SI Vault
Dan Jenkins
April 04, 1966
Arnold Palmer flitting around in his twin-booster, partly deductible rocket ship PGA One, and Billy Casper eating baked leopards' feet and sea-lentil casserole for all those allergies, and Gary Player, the Lord improving his lies, always suiting out in bondage black—you call this colorful? You like it that the pros play the same event every week, a $500,000 Lucky Desert Cajun, everybody getting rich by finishing a nervy 29th? It doesn't bother you that Jack Nicklaus isn't there because he is limiting his play to five tournaments a year—the Grand Slam plus one to be announced—and is off in Addis Ababa filming a TV series? You chuckle and nudge your friends, do you, when Al Besselink grins at a lady scorer and hollers, "Say, bey-bah, old Al done got hisself a birdie"? You wink all around when you see that full parade of snug, flowered bell-bottoms foraging after Doug Sanders? And it really swings, does it, upstairs in the cocktail lounge when Lionel Hebert works his handicap down from 8 to 6 on the trumpet? Say, bey-bah, you know something? If you think the tour is fun now, you would have gone right out of your Spalding Dot back in the Thirties.
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April 04, 1966

It Was Fun Time In The Thirties

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Presently, Harrison lashed an exceptional spoon that chewed up the flag and nestled in about 15 feet away.

"Let him eat some of that," Dutch thought.

To which Mr. Innocent hit a four-iron an arm's length from the cup.

"Bob," said Dutch to Hamilton, "we done got ourselves hold of somethin' here."

Later, on the 18th green, where Dutch and Hamilton paid off, the young man said, "Sure do thank you folks. Say, what time tomorrow you gonna be out here?"

"Son," Harrison said, "you work your side of the road and we'll work ours."

"And that," says Harrison today, "is the first time I ever met Sam Snead."

The old tour was no sooner meeting Snead than along came a quite different newcomer, Ben Hogan. He was a loner and a brooder with an uncontrollable hook who had about everyone convinced that he would never make it. Devoting every waking hour to his game, Hogan warmed up to only a few of his contemporaries—mainly to Demaret, his four-ball partner, to Henry Picard, a gracious and helpful veteran who loaned both money and advice ( Picard and Craig Wood were Snead's first sponsors), and to Dutch Harrison.

Harrison discovered one evening when he was rooming with Ben just how determined the Texan was. Dutch couldn't go to sleep because Hogan kept beating his fists against the bedposts in their hotel room.

"Have you gone crazy?" Dutch asked.

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