How I Played the Game

by Byron Nelson

  We started in the early spring, working with the Red Cross and the USO to help the boys’ morale. There were very few golf facilities, so we didn’t do a lot of exhibitions, but we did visit the hospitals and camps and shook hands with the soldiers and told them how much their sacrifices meant to us and to the whole country. Most of the patients were ambulatory, so when there were golf facilities available, we’d show the soldiers the fundamentals of grip, stance, and so forth, or hit some drives and other types of shots to demonstrate the basics. One time we went to a camp near a rocket-testing site in New Mexico, I believe, and they shot off a few rockets for us to see. It was impressive—and scary.

  Because of all the gas rationing, we traveled on restricted types of orders. We’d be put on troop trains or planes where they’d always feed the servicemen first, which was only right. We weren’t neglected, you understand—just hungry a lot. Once, I remember they ran out of food before they got to us, so when we stopped at a little station near El Paso, Jug and I jumped out and ran in to see if we could get a sandwich. Well, the man said, “These are for the soldiers,” but after we explained what we were doing and why we were on the train, he finally let us have one sandwich apiece.

  It was tougher on McSpaden than on me in a way, because he really did love to eat and could eat a lot more than I could. Once, in Seattle, we stayed at a hotel and at breakfast, McSpaden had half a cantaloupe with ice cream, ham, eggs, toast, and tea. I had what you’d call a more normal breakfast. When he was done, he asked the waitress to bring him another half cantaloupe with ice cream. The waitress said, “Are you kidding?” and Jug replied, “That’s what I ordered, isn’t it?” She brought the cantaloupe, put it down on the table very carefully, and then backed away like she was expecting him to explode any second. That fellow really could eat.

  On the trains, once in a while we’d have a berth to sleep in, but mostly we just slept sitting up like a lot of the soldiers. Even though we were pretty young ourselves, most of the servicemen seemed like kids away from home for the first time. But their morale was quite good. I’d have to say the whole experience was enjoyable for us, but very tiring with all the travel, and it wasn’t easy to see those young boys going off to war or coming back all busted up.

  In the middle of July, we did have a tournament called the All American, played at George May’s Tam O’Shanter course. The purse was $5000. I tied for third, thanks to a final-round 68, and won $900. I was one shot back of McSpaden and Buck White, a pretty good player who wasn’t around too long on the tour. McSpaden beat Buck in the playoff. In August, I played in the Chicago Victory Open. I started off with a 68, then did three 72’s in a row and finished fifth. I didn’t win any money because they paid only the first four places. Then there was the Minneapolis Four Ball at Golden Valley, which I played with McSpaden. We finished second at plus 8. They also had the Miami Open in December, but I didn’t play in it, most likely because I was doing an exhibition somewhere to raise money for the war or the Red Cross.

  I did, however, play in and win the Kentucky Open that year. It was played at a course called Whittle Springs, and I remember it well because I was presented with my winning check by Sergeant Alvin York, the much-decorated hero of World War I. That was quite an honor for me.

  We also had sort of a substitute Ryder Cup tournament that summer, called the Ryder Cup Challenge. I was selected to be on the Ryder Cup team, and Walter Hagen captained the “Challengers.” We played at Plum Hollow in Detroit. McSpaden and I tied Willie Goggin and Buck White in the foursomes, plus I beat Goggin in the singles, 4 and 3. We beat Hagen’s team overall 8½–3½.

  Sometimes we’d pick up other people who’d play these exhibitions with us—people from golf or the entertainment field like Bob Hope or Bing Crosby. We didn’t always play eighteen holes, usually only nine, but they’d build a platform near the clubhouse at whatever course we were at, and whoever was in charge of raising the money for the Red Cross or selling the war bonds would get up on the platform, and it would be almost like an auction. A man would say, “I’ll give ten thousand dollars if Bing will sing ‘White Christmas.’ ” Or “I’ll give five hundred if Hope will tell a joke.” We’d raise tens of thousands that way. It was exciting at times, and I really believe we contributed more to the war effort that way than if we’d been accepted for service. Another benefit was that it kept my game in tiptop shape for when the war was over and the tour started again. Fortunately for some of the pros who were in the service, they had the opportunity to play quite a bit, too. Sam Snead was in the Navy, stationed at La Jolla, California, and he played nearly every day with the admirals and such. Horton Smith, Ben Hogan, and Jimmy Demaret also had quite a few opportunities to play—not just at the bases where they were stationed, but in whatever tournaments there were, too. By the end of ’43, we’d played at quite a few camps where our fellow pros were stationed. So despite the fact that the tour was canceled, we did get to see the fellows from time to time and play with them a little.

  Once we did nineteen days in a row with Hope and Crosby, who were great. Bing would sing and Bob would tell jokes, and the crowd loved it. They were both just as you imagine them, born entertainers. Bob was always telling jokes, and Bing was quick-witted, too, plus he was completely natural at all times. The people loved them both. On one of these stops we were staying at a hotel and to avoid the crush of autograph seekers they ushered us in through the back door and up the elevator. But some of the fans had seen the elevator going up and where it had stopped, and they all trooped up six flights of stairs to our floor. Bob and Bing were so impressed with the fact that these kids would climb all those stairs just for an autograph that they signed every single one of them.

  One other time, I was with Hope and we were on an Army plane. Sometimes there wouldn’t be any seats—we’d sit on a bucket or a box or just on the floor. Anyway, they had picked us up in Alabama and we were going to Memphis. Ed Dudley was going to meet us and we were to put on a show there. When we landed, the runway was very narrow, plus it had rained a lot, the ground there was very muddy, and the plane slipped off the runway and into the mud up to its hubcaps. It took forty-five minutes for them to get a vehicle big enough to pull that plane out of the mud. But we got there and did the show just a little late and everyone seemed happy.

  I did have one pretty scary experience during this time. I was with Bing Crosby in San Antonio, and a man picked us up at the train station and took us to an army base—I don’t quite remember which one—where Bing was to perform. There were a lot of restrictions then, and when we arrived at the gate, there were two sentries with rifles guarding it. But this fellow who’d picked us up just drove past them without even stopping. There was another pair of sentries a little further on, and when they saw us drive past the first sentries they immediately raised their rifles and ordered us to stop. I was in the front seat and Bing was in the back, and when we saw those rifles go up, Bing hit the floor and I ducked as best I could. We truly thought we were going to get shot at. Of course, the driver had to stop then and explain who we were and what we were doing there, and they finally did let us through, but they really gave that fellow a tongue-lashing for not stopping at the first gate. And you know, that man never did even apologize to us. Just acted like nothing had happened at all.

  I’ve been asked whether we got much criticism for not being in the service, and I have to say we got far less than I expected. Mainly, I think it was because what we were doing for the war effort with our Red Cross and USO exhibitions and so forth got plenty of publicity, and every write-up that I can recall was sure to mention that we had been rejected for military service for physical reasons. We were fortunate to have that kind of positive press; there were plenty of other men who had also been refused for physical reasons that no one else could see who were unfairly criticized.

  The only complaints I did get were about gas rationing. I was still the full-time pro at Inverness all through 1944, but because I had to travel so much t
o do all these exhibitions, I needed more gas stamps than most people. Fortunately, I was able to get them without too much difficulty, because the people in charge of the various exhibitions would take care of it for me most of the time. But sometimes people would see me driving along here and there and think I was doing something wrong. Once the rationing board called me in about it because a man in Toledo had complained, but when I explained what I was doing and showed them my stamps, which were all legal and proper, they said it was all right.

  Naturally, Louise couldn’t be with me on any of these Red Cross or USO exhibitions. She mostly stayed at her folks’ place in Texarkana, her sister Delle’s in Fort Worth, or else in Denton at the farm I’d bought for my parents in 1940. It was a difficult time for her, and I sure didn’t appreciate the separation myself, but fortunately it didn’t last forever.

  By 1944, the tour was alive again with twenty-three events, not quite as many as there had been before the war. Still, many of you who read this will be surprised that there were even that many. I was, too, really. The PGA had used golf in any way they could to help the war effort, but the people interested in golf had reached a point where they were hungry for news of any sports, including golf. Ed Dudley and Fred Corcoran deserve a lot of credit for not only what they did during the early war years, but for getting the tournament back on its feet again in ’44. Many of the tournaments in ’44 were renewals of ones that had been going on before the war, but a few were new ones, and some of the older and bigger ones still weren’t back in operation, including the Masters and the U.S. Open. What Louise and I were happiest about was the fact that we could travel together again. McSpaden was okay as a traveling partner, but I definitely preferred Louise.

  As I said earlier, my game was in good shape because of all the work I’d done during 1943, so I started out in ’44 with some good pro-ams. We still played pro-ams then with just one partner and used no handicaps, which meant we always got good partners. Just like today, your partner would be someone who had helped sponsor the tournament. Anyway, at the pro-am at Hillcrest I won with 65. Then I won with 67 at San Gabriel Country Club in Los Angeles, and with 64 in Phoenix.

  Another thing worth noting about the Phoenix tournament was that it was the only time my good friend Harold McSpaden beat me head to head. It was in an 18-hole playoff and we were even, going to the 17th. He had a twenty-footer, I had an eighteen-footer; he made his, I missed mine, and we both birdied the last hole, a par 5, so he beat me by one shot. I think that’s the happiest I ever saw him in golf, because the rest of the time, I just happened to be fortunate enough to sneak out on him one way or another.

  Of course, I was still at Inverness all this time and working hard, but I was playing every tournament my contract would allow. By now, Frankie Stranahan had become a pretty good amateur golfer, and from time to time wanted to take me on. I was too busy with the shop and my own tournaments, so I turned him down a few times. Well, one day he came in the shop with a couple of the boys he usually played with, and wanted me to play him. Something about the way he said it intimated that I was afraid to play him, and I guess it kind of got under my skin, because I said, “Okay, Frankie, I’ll play you. Not only will I play you, but I’ll throw in your two buddies and play all three of you, right now, best ball!” I was hot. We got out on the course and I was nicely steamed up and shot a 63, a new course record, beat Frankie and his friends, and Frankie never bothered me again.

  So much has been written about 1945 and what I did then that my performance in ’44 has been kind of overlooked. I played in twenty-one of the twenty-three tournaments and won eight of them—some record books don’t include the Beverly Hills Open—which is a little better than a third. I was second five times, third five times, fourth once, and sixth twice. My winning margin was from 1 to 10 strokes, and I was also runner-up in the PGA. So ’44 was a good year for me also.

  One of my most memorable wins that year was the Dallas Victory Open at Lakewood Country Club where I won by 10 shots, which was a pretty nice margin of victory for me. It was the tournament’s first year, and it drew a very good field. I won it the first year, Snead the second, and Hogan the third. Hogan was in the military in 1944 but played in the tournament, though I don’t recall where he finished. Then it wasn’t held again until 1956. I did some writing for the tournament during my newspaper years and always kept my eye on it, and it turned out to be the predecessor of the Byron Nelson Classic that is still going strong today.

  Another interesting note about ’44 was that I won twice in San Francisco, once in January and once in the fall, and both times at the same club, Harding Park. It was a fine municipal facility, and the pro there was Kenny Venturi’s father, a good pro and a nice man. This was where Kenny learned to play as a young boy, and I guess he was about twelve at the time. I won by six strokes in January and by one in the fall. Kind of unusual, I thought.

  Something else kind of unusual happened in that tournament. Seeing Nick Faldo with his ball up in the tree at Pebble Beach in 1992’s U.S. Open reminded me of it. It was the last round, and I was fighting it out with Jim Ferrier. Ferrier was a pro from Australia and his wife was unusual among the pros’ wives of that time in that she followed him every time he played, walked the course every hole with him. Anyway, we were on the 16th hole at Harding Park. The hole goes downhill and doglegs right. I was one stroke up and hit a good drive. Jim pushed his tee shot and his ball went into a tree, where it stayed. But you could see where it was, just kind of resting on this big branch. After a bit, Jim decided to try and play it out, and got someone to boost him up. He knocked it off that branch and out into the fairway, then onto the green, where he holed his putt for one of the most unusual pars I’ve ever seen.

  That year Jug McSpaden and I played together in the Golden Valley Invitational in Minneapolis. It was a round-robin type of tournament, with seven teams. We played eighteen holes Thursday, then thirty-six holes Friday, Saturday, and Sunday for a total of 127. It was best ball of the team, but they gave plus or minus scores, plus being good and minus being bad. So if you lost the first round 5 down and won the second 6 up, you’d be plus 1. McSpaden and I had a wonderful tournament and finished 66 under par for the 127 holes, which is an average of a little better than a birdie every other hole. Not bad hacking around, but still we only won by three shots, so the other boys were playing pretty well too. My back was very bad that week, but somehow it didn’t bother me when I played, and it even seemed to help me play better, because I played like gangbusters.

  The next week after Golden Valley was the Beverly Hills Open, which I also won with a score of 277. Then came the PGA, where I started off well by being medalist with 138. In those days there was some extra money if you were medalist, so many of the boys would play in the qualifying rounds even if they didn’t have to in order to have a chance at that extra prize money. I then made it to the finals against Bob Hamilton but lost on the 36th hole. He played very well and holed a great putt for birdie on the last hole after I had made a birdie trying to get even. There were some players still in uniform, and some who were just about done with their tour of duty. Lloyd Mangrum was the only pro I know of who actually saw combat. He was injured and awarded the Purple Heart, I believe.

  Yes, 1944 was a good year. My average score was 69.67, and I was over par only three times in the twenty-one tournaments I played; my total was under 280 ten times. I was reasonably well satisfied with my performance, and very happy about winning over $37,000, which was more than twice as much as anyone had won before then. I was also given a great honor by being voted the Athlete of the Year by the Associated Press writers, and that topped it all off, for sure.

  There was a major change in my job situation that fall—one that made it possible for me to have more freedom and play even better in ’45. What happened was that some of the members at Inverness were becoming uncomfortable over how much money I was winning as well as what I was making at the club. This was along about the fall of the
year, and fortunately, Mr. Haas warned me about it ahead of time. I must admit I was a little surprised by it, because I had worked hard at the club and the members had seemed pretty well satisfied with me. It was the first time I had had any problems in my working life as I had moved from Texarkana to Ridgewood to Reading and then to Inverness. Most people understood that young folks wanted to better themselves in those days.

  Well, I was thirty-two, I had already realized I didn’t want to play tournament golf forever or be a club professional all my life, and I’d been thinking about leaving Inverness before this came up, so it gave me a perfect excuse to resign, which I did.

  Though I had done well that year on the tour, I also had another source of income besides Inverness. Mr. Haas had made me a vice president for Haas-Jordan. I had been able to be of great help to Mr. Haas during the war years when they were unable to get material for their umbrellas. On one occasion I happened to be playing golf with a fellow in the East who owned a fabric company, and I put him in touch with Mr. Haas. That made it possible for Haas-Jordan to get the material they needed.

  Leaving Inverness made it possible for me to enjoy for the first time the freedom the pros in the sixties and later knew, of being able to play in as many tournaments as you wanted and concentrate solely on your game, with few distractions and worries. It was another part of what made the year to follow as memorable as it was.