Sport: King of the Links

Sport in general had slumped to an alltime, wartime low. The outstanding exception was professional golf—and its star of stars. The quality of competition in other sports had fallen off, but in golf the steady competition of par was the same as ever. Against that unwavering opponent, John Byron Nelson had proved himself not only the athlete of the year but one of the greatest golfers ever.

Through 65 competitive rounds he had the best long-pull score in the history of the game: an 18-hole average of 69.26, With five tourneys still to go, he had almost doubled the money-winning record of $19,534.49 established by Sammy Snead in 1938. Byron Nelson was the perfect pro, and occasional lapses with his putter merely proved that he was human.

Last week, after puffing up his earnings with three one-reel shorts for Columbia (King of the Fairways, The Iron-Masters, Chips and Putts), Byron Nelson called time out. He tossed his clubs aside, resigned as pro at Toledo’s swank Inverness Club, and headed for the Pacific North west and several weeks of hunting and fishing. The softspoken, 32-year-old Texan had better control over his nerves, as well as his shots, than ever before, but he needed a rest. He would play no more tournaments until the Portland (Ore.) Open, starting Nov. 23.

Under Fire. Byron Nelson is 4-F (hemophilia); his 165 lbs. look almost gaunt on his 6-ft. frame; his stomach is nervous and jumpy. There are chinks in his temperamental armor:

¶ Riding from hotel to golf course on a tournament tour, he invariably prefers and gets a seat beside the driver ; he is too nervous to ride in the back seat.

¶ A nonsmoker, he works off his pent-up energy in little restless gestures and movements, like a race horse.

¶ He never goes through the ritual of addressing the ball, without preliminary ado just steps up and hits it; he figures that he would lose about 25% of his effectiveness if he stopped to fiddle and fuss.

Nelson consistently produces his best shots when best shots are needed. In a pinch, his hands and nerves are steady. His slips come on the easy ones, after he eases up.

Off the tee, the Texan uses a full, natural swing (it appears less than a full swing only because he brings his hands back high above his right ear) and drives an average 265 yards straight down the middle. But his magic touch lies with the irons. He regulates his swing in clocklike fashion, using the same amount of punch each time, getting different distance by lengthening or shortening his backswing. Once he knows the range, he can drop ball after ball dead on the pin. (He could equip a caddy with a baseball glove and pitch iron shots to him on the first bounce.) His one weakness is with the putter. He is inclined to stroke a short putt too hard, and is more likely to sink a 20-footer than a three-footer. He knows and bemoans this frailty, but a bad session on the greens never fails to ruffle his manufactured composure.

At Spokane two months ago, Nelson missed three two-foot putts and thereby lost $3,500 top prize money in the P.G.A. Championship. Next morning on the plane to Chicago he could neither rest nor eat. But just before reaching Chicago he got his grip back, casually mentioned that he would win his next three tournaments. He made good on that 100-to-1 shot—by adding Chicago’s rich Tarn O’ Shanter tournament (value, $13,462.50), the Nashville Invitation ($2,400) and the Dallas Open ($2,000) to his year’s victories.

Umbrella Salesman. Easy-mannered Byron Nelson has come a long way since he worked as a clerk for the Fort Worth & Denver City Railroad, practicing golf in the evenings, before the depression knocked him out of a job. In 1932, he made his first professional golf tour and earned exactly $12.50. This year, with his average of 3.85 strokes a hole, he has picked up #39,875 in war-bond prizes, worth $29,906.25 in cash.

When the Golfer of Golfers ends his vacation next month, he will start on a new, part-time job as vice president and good-will salesman for Toledo’s Haas-Jordon Co., makers of umbrellas. He is no green hand at selling. Ty Cobb once invited him to his Palo Alto home, hoping for an expert golf lesson, instead found himself teaching Nelson how to slide into second base.