The crowd, which only minutes before had welcomed golf’s
recent breakout champion to the 17th hole at the 1927 Shawnee
open with hopes to see an unforgettable display of golfing precision, were now
bristling with a mixture of confusion and horror. At the tee was Tommy Armour; a tall and handsome
man whose signature black hair had begun surrendering to the deep veins of
silver that would ultimately brand him the “Silver Scot” - golf’s greatest
teacher and one of the most enigmatic names to ever play the game. After a year of consistently scoring ahead of
such names as Walter Hagen and Bobby Jones, both drinking buddies and golfing
legends in their own right; Tommy Armour was fresh off his win at the US open,
just the week before. Despite undeniable
skill and talent, he now found himself placing yet another ball on the tee
after hitting 7 consecutive shots in the water hazard. The Scottish iron master had given up all
hopes of securing a victory after the second ball took a bath, and now his
common sense was in question as he aimed once again towards the water. When he finally walked off the green, he had
given up 23 strokes on a par 5. This
travesty was the worst single hole score in PGA history…a title which still
holds to this day.
The spectators
believed they were witnessing a man coming apart at the seams - the result of a
game that mirrors the everyday pressures of life. In golf, as in life, a man cannot hide behind
the talent of the many or ride the coattails of a team, but instead must rely
on his facilitates alone if he wants to find himself being cheered on the
approach to the 18th green. To
understand what happened that fateful day, you first must examine the man
behind the tee. The layout of that par
five would have told any reasonable golfer to follow the given formula: Drive
conservatively far right, lay up around the bend on the fairway and reach the
green in 4, maybe 3 shots, max. However,
Tommy did not look for routes that were “safe” or “easy” – in golf, or life. Instead, I like to think he saw a shot in his
mind directly over the vast water that none before had dared try. With a
confidence and grit attained by many men that have seen war, he decided the
overall total of his score was no excuse for choosing the “easy shot”, when the
“right shot” was staring him in the face.
If you haven’t already guessed, I am speaking of my
grandfather. I grew up knowing very
little about him, other than the stories I was told from my family and what
small nuggets of information are available through the internet. The best glimpse into his mind is accessible
through his published works on golf; “A
round of golf with Tommy Armour,” and “How
to play your best golf all the time”.
My father did not tell me much about him, but, to be fair, my adolescent
concerns were so full of x-men knowledge and late night Showtime adult line-up
scheduling, that perhaps his attempts to go over my heritage fell on deaf
ears. I find it ironic that a boy, so
caught up with fictional superheroes, did not see the connection between the
extraordinary and my own heritage. For
every documented feat of golfing prowess he achieved during his career, there
are countless other tales of his life off the course that have defined his
larger than life persona.
The 1920’s were a decade that could very well
be considered the golden years of golf in America. Far removed from the bright and colorful
magazine covers of the modern golfer, the sepia-toned images of this era
capture the pioneers of the game; men who walked the fairways in pressed suits
and fedoras. This was a gentleman’s
game, played without the influence of multi-million dollar sponsorships and
payouts. The prize for these men was
holding that silver cup in front of their peers, rather than hoisting the over sized cardboard check. This practice
makes understanding that fateful hole complicated, seeing how pride and fortune
were both slipping away from the Silver Scot as he fired shot after shot into
the water, with little more than a shake of the head and a cool determination
to “get it right”. Seemingly out of
character for such a talented and competitive player, this curious hole can
easily be explained away as the result of bad judgment, or, more likely given
his reputation, a bad hangover. However, in context, I believe there is an all but forgotten lesson to be
found in his actions that day; an ideal of why golf is more than just a game, but
an examination of character. Who better
to give this lesson but my grandfather; a man who was named the "teacher of the century" by Golf Magazine, but a legend.
As with every great hero, Tommy came from humble
beginnings. The cold and rainy links of
his native Scotland served as both playground and battlefield for young Tommy. The local course of Braid Hills is where he
cut his teeth in competition. As there
were no tournaments back then specifically for boys, Tommy was allowed to
compete against the men; ultimately forcing his way into the amateur team at a
very young age. It was here that Tommy
gained a confidence that would stay with him though life. Over the years, dogged determination coupled
with raw talent elevated him through the ranks, making him among the leading
Scottish amateurs at the age of 18.
There is much to be said of his upbringing, and how the right
circumstances tempered the raw metal in young Tommy to become the Silver Scot
he is known as today, however it is not my intention to write a full biography
here; I will leave that more knowledgeable men like Ed
Dixon and Dr. Milton Wayne, whose articles on my grandfather are available in
the links below. As Ed put it; “The world for Tommy Armour
must have been looking mighty fine at the end of the 1914 golf
season...unfortunately for Tommy, as for thousands of other young men, the
golden days were about to vanish in a haze of gun smoke.”
Before he could answer the call to professional
golf, Tommy was compelled to fulfill his call to service. WWI had broken out and introduced the world
to a new terror of industrial war-time innovation - the tank. These iron giants roamed the front lines like mechanical
monsters, and young Tommy would be among the first tank gunners for the Allied
forces to face them head on in France.
He rose quickly through the ranks of the Tank Corp, earning many medals
for bravery and the reputation as the “fastest machine gunner in the British
Army.” Lifelong friend and future PGA
star Bobby Cruikshank, who served alongside Tommy in France, later recounted
the infamous story of how Tommy single-highhandedly captured a German tank and
strangled the German officer to death with his bare hands when he refused to
disarm. His military career, however,
was cut short by a mustard gas explosion which rendered Tommy blind in both
eyes. Months later he would slowly
regain use of his right eye, however his left eye was rendered virtually useless
for the rest of his life. With metal
plates in his arm and skull, along with the loss of his depth perception,
a post war career in any kind of precision sport - especially golf, seemed impossible.
After the war, his good fortune returned when, on a
voyage to the states, Tommy crossed paths with another up and coming golfer;
none other than Walter Hagen. The ‘Haig’
took a liking to Tommy and, by the time they entered New York harbor, Tommy had
talked his way into a job at the Westchester-Biltmore Club as the ‘club pro’,
with Hagen’s recommendation. Soon, Tommy
had adjusted his game to compensate for the loss of his right eye, and once again
gained a reputation as one of the best golfers around.
The man who had mastered the iron giants of war torn
Europe seemed equally lethal on the fairways.
With his powerful hands, Tommy could compensate nearly every other facet
of his golf game with superhuman power and precision in his iron game. It is said that he could tear a deck of cards
in half. To put his strength in context,
Jack “the Manassa Mauler” Dempsey, Heavyweight boxing Champion
of the world from 1919-1926, challenged Tommy to prove his strength during a
smoky social gathering. Tommy, always the
showman, grabbed a billiard cue by the tip and held it out level at arm’s
length. The Manassa Mauler picked up the
tab that night.
By the time he had turned pro, Tommy was a naturalized
US citizen and had earned a reputation as a fierce competitor. To add to his many amateur and exhibition
titles, he had 27 professional tour victories that included two Majors; the U.S.
Open in 1927, the PGA championship in 1929.
Never one to be singularly labeled, his career would see him earn many
titles ranging from “war hero” to “master storyteller”. His famous ‘iron-like’ hands, which were once
described as resembling a ‘bunch of bananas,’ also knew the gentle touch
required to play the violin, which he did at a concert level. Sports author Ross Goodner said of him:
"At one time or another, (Tommy Armour) was known as the greatest iron
player, the greatest raconteur, the greatest drinker and the greatest and most
expensive teacher in golf."
When I look at those old photographs of my
grandfather, I see a quiet confidence in his eyes that seems to define a
forgotten generation. The sheer effort
and determination required to get ahead - not just as a golfer, but in any
field of the depression era, is a lesson we can all benefit from today as we
consider what it is we hope to accomplish in our own lives. I wonder how clear the line between what is
‘right’ and what is ‘easy’ has been in the decisions of my past. The thought of my grandfather on that fateful
day; a man who had already attained the success and reputation as a master of
his craft, yet boldly sacrificing not only a decent score, but the entirety of
any hopes of contention in pursuit of ‘the right shot’, is one of the most
prized images I hold in my heart. To
have such a clearly defined stage by which to confront all the subtle
influences and conflicting motivations of a man’s character is a rare moment,
and I believe any good student of life can benefit from a little introspection during
trying times.
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| With friend and golf student Babe Ruth |
The ability to hold ones composure under stress is
one of the most admirable and useful traits among men, and, in the world of
golf, more valuable than anything you can buy at the pro shop. My grandfather had the kind of grit and moxy
in his soul which made him as well suited for the chaos and smoke of a
battlefield as he was for the heart pounding pressure of a 18 hole
playoff. It is a testament to the
bloodline to point out that my brother, Tommy Armour III, currently holds the PGA
record for best total score in a 4 day tournament. What irony it is to know stubborn determination
has led two Armours - a generation apart - to set two PGA records; the ‘best’ round of golf , and
the ‘worst’ hole of golf. While his
accomplishments and bravado are envious alone, it was his stubborn resolve that
I found most impressive. A single hole, nor
a single tournament, was worth changing his fundamental belief to always strive
for excellence; no matter how impossible a task it may seem.
I am not a golfer, nor am I half the things my
grandfather was, but I have always been a good student. Above all the great titles he held, ‘teacher’
is the one that has forever attached itself to his legacy. When I think of the
collective gasps of the crowd as they watched him set the world record for ‘worst
hole in golf history,’ I am reminded of ‘The Road Not Taken,’ by Robert Frost.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
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Somewhere ages and ages hence:
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Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
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I took the one less traveled by,
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And that has made all the difference.
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It is widely understood that Frost meant his
decision to take the path of the few had lead him to a different destination
than those who took the more popular route, but I disagree. He tells us this with a ‘sigh’, as if to say the
decisions of our past do not weight on one or two diversions through the woods
– we will end up at the same clearing given the lengthy stroll of our
lives. Rather, it is the willingness to
diverge – the scars we gain by foraging on through the thicket of our doubts
and fears that will define us in the twilight of our lives.
As in life, the ‘right thing to do’ can be an
inconvenient observation. It might be
the knowledge that we must sacrifice for a greater good, or for the deeply instilled
instinct of ‘self-preservation’. Most
men can shake it off in the name of ‘practicality.’ Most men want to make par –
not to risk a comfortable life for the slim chance of a glorious one. Most men quit when they know they cannot win,
or abandoned their principles in times of great struggle. Most of us
compromise, some more than others. Most men, however, are not legends.
Dr. M. Wayne article in HKgolf: http://www.hkgolfer.com/features/tommy-armour-greatest
Ed Dixon ebook chapter: https://sites.google.com/site/eddixonhome/ed-s-ebook/chapter-7-tommy-armour-the-iron-master
