If we are to accept that the information age had its introduction in the late 1940s, then we can unequivocally say that Clifford Roberts was ahead of the curve at his beloved Masters Tournament.
That’s because in 1941 – six years before the transistor helped usher in the information age – Roberts introduced a state-of-the-art “phone plan” that he instituted so as to keep his patrons as informed as possible with leaderboard news.
“Golf fans have always suffered many inconveniences by comparison with the patrons of tennis, baseball, and football,” Roberts told reporters before that year’s Masters.
Now Roberts’ “phone plan” might make you chuckle with its primitive blueprint, but remember, it was 83 years ago. Should you have an open mind, likely you can see the marvel of Roberts’ plan. He spread out six listening posts throughout the course and they were manned by volunteers who would get score updates on groups passing by. This information was taken back to various listening posts, all of which were connected by an underground phone system. Scores and updates traveled from post to post. Patrons could then stop by any listening post and get leaderboard updates.
And just how did news of these listening posts become a discovery? The joy of digging into archives, is how.
Now what cannot be argued is that diving into a rabbit’s hole is the best when the topic is the Masters. Search for news about any Masters, any year, and the rewards are endless.
Listening posts, for instance. Or how about the 1964 Masters where Deane Beman, only nine months removed from his second U.S. Amateur championship, got an audience to talk about the golf ball going too far.
“There are a lot of great players here for the Masters but I don’t see how anybody can beat Jack Nicklaus,” said Beman.
Someone did beat Nicklaus in ’64 – guy named Arnold Palmer – but The Golden Bear did concede even he was in awe of how far he drove it at the 530-yard, par-5 15th. Not convinced he had it driven it so far that he could hit 8-iron for his second shot, Nicklaus talked himself into a 7-iron. He flushed it over the green.
There was a curious one four years later when Palmer was set to play Round 1 when officials told him that his ball of choice made by the Arnold Palmer Golf Company was declared to be non-conforming. With no time to debate the issue, Palmer switched, but he pursued the issue after his 72.
On Friday, Palmer got word from officials that the decision had been rescinded. “Fine, I can play my own ball,” Palmer said. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have, because a 79 left him outside the cut.
Perusing the archives of 1938 to scour for more news on Ralph Guldahl – because who doesn’t have a bigger appetite about an unheralded great? – what popped into view was a story about the iconic Bobby Jones floating out the possibility he’d return to competition if rules were relaxed.
“If the USGA would make all former Open champions eligible for the championship, I would like nothing better than to have another go at the boys,” said Jones at the Masters.
Players wasted little time in voicing their support. “There never was a greater player or a greater sportsman,” said Denny Shute and Johnny Revolta added, “What a break it would be for golf.”
Alas, the US Golf Association did not agree and Jones never did return to play anything but his Masters.
There are many times when your search of the archives is derailed by wandering eyes that catch a glance of something off-topic. Like the March 23, 1934 search that was circled because it was the very first round of what was called the Augusta National Invitation Tournament.
Efforts to read about first-round co-leaders Jimmy Hines and Emmet French ran into a detour when a headline mentioned the “Red Sox” and “Babe Didrikson.” Officially intrigued, the story was immediately read and curiosity was answered. Legendary and fascinating, the Babe pitched the first inning for St. Louis, gave up three runs, and that was that.
Onward went the search for more Masters stories.
Such as when, 27 years before another Tiger erupted on the Augusta scene to usher in a new era for professional golf, Sukree Onsham of Thailand delighted the media at the 1970 Masters. Sukree Onsham stood 5-foot-2 and was playfully nicknamed the “Toy Tiger.” When he posed next to 6-foot-6 Masters champion George Archer, photographers smiled. When he said that members of the Royal Bangkok Sports Club raised $10,000 to help finance his trip, reporters noted it feverishly.
These are the international stories that have forever intrigued a press corps that has always been accommodated at the Masters. Part of that relationship is owed to the unique stature of the iconic Grantland Rice.
A charter member of Augusta National Golf Club, Rice was not only the most heralded sportswriter of his time, but he counted Roberts and Jones among his closest friends. Cool, very cool then, the story that jumped off the pages of an archives search from the late 1930s.
It seems Roberts and Jones wanted to toast Rice’s fourth consecutive victory in an annual golf outing with an artists and writers organization. “As equally important (as Jones’ 1930) Grand Slam,” wrote Roberts in his book The Story of the Augusta National Golf Club.
So when he arrived in Augusta the week before the Masters began, Rice was greeted by a band, a welcoming committee led by Roberts and Jones, and it was capped off by a motorcade to the mayor’s home for mint juleps.
Royal treatment, for sure. But here’s the rub: Minus the band and the motorcade for mint juleps, the media treatment remains invigorating and impeccably civil. And, as always, the Masters will provide the best fodder for those who chase into the archives.
