Legendary Atlanta Journal-Constitution columnist Furman Bisher had a love affair with the Masters like no other sporting event. Bisher died March 18, 2012 at the age of 93 having covered 62 of the 75 Masters tournaments. In his honor, we'll run excerpts of columns he wrote from previous Masters each day this week. Today's column looks at Arnold Palmer's victory in 1964.
Arnold Palmer appears to have a core of steel lightly wound with piano wire. There’s a firmness in his face that gives promise of strength, resolution and unbridled spirit.
Therefore, no one ever thinks of the man having a personal doubt, least of all about the mechanics of his game of golf.
When he attacks a course, the course quivers and falls back in terror.
Yet, when all the troops were in Sunday afternoon at Augusta National Golf Club — the fat women in tight shorts, the lean, slinky ones who had come to be seen, and the weary devotees, who walk in spikes and squirm for viewing position, all in common retreat until another year and Palmer has been carefully wrapped in another green coat — the great champion of the Masters at last admitted that he had been a man in serious doubt when he teed off Thursday.
This would come as a severe shock to those who gleefully stampeded the course under the heading of “Arnie’s Army.” Self-doubt, fear, uncertainty and jitters are normal human frailties they’ve never associated with Arnold Palmer.
“I’ve got a lot of friends among newspapermen,” he said, “close friends. They ask me questions, but there are times when I can’t tell even them what the true story is.
“I’ll confess now that when the tournament started, I was just hopeful. I wasn’t sure of anything. I hadn’t been winning any tournaments. Then I’d quit smoking, and I was nervous and jittery trying to putt.
“So when I teed off here four days ago, I just wasn’t sure what to expect. It was like taking out a plane with a new set of spark plugs.” ...
Take the case of Jack Nicklaus, young, broad as a Guernsey, strong as old cheese.
Nicklaus had come back to defend his title with neither age, the discomforts brought on by a non-smoking pledge, nor any other mental encumbents plaguing him.
He had not given a ball a joyful ride until the last round, but Sunday afternoon he came down the stretch with mane flying and hooves clopping.
The Nicklaus of ’64 was a four-stroke improvement over the Nicklaus of ’63, but the Golden Bear would prefer the ’63 model.
That Nicklaus was a winner. This Nicklaus was four strokes better, but six strokes worse than the doubting, uncertain, insecure Palmer. ...
Occasionally a raucous voice would ring out, “Go git ’em Arnie!” Or a shriek. Or a shrill whistle.
Just about that time, out of the clubhouse came a mild-mannered young man wearing glasses and carrying a small valise, accompanied by a portlier man hurrying behind. They were unattended, unbesieged by autograph collectors. Davis Love Sr. and Jr. were leaving, only the glory of a first-day tie for the lead remaining. Now he had been left 20 strokes to the rear.
“Well,” said Love Sr., as they hurried along, his coat over his arm, “it turned out to real pretty day after all, didn’t it, son?”
> Bisher: When amateur Ken Venturi's chase fell short in 1956 Masters
> READ More of sportswriter Furman Bisher's best and most beloved columns
