 Hello there. This is Jimmy Powers coming your way with another story from The Tumult and the Shouting. There, this is Jimmy Powers transcribed with another chapter from the Grantland Rice story, The Tumult and the Shouting. Last time we were with Bobby Jones from early childhood when, as a seven-year-old, he started swinging a battered old mashy iron in his native town of Atlanta, Georgia. We learned of his early fight to conquer a hot temper and another struggle to tame an over-enthusiastic appetite, two factors that had militated against Jones's winning his first United States open title until 1923. We then traveled with Bobby through the fat years from 1923 through 1930 when he won the Big Four, both the open anameter crowns in America and England. Today we travel with Granny Rice and Bobby Jones from 1930 until Rice's farewell in 1954. So, with a warm salute to the every-young spirit of Grantland Rice, I take up The Tumult and the Shouting and pick up the narrative in first person. The year 1930 was a memorable one for Jones. He won the Grand Slam or, as the late George Trevor wrote, he stormed the impregnable quadrilateral of golf. I'll give odds here and now that it will never happen again. The day before that 1930 ammeter at Marion, I played around with Bob. He was in fine mental form. Walking down the seventh or eighth fairway, Bob became expansive. Granny, he said, I've suffered at this game a lot of years. Among other things, I've discovered a man must play golf by feel, the hardest thing in the world to describe, but the easiest thing in the world to sense when you have it completely. Today, I have it completely. I don't have to think of anything, just meet the ball. More interesting perhaps was the manner in which Jones handled the great mobs who swarmed after him during his tournaments. Bob could have gotten away with vanities and eccentricities, but once he had conquered his temper of those early days, Jones always behaved as if he were just another golfer. His rivals were confounded by his regard for their feelings. The first word that came to Tommy Armour's mind in describing Jones was considerate. For one who exerted so compelling a magnetism over American sports of those golden twenties, Jones galvanized himself into an exceptionally restrained performer. He did not dramatize himself like Tilden or Hagan. He made no appeal to the primitive human emotions like Dempsey. He was no happy extrovert like Ruth. His stupendous popularity apparently rested on a combination of clean boyish looks plus a skill so apparent it needed no showboating. When Jones returned to golf as host for the Masters Tournament at Augusta in 1934, his concentration and determination, his old keenness, were no longer with him. He could still go out and murder Parr on occasion in friendly play at so much a side. But that shot or mental discipline so paramount in championship play had fled. In 1936, when I covered the Olympic Games at Berlin, Bob and Mary Jones joined kitten me aboard the Europa. We wanted to revisit England and Scotland before the Games. I knew Bob was popular, sure, but I had no idea his name had spread so far. It had been six years since his retirement. He hadn't been in Europe since 1930. At Glen Eagles, Bob had a hankering to play St Andrews, the scene of two of his greatest British victories, the 27 open and the 30 amateur. He phoned over and said he would be on hand the next morning, asking the St Andrews pro not to tell anyone he was coming. That pro swears on a stack of Scottish Bibles that he told no one. But when Bob stepped on the first tee at nine o'clock the next morning, at least 5,000 were present. They came swarming in like locusts. By the time he reached the 18th green up at the ancient clubhouse, at least 10,000 spectators were on hand. Later, after watching the Games at Berlin for several weeks, Bob, Mary and Kit went on. Whenever they stopped Munich, Vienna and Budapest, where Bob played a round or two, it was the same. Flowers for the ladies and receptions and dinners. According to Kit, you'd have thought a king was making the tour. For nearly 50 years, young Bob Jones has afforded me a host of worthwhile copy, more important, a glorious warmth of companionship. May we continue to travel the same path from here to eternity. And now this is Jimmy Powers once again, folks. You've been listening to Granny's experiences with the great Bobby Jones. Now you're about to hear from the Emperor himself. Bob, it's wonderful having you aboard Granny Rice's Life Safari. I wouldn't miss it, Jimmy. After all, Granny and I shared much over great many years, not only in golf, but in life as well. You see, Granny and my father were close friends. Matter of fact, they played baseball against each other. My father fought for Mercer University and Granny for Vanderbilt. And later, Granny came to Atlanta, the right sports for the Atlanta Journal. But when did the association become a real friendship? In 1916, when I was 14, I won the Georgia State Amateur Championship, winning over Perry Adair in the final. This apparently caused Mr. George Adair, Perry's father and my dad, to decide that we should pray in the national amateur championship. So Perry and I went up to the Marion Golf Club near Philadelphia under the aegis of Mr. Adair. And on our first day there, we had a game with Granny, who was then working out of New York. In 1917, Perry and I were chosen on a team of 10 amateurs to take part in some worried leaf matches around New York. And Grant took us in to live with him and his apartment on Riverside Drive. I think that experience gave me my first inkling of Granny's genius. I couldn't understand then, and I still don't understand how he could write those columns with the wonderfully sensitive voice, while Kate, his wife, and that daughter front she was in a little girl, and Perry and I were all making noise around the room having a real gay time. Finally though, I think even Grant had to give up. One night he took us all out to Coney Island and put us through everything at least twice. I could have cared to help loving a guy like that. He made himself my age then, and we stayed the same age the rest of his life. When later I'm married, he and Kate and Mary and I took up without missing a step. But you know, Jimmy, it's all pretty much there in his book. I know, Bob, but it's nice to hear you tell it. Bobby Jones, your last major competition as such, was in 1930. How much golf have you played in the intervening 25 years? Well, Jimmy, I played a lot of golf as long as I was physically able. Most of it was informal stuff, except from the annual appearance in Augusta. But I did manage to get in a number of exhibition matches for various charities. As a matter of fact, the last full round of golf I played was in one of these matches at Highlands, North Carolina, where I played with my friends Dick Garrington, Dorothy Kirby, and Louis Suggs. Incidentally, all three of them beat me quite handily. Soon after the match I had just mentioned, which was in 1948, I had some surgery on my spine that had not been able to play golf since. But I think you know that golf is still a very large part of my life, and that I keep very intimately in contact with all phases of golfing activity. Would you mind telling us, Bob, what makes the Augusta national course perhaps the blue ribbon championship course of America, a course that even the pros concede as tops? Of course, Jimmy, the Augusta national is a very fine golf course. Been throughout the almost 25 years of the existence of the course, we have been able to improve it constantly from year to year. We have had some good advice in Augusta, both from professional golf course architects like Perry Maxwell and Robert Trent Jones, and also from the best players in the country, both professional and amateur, who come there each year for the Masters Tournament. I think, however, that the Masters Tournament itself has achieved its present stature, mainly because we have the very considerable advantage of playing the tournament on the same course year after year, and of having the same able and experienced organization to conduct the tournament. Also because of this fact, we can justify spending a good part of our receipts for the construction of permanent improvements, which have much to do with the convenience of players and spectators alike. I know that Granny Rice loved the Masters, not only as a pure golf tournament, but as a big reunion with so many, including you and Ty Cobb, Walter Hagan, and a parade of other stars. Well, Jimmy, I traveled many thousands of miles with Grant Rice. Every way Granny went, he had a myriad of friends. Among them were all the top people in the various sports. They all loved and trusted him, and he was always kind, understanding, and faithful to their trust. They were all eager to give him stories, and he never let any one of them down. As you know, Grant developed a new kind of sport column, interspersed with remarkable voice that made his byline famous throughout the sports-loving world. But there was something else much more than that. The final answer, I think, as to why Granny was such a great sportswriter, was that he was a world champion human being. That's beautifully said, Bobby Jones. Thank you very much. And now, fans, this is Jimmy Power saying, so long until next time.