Back to the room—starving—for long confab with Mark about what my various businesses had done in 1963 and the income projection for 1964. Complicated? You said it. Especially for someone just turning 24. Thank goodness for Mark. He handles everything, so I can't mishandle anything.
Tuesday was beautiful and brought not even a twinge of hip trouble—which was beautiful, too. I played a practice round at Pebble Beach with my Crosby amateur partner, Red McCarthy, an insurance man from Chicago. We were with Pros Bobby Nichols and George Knudson. I didn't score well. Had a 75.
I had planned to get some putting lessons here from George Low, but had to postpone them. George is a famous figure on the tour. He is not a competing pro himself, yet he has got to be one of the world's best putters. He'll putt with a sand wedge and do better than most people. Nicklaus needs putting lessons? Yes, he does. But there are too many other things that I must do right now. I could not give George the concentration the lessons would require. Got my game to get in shape.
My golf was not much improved on Wednesday, when I played the Cypress Point course with Arnold Palmer, Mark and Red. Always play a $5 Nassau with Arnold, but he shot a 69 to my 73 and he emptied my wallet. I almost hit into the ocean on the 16th. In fact, both Arnie and I thought my tee shot had gone in, but I finally found it plugged in some sand at the top of the cliff. I told Arnie, "You know I never hit it into the ocean here." We both laughed. It wasn't going to seem so funny the next afternoon.
After playing 16 we noticed some sea lions out on the rocks opposite the 17th fairway. Arnie figured they were a four-iron away, and he hit a shot toward them. Too much club. He is a big man for birdies, but he's not much on sea lions. I used a five-iron and dropped the ball among them. All of a sudden one of them jumped out of the pile going, "Hooo, hooo, hooo," just like a foghorn. It gave the gallery a big laugh, and broke us up, too. You need a couple of laughs after playing the 16th at Cypress Point.
When the round was over I met a representative of Universal Pictures. Universal is planning to do two 20-minute teaching films. This would present quite a challenge and opportunity, since this type of film instruction has not been done since Bob Jones tried it so successfully in 1930. We had planned to work with mirrors, use complicated optical devices, and go into the subject in depth. Now I am told that the script has been reorganized. Unfortunately, you can't do this sort of thing rapidly. We should postpone the filming until a new script has been worked out. This means a change in plans. We had been scheduled to do the shooting during the Lucky International, the tournament at San Francisco. Now that it is postponed, I figure that I will go up there and play, though I do not exactly look forward to it. Last year there my hip hurt. I three-putted 13 greens in the first 36 holes, and I missed the cut.
Thursday was the first day of real action at the Crosby. My starting time was 10:42 at Cypress Point. I was with McCarthy, Bobby Nichols and his amateur partner, Actor Bob Sterling. I was one under coming to the 16th, the hole where I never hit it into the water. So I pulled out a one-iron, going for the green, and put it right down on the beach. Yaat! The ball rolled into a tiny cove in the cliff and I actually had a shot. Hit it fat, though, and put it up into an unplayable lie in some ice plant at the top of the cliff. Dropped out, chipped on and two-putted for a triple-bogey 6. I finished with a three-over-par 75. Beautiful start for 1964, Jack. Beautiful!
Dinner at Neil de Vaughn's restaurant on Cannery Row, Monterey, with Mark and Nancy McCormack, Winnie and Arnold, and Barbara. The food was delicious—cheese fondue, cracked crab, turtle soup, baitfish and a big, miscellaneous collection of seafood. But the result was a great case of collective insomnia—Arnold, Mark and myself. I was up four times during the night to prowl around and hope I could get back to sleep.
On top of that I had a 7:46 starting time Friday morning at Monterey Peninsula. I was up before 6—I felt like I had never been down—ate breakfast in the Lodge at 6:15 and was soon ready to start warming up. Only one hitch. I had to wait 15 minutes until it got light enough to see. Then, at the far end of Monterey's practice tee, two huge buck deer came bounding out of the woods. What beautiful animals! It wasn't long before every player at the practice range was hitting shots toward them, not that these moving targets were in the slightest danger.
I knew before I teed off that after my first-round 75 I was going to have to come in with a good score. Monterey is the easiest of the three courses the Crosby is played on, however, so I figured I had a chance. I should do less figuring. My shot off the first tee hit a tree and bounced straight back. I hit an iron toward the green after this minor disaster, and it hit the same tree and kicked into the forest. From there I had to chip out onto the fairway and finally made a double-bogey 6. It eventually took a three-under-par 34 on the back side to bring me in at 70. It seemed like the slowest round of golf I had ever played. We were third off the tee and finished an hour behind the foursome in front of us. Playing time was 4:50, pretty bad for that course.