Jimmy

"You'd hear a lot more about Jimmy," said his rivals last week, "if folks knew how to pronounce his name." Some call it Demaret (to rhyme with croquet), some --including his mother--call it Demaret (to rhyme with croquette), still others put the accent in the middle. But no matter how they pronounce his name, golf fans last week pronounced Jimmy Demaret the No. 1 golfer of the year.

Two months ago, Houston-born James Newton Demaret, an apple-cheeked, happy-go-lucky 200-pounder, was just another golf pro named Jimmy. Like most professional golfers, he was born on the wrong side of the fairway, worked as caddy, caddy master and assistant pro before getting a job as head pro at Houston's Bras-Burn Country Club.

This winter, for the 13th year, 29-year-old Jimmy Demaret took time out from his teaching job to join the country's top-notch professionals in the circuit of southern tournaments--still hoping, after years of picking up nothing but experience, to pick up a little cash and prestige. Two years ago he licked famed Sam Snead in the San Francisco Match Play tournament. Last year he won the Los Angeles Open. In golf, almost anything can happen.

Sure enough, this turned out to be the year Jimmy Demaret's number turned up. Playing with magic precision around the green, he made Sam Snead, Byron Nelson, Ralph Guldahl and other champs look like Sunday-morning chumps. In quick succession he won the Oakland Open, the San Francisco Match Play tournament, the Western Open (in his own home town), and the New Orleans Open.

Last week, in the St. Petersburg Open, a crowd of 3,000 gathered around the Lakewood Country Club's 18th green to watch the tournament's final putts. Hovering over their balls were U. S. Open Champion Byron Nelson and smiling Jimmy Demaret. Nelson was away. He tapped his ball, sent it into the cup for a birdie 3, a two-under-par 69 and a 54-hole total of 212. Demaret had to sink his four-foot putt to win the tournament.

Tensely the gallery watched. Nonchalantly, as if he had been tutored by Walter Hagen, Jimmy sauntered up to his ball, smiled at it in almost mock tenderness, then suddenly looked up and chirped: "Would anyone like to sink this one for me?" While the gallery chuckled, Jimmy plopped his ball into the cup, chalked up his fifth victory in two months.

"When I start worrying over my shots and getting mad at myself, I'm going to give up tournament golf and go back to work," grinned fun-loving Golfer Demaret (rhymes with croquette) as he pocketed $700 first-prize money, bringing his eight weeks' earnings to $6,077. Though he had won five of the season's nine tournaments and earned twice as much as his nearest rival, Jimmy's confreres as well as the galleries saluted him last week. "It couldn't have happened to a nicer fellow," they chorused.

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