 This is Jimmy Powers ready to bring you another story from the tumult and the shouting. Hi there, this is Jimmy Powers with another transcribed Grantlin Rice story taken from the tumult and the shouting. Today's story is entitled, Bantam Ben Hogan, and I'd like to narrate it in first person. The first time I saw Hogan around 1937, he was practicing a wedge shot some 90 yards from the pin. He had been there an hour. He stayed much longer, placing the ball in good lies and bad. He hit many close to the cup inches away. What I want to do, he said, is to make a habit of hitting them all close to the cup. Golf or winning golf should be the habit of hitting every ball well. There is no reason to miss a shot. After he once hit his stride and on through to the present moment, Hogan has, I believe, hit fewer bad shots over a period of years than any other golfer. He is practically always putting for a par or a birdie, more often for a birdie. This didn't help Ben too much when he wasn't putting too well, so he started to work on his putting, and you'd find him at it hour after hour, month after month. There was a time around 1946 when I thought Ben was verging on serious trouble, the kind that could become a habit. It was the missed short put. In April of 1946, Hogan came to the last hole at the Augusta National with a four to tie the leader for the title in the Masters. He hit a magnificent drive. His iron also hit the pin and stopped just 12 feet beyond the cup. He rimmed the cup with a three, but the ball drifted 18 inches below. Then he missed this one for his four. About two months later at Canterbury the same thing happened. Again he needed a four to tie for the U.S. Open. Again a great drive, a great iron second, another 12 feet for a three to win. Once again the ball drifted by 18 inches. Once again he missed coming back. Here were two three put greens on final holes that cost him his big chance in two major tournaments, the Masters and the U.S. Open. Two experiences of that nature might have wrecked many golfers since bad mistakes repeated are likely to come back and haunt you. They didn't haunt Hogan. He merely brushed them aside, although they cost him two tournaments he would rather have won than any others in golf. I was at the Los Angeles Open in 1950 and heard Hogan had just arrived, but I had no idea he would play. As I understood things he was still a cripple from that near fatal auto smash-up months earlier. Hogan played brilliantly although his leg veins were still sutured and tied up at various nuts. Photographers swarmed all over him and he protested bitterly. They finally reached an agreement. Late on the last day of the tournament I sat with his wife Valerie for a while and then with Ben. He seemed completely safe. He was four strokes ahead of Sammy Snead with only four left for the lean Virginian. Sammy spoiled it by finishing with four birdies and winning the subsequent playoff. At the 1951 Open Championship, held at Marion just outside Philadelphia, I ran into Hogan two days before the championship. How are things? I asked. I knew his legs were not too good. I knew he wasn't back in shape. I knew he was worried about that 36-hole finish. This is a tough course, Ben said. It can't be attacked. You must play defensive golf here. What do you mean, I said? The greens are fast and hard. You can't make a ball bite. The pins are placed in front of traps or just back of the traps. I won't play for any pin here. I'll play for the middle of the green or away from all traps and then depend on two putts to get down. In his final round, Ben was near collapse at the 14th hole. He had to play 36 holes that final Saturday. After his legs refused to carry him any farther, his mind walked him home. He barely finished winding up in a triple tie with Mangrum and George Fasio. Valerie and the doctor worked on his crippled legs until 4 a.m. But he had enough left to win the next day the most remarkable finish I've seen in golf. But Hogan's third stand at Oakland Hills, Detroit, in June 1951 in the Open, with no physical handicap to consider, was just as fine a deed as even Hogan has yet brought about. For his final round was a magical matter of concentration and determination that has never been equaled before in golf. In this last round, Hogan proved again the tremendous hold he has upon head, heart, nerves, and physical structure. He had started badly in his first round over a course that had them all in a day. He hadn't been much better his second round. In his third round, he practically had the tournament won after the first 12 holes. He was then three under par, at which spot he suddenly blew wide open and finished four over par on the last six holes. So there was the job to be done all over once more. Knowing the length and killing penalties at Oakland Hills, it seemed impossible that under such a severe strain and such a killing test, anyone could possibly in Hogan's place have fired a par equaling 70. A 70 wouldn't have done Hogan any good. He would have lost his title by a stroke to Clayton Hefner. Here was a golf course where one was dead sure that par might not be equaled in any round that par would never be broken. But in this final and deciding fourth round with the pressure at its roughest, Hogan not only shot a 67 but finished his last nine in 32 strokes. His 32 on the final nine at Oakland Hills ending with a birdie three on the 459 yard last hole was certainly the most spectacular final nine holes any golf championship has ever known. He carved out that course with his mind, not his body. Hogan spent nearly three years in service during World War II, but when he came out in the fall of 45, he exited with a rush. Since 1946, the little man with the ice green eyes has won nine major titles, including two PGA championships, four opens, two masters, and the British Open at Carnoustie Scotland in the summer of 1953. Six of these, he won his first open in 48 and two professional titles in 46 and 48, have been one since the slim Indian Irish ex-caddy from Fort Worth was all but crushed to death in that accident. While stalking these and so many other titles, Hogan has murdered Parr in relentless fashion. Ben's score of 61 at Seminole Palm Beach in March 1954, over a course that measures more than 7,000 yards, may be his all-time best single round of golf. However, Hogan's shot making in the Masters Tournament of 1953, in which his total of 274 for 72 holes, was five strokes off the 279 record of Claude Harmon in 48, and Ralph Gouldall in 39 stands as his greatest single tournament. Hogan's toughest scrambles have been in playoffs. He was hooked up in four of these, winning but one. Ben was beaten by Sneed at Riviera Los Angeles and in the recent Masters at Augusta. He was beaten by Byron Nelson after coming from a long way back to Thai, but he won the big one at Marion in 1951. Against Nelson and Sneed at Augusta, Hogan broke Parr both times, but caught them on fast days. His last battle with Sam Sneed, a brilliant but unlucky golfer concerning the open, was spectacular. Hogan played almost perfect golf, with one exception. With a 10 or 12-foot putt to win the short 16th, he stubbed his putt, that is, he hit behind the ball, finished two feet short, and then blew the two-footer. This incident would happen to Hogan once in 10,000 times. In losing twice to Sneed, he lost to perhaps the greatest swinger of all times. Hogan's place in the parade no longer has to be proved. With four U.S. opens up to the June test of 1954, there isn't much one could add. He happens to be starring in one of the most uncertain games as far as unbroken form is concerned. Ui Kio once wrote that, Form is the brief interval between getting ready and going stale. Ben has won most of his tournaments with his head. I understand he's writing a golf book for Lowell Pratt along the line of mental golf. I won't miss it. Such great golfers as Jones, Hagan, and Sarazan will tell you that golf is 70% mental, 30% physical. Hogan is certainly the top thinker shot by shot. He rarely guesses wrong or makes the slightest mistake. One reason is that he rarely has to guess. He knows. Looking back over the golf parade, I find unnumbered memories. The brilliant Tommy Armour and his massive hands, his amazing iron play. Gene Sarazan and his 30 odd years of championship or close to championship golf. Long Jim Barnes, triple champion with the clover leaf over one ear. The famous Jock Hutchinson, the stately Craig Wood, one of the game's best. Alex Smith, three time open champion whose model was Missham Quick. Jerry Travers, one of the greatest putters that ever waved a blade. Jones and his grand slam, Hagan and his competitive fire. Bobby Cruickshank, the many turnesses. Johnny Farrell, great iron shots for birdies that won a title. Short putts that missed by a hair and cost a title. I can still see most of them. But through these memories shines a light like no other I've seen while swinging along through a half century of golf. Through his complete dedication to his sport, Hogan has built in himself that more of everything, particularly brains, it takes to win than any golfer I ever saw. Well, that's it for today. Now this is Jimmy Powers transcribe saying until next we meet. Hasta la vista.