The Amazing Open

Ben Hogan was bushed. The battered old (42) veteran of the golf-course wars limped into the locker room, slumped on a bench and grabbed for a whisky and water. "If I win this one," he said, "I'll never work at it again. It's just too hard on me to get ready any more." He seemed to have earned his rest. After four rounds on San Francisco's tough, tree-lined Olympic Club links, the "Mechanical Man" from Texas had posted a score of 287--seven over par. The fifth U.S. Open title that he wanted so much was all but in the record books. But Ben Hogan was too cautious to accept congratulations: out there on that tight, demanding course, a couple of contenders were still playing, and he well knew anything could happen.

Fluid Swing. It had been happening all week. First-round scores were amazingly high; half the field failed to break 80. As the tournament shook down, the big names vanished. Defending Champion Ed Furgol never figured; Samuel Jackson Snead, with two good rounds under his belt, exploded all over the course. ("Well, I've had my opportunity, boy," he muttered to his caddy.) Now, going to the 14-- green on the fourth round was the one man who still had a chance of catching Hogan: Jack Fleck, 32, a loose-jointed sharpshooter out of Davenport, Iowa, who never took a lesson in his life.

A stringy (6 ft. 1 1/2 in., 164 Ibs.) ex-caddy who just kept playing until he was good enough to become a pro at two municipal courses in his home town, Fleck had a fluid swing that walloped the ball with remarkable accuracy. When a marshal told him that Hogan was home in 287, he said, "Now I know I have a chance." He made the most of it. On the 461-yd., uphill 17th, Fleck's second shot was a bold and beautiful wood that landed 40 ft. from the pin. He just missed his putt and settled for a par. He was on the 18th in two, after driving into the rough.

A 6-ft. putt earned him the 287 to tie.

Impossible Rough. Next day, in the playoff, Ben Hogan stayed up with his young competitor until he dropped a stroke on the fifth hole. After that Hogan never caught up. On the 139-yd. eighth he sank a soft, putt for a two; Fleck and his hot putter matched the birdie. On the eleventh Hogan picked up a stroke with a par four; Fleck promptly took it back on the twelfth. Going to the 18th, the bone-weary veteran was one stroke down. There was still a chance, but he hooked his drive off the high tee into thick, impossible rough to the left of the fairway. He needed three frustrating wedge shots to dribble clear, another to reach the green. A nervy, soft, downhill putt after his pitch to the green was wasted. Fleck, playing carefully all the way, was on in two. He took no chances. He babied his ball across 15 ft. of green in two taps, and he was the new Open champ.

Three days before, Jack Fleck barely had the cash to pay his caddy. Suddenly, the golf world was his. Tears filled his eyes as he watched Gentleman Ben Hogan grin for the cameras and fan the red-hot Fleck putter, the Hogan-designed club that had carried him home.

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