There's Never Been An Open Like It

"My man's knocked 'em all out," he said. "They just haven't felt the shock waves yet."

History has settled for Bob Drum's analysis, and perhaps that is the truth of the matter after all. The story of the 1960 Open has been compressed into one sentence: Arnold Palmer birdied six of the first seven holes and won.

But condensations kill. What is missing is everything that happened after 4 o'clock. The part about Mike Souchak losing the lead for the first time only after he bogied the 9th hole. The part about Nicklaus blowing the lead he held all by himself when he took three ghastly putts from only 10 feet at the 13th. This was the first real indication that they were all coming back to Palmer now, for Nicklaus' bogey dropped him into a four-way tie with Palmer, Boros and Fleck.

But so much more is still missing from the condensation. Nicklaus' woeful inexperience as a young amateur cost him another three-putt bogey at the 14th hole, and so, as suddenly as he had grabbed the lead, he was out of it. Then it was around 4:45 and Palmer was sharing the lead with Hogan and Fleck, each of them four under. But like Nicklaus, Fleck would leave it on the greens. Boros had started leaving it on the greens and in the bunkers somewhat earlier. He was trapped at the 14th and 18th, for instance, and in between he blew a three-footer. In the midst of all this, Palmer was playing a steady back side of one birdie and eight pars on the way to completing his 65. And until the last two holes of the championship, the only man who had performed more steadily than Palmer, or seemed to be enduring the Open stress with as much steel as he, was—no surprise—Ben Hogan.

It was getting close to 5:30 when Hogan and Palmer were alone at four under par in the championship, and the two of them, along with everybody else—literally everyone on the golf course—had somehow wound up on the 17th hole, the 71st of the tournament.

The 17th at Cherry Hills is still a long, straightaway par five, 548 yards, with a green fronted by an evil pond. In 1960 it was a drive, a layup and a pitch. And there they all were. Hogan and Nicklaus contemplating their pitch shots as the twosome of Boros and Player waited to hit their second shots, while the twosome of Palmer and Paul Harney stood back on the tee.

Hogan was faced with a delicate shot of about 50 yards to a pin sitting altogether too close to the water to try anything risky. Ben had hit 34 straight greens in regulation that Saturday. He needed only a par-par finish for a 69, which would have been his third consecutive subpar round in the tournament. He had to think this might be his last real chance to capture another Open. And nobody understood better than Hogan what it meant to reach the clubhouse first with a good score in a major championship.

Armed with all of this expertise as I knelt in the rough and watched Hogan address the shot, I brilliantly whispered to Drum:

"He probably thinks he needs another birdie with Arnold behind him, but I'll guarantee you one thing. Ben'll be over the water."

At which point Hogan hit the ball in the water.