by Earl Nelson
Chapter 7
The PGA Championship was the next week, so we flew to Philadelphia immediately after the closing ceremony at Troon. I did have to give a press conference before I left.
The tone was completely different from all the others I had on golf. Before it was, do you think an amateur like yourself is a serious golf player?
Now I was Bobby Jones reincarnated. That didn’t make the questions any better. I got the normal, are you turning pro now, or waiting until winning the PGA?
As I was leaving the course, I was handed a stack of congratulatory telegrams.
The Queen, the Empress, and the US President along with the leaders from Germany, Hong Kong, South Vietnam, and surprisingly North Vietnam. There were a host of other countries which sent telegrams but they were the important ones.
Then there were the personal ones like Nina, Popeye and Sybil, John Wayne, and all my corporate executives.
One was puzzling, it stated, “I told you it is a gentleman's game, and there is still no money in it. Carlo.”
I knew who it was from but why?
On the flight over I felt a little tired from the last week. I went to bed on the plane and slept almost the whole flight. I was feeling better when we arrived.
I wondered what shape my competition like Arnold Palmer would be in, sleeping in first class was nothing like sleeping flat in a real bed.
By the time I was settled into the rented house in Radnor it was Saturday afternoon. I did the intelligent thing and took another nap until dinner time.
The whole family had caught up from our different flights, so we boarded a train on the Main Line and went into Philadelphia for dinner at the Old Original Bookbinder's Restaurant.
During dinner, we talked about how the PGA had almost shot itself in the foot over its Caucasian-only clause. This championship was scheduled to be played at the Brentwood Country Club in Los Angeles, but the California attorney general threatened to shut down the PGA in California until the clause was removed.
The PGA moved the Championship here to Newtown Square but had second thoughts on its policy and changed its position late in 1961. By this time, it was too late to move back to California and the commitment had been made in Pennsylvania. The winds of change were blowing throughout the country.
Mary and Eddie both wanted to know what a Caucasian was. When told it was white people, they both were shocked. They had friends around the world of every color, race, and creed.
Through Mary's modeling, she had many girls of different races to model her collections. She couldn’t understand why the PGA would cut out most of its potential audience. Didn’t they know there were more red, brown, and yellow people in the world than white?
She seriously recommended that I not turn professional in such a self-limiting organization. The PGA would never be a success. I agreed with her but pointed out that they had relented. Now it was to be seen if anyone of color would ever become a member and win tournaments. That would be the true test.
Sunday afternoon I went out to the course to register for the tournament. My name was on the list as entered. Previously my showing up was ho-hum at the best. This time the club and PGA officials all wanted to meet me. Reporters were hanging around, but they were kept at a distance.
The club people were considered old money, incredibly old money. I was nouveau riche by their standards. I was nouveau riche by my standards.
But and this is a big but, I’m also British nobility, the Duke of Hong Kong. That wiped out the sin of making my money in this generation.
Several of the people who introduced themselves seemed nice. Most were snobs of the first water.
I loved the guy who told me to give the Queen his best the next time I saw her. Somehow, I don’t Elizabeth would know him, or even know of him.
The PGA officials told me that even though I wasn’t a pro or even considering turning pro that I had raised the profile of the game. Their TV ratings for last week went through the roof as compared to previous tournaments.
The TV people were even talking about helping to raise the tournament's prize money and their payout if the rating stayed at this level.
They did ask me if I would be kind enough to be interviewed by Jim McKay. I agreed, McKay had always come across as level-headed to me.
The first question was, “Rick, may I call you Rick, or should it be Your Grace?”
“We are in America so let’s go with Rick.”
“Rick, what made you take up golf?”
“When I was going into High School, I wanted to play a sport. I went out for football. During tryouts, I proved to be too slow of a runner for any position. Coach Crowley, was very upfront with me and told me that I could make the team but would never get any playing time.”
“He didn’t send me away, but he told me that there were other sports, I could run track cross country as I did have good endurance, or I could try something like golf.”
“I had never touched a golf club but thought it might be worth a shot. It turns out I’m a human lever, and my height gives me an advantage. I also have a lot of upper body strength which I work to keep. Those made my first attempts successful. We won't talk about my first putts.”
“My golf coach, Mr. Stone, always encouraged me to take my game as far as it could go. This week is the culmination of this journey. I owe both of those men a lot.”
“Win or lose this week you have made a mark in the game. Where do you go from here?”
“I will continue to play golf, for fun. I have no intentions of turning pro.”
“I have heard you say that you couldn’t take the cut in pay, how true is that?”
“Last week Mr. Arnold Palmer won 3360 dollars at the British Open. My business income was more than one million dollars. I must pay attention to my business interest. On top of that, I have had Hong Kong dropped on me, the British and Chinese both are holding me responsible for improving the lives of the citizens and preparing the colony for its handover in 1997.”
“You are what, eighteen years old?”
“I will be nineteen in October.”
“It is incredible that you have accomplished what you have at such a young age.”
“I wonder myself, it has been a lot of hard work, and a huge amount of luck, time, and place.”
“Maybe not as much luck as you imply, your fortune has come from your inventions, which has nothing to do with luck.”
“It was luck that my Mum made me work my way across the Atlantic as a deckhand. That is where I got the cargo container idea. Shift enough of them and you will invent something to make it easier.”
“What sort of mother makes her son work his way across the ocean on a freighter? I understand the rest of the family flew first class.”
“The sort of Mum who wants her children prepared for the real world.”
“We know that your sister Mary has her clothing collection and charities she supports. Your brother Denny has franchised a chain of photography studios. What about Eddie?”
“Eddie is concentrating on Eagle Scout now. His turn will come.”
“Speaking of your mother, she has quite a mysterious past. Parts of Countess Jackson’s career are well known. But several years during the war are blacked out.”
“When you find out about those years, please let me know.”
“I see our time is up, thank you and I wish you the best for this week.”
“Thank you, Jim, and no you do not have to kiss my ring.”
It is a good thing his mike was turned off as he invited me to kiss a nether part of him.
We shook hands and he thanked me for the interview. If all reporters were like him, I would do more press conferences.
The PGA people were happy with my interview. They thought it was a good start to the viewing week.
John Jacobs had been waiting patiently for me to finish up so we could get on with the real work of the week. All play had been suspended until after the tournament, so we were
able to walk the course.
It was an eye-opener. Looking at maps of a course was one thing, seeing it from ground level was another. The trick to this course like almost any other was not to look for the obstacles where your ball might end up but look for where the ball should go.
Those traps, hills, tall grass in the rough were all distracters that wouldn’t come into play if you hit the ball where the course architect designed it to land.
Chapter 8
Monday, we played our first practice round. Instead of being put in a group of amateurs that wouldn’t make the cut, it was Player, Palmer, and I.
They were all business, polite as all get out but they were here to win, not make friends.
I started badly, after a good drive on the first hole I came up short on the two-tier green and took a bogey.
I parred the next three holes and got a bird on Comanche, the sixth hole. I was beginning to think this course wasn’t so bad after all. That was reinforced by a birdie on the seventh hole, called Shawnee.
Coming up to number eight, Sitting Bull a long par 3 I could taste another bird. Instead, I ended up on the wrong side of the mound in the middle of the green and took a double bogey.
Nine was a par, then came ten with another bogey. My game was falling apart.
On eleven, named Kiowa, my approach shot was short, and it rolled back off the green for another bogey.
I managed to settle down and collect pars on each hole up to 18, named aptly enough Aronimink. I did well until the green. My approach shot left me with a challenge which I failed. I took another bogey.
Playing like this would not win the tournament.
While everyone else in the Jackson family was out on social visits I sat in my room. I had to get my act together if I didn’t want to disgrace myself.
Tuesday it sprinkled rain on and off, not enough to stop play but enough to make the greens unreliable. I managed to get around with a 72 on the par 70 golf course.
At dinner, I heard about everyone's evening on Monday. Mum and Dad had attended a party given by the governor. Denny had been invited to a teen party at a member's house. Eddie attended a local scout function with the son of another member.
Even Mary had her evening out, she was asked to be a judge at a local beauty pageant for preteens. She was pleased because the first and second place winners were wearing outfits from Mary’s Princess collection, but the other judge's opinions outweighed hers, so she thought it was a fair contest.
Mary was a surprise judge so no one could say the girls wore her dresses to influence the judge.
Wednesday was bright and sunny with a dried-out course. I had got my act together and was hitting the ball consistently where I wanted it. I posted a 67 for the day. If I could do those four days in a row I would be in good shape.
On Thursday there were some clouds but no threat of rain. I had moved up significantly in the eyes of the tournament directors. I was in the third from the last group to tee off. I was used to an early tee time in my other matches.
I started with a par on hole one, Apache. I kept to the right on the fairway. Normally I would have used a nine-iron to get on the green. This time I up clubbed to an eight to ensure that I ended up on the higher tier.
After that I went on a tear, obtaining birdies on Pueblo, Navajo, Seminole, Mohawk, and Comanche to be five under.
I pushed the ball on Shawnee and felt lucky to walk away with a par.
The eight-hole, Sitting Bull a long par three did me in. I landed on the wrong side of a large mound bisecting the green. I ended up with a bogey. Now I was four under.
Nine, Kickapoo, which made me think of Lil Abner, was an easy par.
Then there was the tenth hole, Cherokee. It was trouble, with a capital T as the song goes. I put the ball in the water. This gave me a double bogey. Now I was two-under.
Eleven through fifteen were pars. I got a bird on 16 to move to three-under. Then I parred out for the rest of the holes to end the day at three-under.
John Barnum at four-under led the day, I was second at three-under with George Bayer in third with two-under. None of the big names were in the first ten places.
Round two was better for me, much better. I had five birdies, one bogey, and the rest pars to lead the pack at seven-under and a score of 133. Doug Ford was right behind me at a 134.
Round 3 on Saturday was a different kettle of fish. Gary Player came alive making par for the round. This gave him a 208. I hit a rough patch by having multiple bogeys. This brought me in at 208. Gary and I were tied going into the final round on Sunday.
Saturday night was another quiet night for me. After a catered meal, the family was out and about again. At least they were out and not having a party at the house. They did seem to remember why we were here.
Sunday morning, I was up and got my run in followed by my exercises. I found it best if I kept to my routine every day. After getting cleaned up I dressed in the clothes Harold had laid out.
The pants were a light grey flannel. A white shirt and tie, with a dark grey sweater. It was a very conservative look. Later I was to learn it was remarkably like what the great Bobby Jones wore.
After breakfast, John and I headed out to the course. There I loosened up. No one talked to me. This was bothersome at first. Not that I wanted to talk but people usually insisted on it. Wanting money or just being able to say they had a conversation.
It dawned on me that I was like a pitcher who had a no-hitter going. No one wanted to jinx it.
Gary Player and I were the last two of the day to tee off. Our gallery was huge. The people were there to see history in the making if I won, they would also see history if I lost.
It was a quiet respectful crowd not like what they did to Jack Nicklaus in Pennsylvania.
As we went to the tee box the South African commented that this was the largest group that ever followed him. I agreed that I had seen nothing like it before. After that, we both ignored our followers.
We both had good drives keeping to the right on the first hole. I outdrove him by ten yards. It didn’t matter as we both ended up on the higher tier on our second shot. We were both over twenty feet from the pin so settled for pars.
Pueblo the next hole was a dogleg left and we both parred.
On the third hole, Navajo, Gary faded the ball correctly and ended up rolling off the mound to end up near the pin. I was left short. Gary parred and I had a bogey.
We both parred the next hole, so I was still one down.
I caught back up on the fifth hole by landing in the middle of the green and putting it in for a Birdie. Mr. Player was not in the middle and had to settle for a par.
You could tell the pressure was building on both of us as we went for it on Comanche the sixth hole and both had Birdies. We were still tied at one under.
The next hole, Shawnee a dogleg left us both at par.
On number 8, we both used one irons. All the other holes were named after tribes this one differed as Sitting Bull. No one knew why. One iron is perhaps the hardest club to use. For me anyway. Gary ended up exactly where he wanted to be for an easy par.
I ended up exactly where I didn’t want to be. I was in the little strip of the fairway that separated the eighth and tenth greens. I had to do a pitch and run to save a bogey. Gary Player was now at par, and I was one over.
We both had pars on the ninth hole, a par 5.
The next hole was the toughest on the course. Gary made it look easy as he placed his shots precisely. He had a textbook par. I had to scramble for an ugly bogey. I was now two-over-par and in a bit of trouble.
The golf gods smiled on me, or they frowned on Gary. He bogeyed on 11 while I birdied. That put me in a little better position. We weren’t the only players on the course.
Neither of us was the leader. Mr. Player and I exchanged looks and without a word we got serious about our golf. Not that we weren’t serious before but now there was an urgency in both our plays.
Despite that
urgency, we both parred the 12th hole.
I had a birdie on 13 to tie up Gary.
Gary used a three-iron on Iroquois, while I hit a 3 wood on this long par three. My choice was better as it left me an easy putt for a birdie while he two-putted for par. I was now even for the day, and he was one over.
Lenape, a par 4, is the longest par 4 on the course. My longer drives paid off as I hit a boomer out to 330 yards after its roll. Gary was a respectable 305 yards, but it would take him two shots to get on.
Knowing this and the fact I was not the leader I went for it. Using a three wood I hit 185 yards to land almost next to the pin. It was an easy tap-in for a bird. Now I was one-under and the new leader. Gary Player made a bird and was even for the day.
We both had birds on 16 so I was now two under and he was one under.
17 Seneca we both parred.
There was no drama on the last hole, Number 18 named appropriately, Aronimink. We both parred the hole. This left me at two-under and Gary one-under. I had won the Grand Slam of golf as an amateur and Gary Player had won 13,000 dollars.
Chapter 9
There was a great commotion. I saw the replay of the last hole on TV later. I couldn’t believe my reaction, or I should say lack of reaction. After making the final putt I calmly handed my putting iron to John and walked off the course like it was any other round of golf.
After carefully filling out my scorecard and triple-checking it before I signed it along with a countersignature from Gary Player. I signed his in return after checking it. I then emerged to the waiting pandemonium.
There was the PGA committee to whom I handed my card. It only took them a few minutes to confirm I had filled it out correctly. I was officially declared the winner.
I was given a replica of the Wanamaker Trophy. Gary Player was given the actual trophy for one year, and a replica to keep for life.
It was a little weird that I the winner didn’t get the big trophy, but the tournament was really for professional golfers. The only way I was able to get in was by winning a major. Since I won three majors this year, they were almost forced to let me play.
