tournament
in Dublin, Ohio.
Jack underscored just how much Charlie meant to him at the 2001
Memorial when he was asked what tournament he most wished his father
could have seen him play. “This one,” Jack said somberly, “because then I’d
have had him with me thirty more years.” When his mother died, he played
on in his final PGA Championship, “because she made me promise I would
if she should ever die while I was in a tournament.”
Nicklaus’s deportment throughout his illustrious career has been incredible, so positive in every respect that it should be a model for all professional athletes. Blessed with great health and the most remarkable wife in
all of sport, he has been able to balance a great golf career with a splendid
family life and a sometimes too vast expansion into the business world.
Jack Nicklaus insists he does not look backward at the game: “I never
reflect.” Still, his steel-trap mind can recount virtually every shot of every
important round of golf he has played from the thirty-six-hole U.S. Amateur final victory in 1959 over Charlie Coe to the 66-67-68-68, 269 at
Merion in the 1960 World Amateur, which was eighteen shots under what
Hogan needed when winning his second U.S. Open on the same course in
1950. And you know he can give you tee to tin cup on his incredible final
major win in the 1986 Masters when he was a wavering forty-six. If you
170 Golf’s Greatest Eighteen
really want to test him, let him run through the play-off eighteen with
Palmer or the earlier 72 he played winning that initial major at Oakmont
forty years ago. Jack’s words resound at every invitation or inquisition since
the earliest days and are rarely tainted with foot-in-mouth. For instance:
• “Barbara [mother of Jack’s five great kids, who watched him play Pine
Valley and Merion on their 1960 honeymoon] is worth at least fifteen
of my majors.”
• “The U.S. Open to me is a complete examination of a golfer. The
competition, what it does to you inside, how hard it is to work at it,
how hard it is to make it happen. I enjoy the punishment. I suppose I
must be a masochist of some kind, but I enjoy that.”
• “I never made many long putts, but then I never missed very many
short ones.”
And so much more . . .
It’s the words of others, who forever knew Nicklaus had a fire in his belly
like no other and thrived on the challenges, that also ring the bell:
Tom Watson: “I always felt Jack Nicklaus was the best player ever; but I always
felt I could beat him.”
Nick Price: “Jack’s the greatest player ever to play the game, and I have the
greatest respect for him because he’s the first guy who ever treated me like an
equal.”
Gene Sarazen: “Nicklaus is the greatest tournament player we have ever
had . . . the longest hitter under pressure and a fighter to the last putt. We
never had anyone like him in my era.”
Lee Trevino: “Nicklaus flat out is the best to ever play the game.”
Tony Jacklin: “Jack is a sportsman for all time.” This after Nicklaus picked up
Tony’s ball on the eighteenth green at Royal Birkdale in 1969, conceding Tony’s
two-foot putt and bringing about the first tie in the forty-two-year history of the
Ryder Cup. Nicklaus told Tony, “I don’t think you would have missed the putt,
but under these circumstances, I would never give you the opportunity.”
“THE MAN”—for Every Reason, Any Season! • Jack Nicklaus 171
Perhaps it all goes back to dad Charlie, who drilled respect into Jack’s
head all the early years he escorted him around the junior and amateur
wars. “Dad always told me, ‘When a guy beats you, you better give him a
firm grip and a big smile and make him think he deserved to beat you. All
you can do is your best, and if you’ve given it away, you can kick yourself
afterwards. But be genuine.”
There isn’t a soul in the world of golf who’d ever deny Jack Nicklaus was
and still is the absolutely genuine article.
