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THE MAN GETS YOUNGER WITH AGE
Gerald Holland
December 12, 1960
At 48, Sam is always on the go. He commutes between the East Coast and Hollywood, he's up in Canada one day, down in Florida the next. He'll fly to Israel soon. He moans and groans about the frantic pace, but a young pro calls him the greatest golfer alive and an old pro says he'll get that U.S. Open title yet
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December 12, 1960

The Man Gets Younger With Age

At 48, Sam is always on the go. He commutes between the East Coast and Hollywood, he's up in Canada one day, down in Florida the next. He'll fly to Israel soon. He moans and groans about the frantic pace, but a young pro calls him the greatest golfer alive and an old pro says he'll get that U.S. Open title yet

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"What will you do now, Sam?" I asked. "Hang around home a while, do a little turkey shooting, get yourself a deer when the season opens, play a few rounds with some of those well-heeled pigeons over at the Greenbrier?"

"Yeah," said Sam, "but I got a few other engagements here and there. Next week I got to go to Huntington to play in the West Virginia Open." (Sam beat out Arnold Palmer and Art Wall to win that one. He shot a 29 in a nine-hole practice round, then did it again during the tournament itself. Afterward, he stood on the patio outside the clubhouse and, out of sheer exuberance, kicked an awning rod at least seven feet high. He invited Arnold Palmer to match the feat, but Arnold politely declined.)

"Then what, Sam?"

"Well," said Sam, "I got to go down to Atlanta to open up one of my new golf centers there. Then I fly out to Hollywood to make some more of the Celebrity Golf TV shows. I go to Canada for a couple of exhibitions. Then back to Greenbrier and then to the Boca Raton Club in Florida for our big golf week. Maybe old Ted Williams will be around and we'll get in a little fishing."

"That's a lot of running around, Sam."

"January the fifth," Sam went on, "I take off for Israel. This English lord, Lord Rothschild, wants me to play the first round on Israel's first golf course. On the way back Fred Corcoran, my business manager, he says there's some Italian prince wants me to play an exhibition in Rome."

"Oh, my," I said, "that schedule should be very tiring. Won't it be nice, Sam, when you can slow down, let up a little, take things easy and not even take a lick at a snake—should one cross your path?"

Sam Snead's eyes widened. "Why," he said, "I don't expect that day ever to come. No ol' snake better try to get by me. What gave you that notion?"

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