Ben Hogan, among others, considered Bill Mehlhorn (1898-1988) one of the finest ball-strikers they had ever seen. Mehlhorn’s most prestigious victory was in the 1924 Western Open at the Calumet Country Club (Chicago area). At that time, the Western Open was one of the most important championships in the country. In the U.S. Open play between 1922 and 1931 he finished third three times, fourth twice, and in the top 15 on three other occasions. Ultimately, it was his putting that held him back.

A first-rank swing theorist, as his eventful life drew to a close, Mehlhorn moved his family to Miami, Florida; where he was teaching golfers at the Fontainebleau Golf Course. That course served as a practice or home venue for the Florida International University (FIU) golf team. It was there that I first met Mr. Mehlhorn. He was a close associate of our Golf Coach Bob Shave. Mehlhorn and Shave wrote the book, Golf Secrets Exposed, in the early 1980s to summarize Mehlhorn’s golf secrets and insight.

William Earl Mehlhorn was born in Elgin, Illinois, on December 2, 1898. His German-born father was a brick-layer and moved the family to Glencoe, a suburb of Chicago, to provide them a better life.

In the spring of 1909, ten-year-old Bill got into golf because some of his school chums talked about caddying. At Skokie Country Club, he found within the club’s pristine grounds a new world of almost-addictive fun. For his first eighteen holes as a bag-toter, the youngster was paid thirty cents. He said, “Three dimes. It was like a million dollars.”

From day one the game of golf intrigued him and he developed in it very fast. Mehlhorn said, “I had a knack for it.” He continued, “But my [approach to] golf might be different than anybody else’s, because baseball was my first love. And everything I teach in golf is the same as hitting a baseball.” Throwing underhanded across the body, or sidearmed, is the way you should swing a golf club.

Melhorn believed that there is only one thing that helps everybody play golf, and it can be used in every solitary thing that takes movement. He famously said, “Muscles and joints at ease in their movements, that’s the secret to the golf game. There should not be any intention of hardening any muscle or joint. And the elbow joint is the most important [one] we have.” He continued, “And every doctor will tell you that the harder you make your muscles, the less you can move. So why should there be any intentional hardening of the muscles, which is promoted by the word “firm”? I contradict the use of that word in golf, completely.

The experienced, wise figure added, “Another thing I contradict in golf theories is one-piece action. There’s too many pieces moving. A smart person will say that the pieces move independently but in unison. Another thing I’m against is full extension. Full extension is stretching. You’re retarding something when you stretch it.”

Golf swing instructions have been explained in numerous ways since the ancient game reached our shores from Scotland in the 1880s. Top instructors and PGA Tour players often emphasize different, sometimes contradictory, feel-based or technical methods to achieve consistent ball striking.

I found the following section of an interview that my father had with Senior Editor Bill Fields of Golf Illustrated Magazine in February 1988 to be both interesting and thought-provoking. Take a look:

THE TOP TEACHERS TALK

Q & A

Golf Illustrated: There seems to be a lot of reference in current golf instruction to baseball. Bill Mehlhorn talked about it always, and still does.

Jack Grout: Bill had a lot of technique. But I couldn’t learn anything from him because he didn’t hold on to the club any more than a little child would. The club was flying around in his hands.

Golf Illustrated: You don’t believe in a light, feathery grip?

Jack Grout: You don’t want to grip the club like it was your last dollar. But you don’t let it flop around.

The “Wild Bill” of the PGA Tour

Two distinctive things about Bill Mehlhorn: His hats and his putting/chipping yips. The “Wild Bill” nickname was after Wild Bill Hickok, the cowboy who was murdered while playing cards. Mehlhorn was an enthusiastic tabletop games player and often played (cards, checkers and golf) in hats. Sometimes, especially early in his career, that was a cowboy hat. Sometimes it was a safari hat or a fedora. Often there was a cigarette dangling from his lips.

In An Oral History of American Golf by Al Barkow, Mehlhorn is quoted as saying, “My nickname, “Wild Bill,” has nothing to do with me having any kind of temper, as a lot of people have thought. I’ll tell you, Leo Diegel gave me the name “Oklahoma Bill” when I went to Tulsa in 1920. It stands to reason. Then we had a cyclone and he changed it to “Cyclone Bill.” I tried to stop that wild stuff, because I thought it hurt my image, but that’s what made it stick, trying to fight it. The nickname had nothing to do with temperament, but with my shooting some impossible scores.”

As for his golf game: Mehlhorn was acknowledged in his time as a great golfer tee-to-green. His problem was in the short game, particularly putting. He had the yips, even if the term “the yips” wasn’t yet common. Mehlhorn got so nervous over some putts that those watching could see his hands twitch.

In 1934, Bobby Jones wrote about his own issues with occasional nerviness while putting, but held up Mehlhorn as the best (or is that worst?) example. Jones wrote about watching Mehlhorn attempt a 3-foot putt, only to twitch so badly in the attempt that he knocked the ball across the green and into a bunker.

Paul Runyan, in his 1963 Book for Senior Golfers, connected Mehlhorn’s yips to his nickname by writing that “Wild Bill” “was a nickname that fitted only his short game.”

Paul Runyan, who had one of the all-time great short games, told this story about Mehlhorn:

“Bill was a hardy soul, somehow able to stand the ruin of these sudden wristy putting and chipping lapses spread through otherwise superlative rounds. But at any time his wrists might snap uncontrollably and would send the ball almost anywhere. These twitches happened sometimes right next to the hole. I once saw him carry an 8-foot putt past the cup on the fly, to run 15 feet or so off the green.”

Jack Grout, who played on the PGA Tour from 1931 through 1949, told this story about Mehlhorn:

“Bill set tongues wagging during the third round of the 1936 Santa Catalina Open. Twice “Wild Bill” hit the ball while it was moving, this rules violation costing him two strokes each time. On top of that, during a weather delay at the tournament, ‘all hell broke loose’ as Jimmy Demaret and Mehlhorn squared off in a game of checkers. ‘It was a bad, rainy day,’ Dad said, “and this Mehlhorn was a whale of a checkers player. But ol’ Jimmy beat him bad. I remember one game where Mehlhorn sat back and just said, ‘It can’t be done,’ but Jimmy had him all right.” It was a good thing, too, because Demaret won enough money from Mehlhorn to pay the hotel bill for himself and me.”

Mehlhorn’s tee-to-green game had to be exceptional with such short game issues, and when he had a decent week with the putter Mehlhorn was around the lead. Today Bill Mehlhorn is credited with 19 official PGA Tour wins, the same number as Ben Crenshaw, Ernie Els, Doug Ford, Hubert Green and Tom Kite — all Hall of Famers. At the time of his 19th win in 1930, Mehlhorn’s career total would have ranked in the All-Time Top 10.

Bill Mehlhorn’s PGA Tour Victories:

1923 Oklahoma Open
1924 Western Open
1926 Long Beach Open
1926 South Central Open
1926 South Florida Open Championship
1926 Santa Clara Valley Open
1926 San Jose Open
1927 San Jose Open
1928 Long Beach Open (tie with Leo Diegel)
1928 Texas Open
1928 Richmond Open
1928 Montauk Open
1928 Westchester Open
1928 Hawaiian Open
1929 El Paso Open
1929 Texas Open
1929 South Central Open
1929 Metropolitan Open
1930 La Gorce Open

William “Wild Bill” Mehlhorn was 90 years old when he died on April 5, 1989 in Miami, Florida. He is a member of the Metropolitan PGA Hall of Fame and the Elgin (Illinois) Sports Hall of Fame.

Tom Watson was center stage in golf’s most beautiful theater. Here he was on the 17th tee of the Pebble Beach Golf Links – a course a he treasured, a course he stole away to as a Stanford University student, a course he knew defined great players – with the 1982 U.S. Open championship within his reach.

It was a gray Sunday at Pebble Beach, but the atmosphere was electric. Watson was tied for the lead with the mighty Jack Nicklaus with two holes to play. Nicklaus was sitting in the scorer’s tent, finishing with a 69, his fate in Watson’s hands.

With the tee markers only a few paces up from the farthest possible setting and the pin tucked as far back and left as possible, Watson struck his 2-iron trying to find any piece of the small target. When the ball finished in the gnarly rough off the left side of the green, leaving Watson a chip he would do well to get within 10 feet of the hole, Jack Nicklaus was feeling pretty good about his chances.

After assessing the shot, Watson took his stance. His waggle was as smooth as it was abbreviated. Then, he opened the face of his Wilson Dyna-Powered “Fluid Feel” sand wedge, and took the club back with a little extra cock to the right wrist. His ball, a Golden Ram No. 1, came out as high and soft as standard-issue human nerves would allow. The ball took two bounces and then started to roll like a putt. It broke to the right as it tracked towards the hole, Watson moved to his left to get a better view. When the ball was about a foot from the hole, he knew it was in.

On that Sunday afternoon, my wife and I were visiting my parents at their home in Dublin, Ohio. Dad and I were in the den watching the tournament. When Watson’s shot went in the hole, my father leaped out of his favorite chair and raised his right leg to seemingly kick the television screen. While he didn’t actually follow through with his shoe, he did say something like “the little SOB robbed him again!”

With one of the most dramatic shots in golf history Watson had once again caught lightning in a bottle! The shot and the United States Open title were made immeasurably grander by his defeat of the legendary Nicklaus and by the grandeur of the setting. To win it at Pebble Beach, a course that Nicklaus himself cherished and championed, was to win at the very pinnacle of golf in America.

NICKLAUS, EXPRESSION DRAINED FROM HIS FACE, STARED AT THE MONITOR. “I CAN’T BELIEVE HE DID IT AGAIN.”

This was the fourth time Nicklaus had been runner-up in the United States Open. It was also the fourth time Watson had beaten him for a major championship. Watson held off Nicklaus in the 1977 and 1981 Masters Tournament. In the 1977 British Open at Turnberry, Scotland, Watson beat Nicklaus in their “Duel in the Sun”- one of the greatest head-to-head matches in the history of golf. They shot identical scores the first three days: 68, 70, 65. During the final round Watson made an extraordinary 60-foot putt on the 16th green for the ultimate 1-stroke advantage. He finished with a round of 65 to Nicklaus’s 66.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s quote “Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognizes genius” is from the novel “The Valley of Fear.” He was a Scottish writer and physician best known for creating the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes.

Doyle’s quote reflects the idea that individuals with exceptional talent or genius recognize and appreciate excellence in others, while those with a mediocre mindset may struggle to perceive or acknowledge it. While this notion may or may not be entirely accurate. The fact is that talent incorporates hard work, skill and knowledge. Talented people are sharply honed and tuned instruments built from years of dedication, study and experience.

Suffice it to say, Jack Grout had that talent for recognizing ability or promise in others.

(This newspaper article is positioned below for better visibility and readability)

Look for Snead to Top Jones’ Records: Grout

By Frank Tolbert
Star-Telegram Sports Writer
Fort Worth Star-Telegram, Wednesday, December 29, 1937, Page 8

While smoking practice drives down the fairway at Glen Garden yesterday, Jack Grout suggested between grunts that in Slamming Sammy Snead of White Sulphur Springs, W. Va., we have the greatest golfer in the world about to visit us.

“He murders the ball. He has all of the shots and the perfect golfing temperament. He should break all of Bobby Jones’ records. Wait until you see Saturday,” said Grout. And then he swung and the ball pinged on straight flight into the mist that lay about the course.

Grout teams with Snead in an 18-hole best-ball match with two more of the top-whisker pros of the Nation, Henry Picard of Hershey, Pa., and Johnny Revolta, the Lincolnesque young man from Chicago, at Colonial Club Saturday afternoon.

They will swing off the first tee at 2 o’clock.

Picard is driving here from Hershey. Snead and Revolta will come by forced marches from the tournament closing Wednesday at Hollywood Beach, Fla.

Grout, who is visiting his brother, Dick Grout, at Glen Garden, last appeared in the tournament at Nassau, Bahamas, finishing fourth. Jack is assistant to Picard at Hershey’s four courses.

Jack is wearing a saddle-colored tan from the Bahamas sun. And he should keep it. For he will leave here Sunday for the Los Angeles Open.

Almost any ranking pro golfer could soundly whip John (La Verne Moore) Montague, Grout says.

With the smoke of mystery removed, Montague has some embarrassing moments ahead. Jack places Montague in about the same golfing classification with Babe Ruth, “powerful with the woods, fairish with his irons, very clumsy on the greens.”

Jack thinks Fort Worth’s Ben Hogan will be right up in the top bracket after another year of seasoning in the big tournaments.

Grout and the other three pros will move up to Dallas for a display Sunday.

Picard and Revolta are International Four-Ball champs for the last three years. For three years they’ve been undefeated in best-ball matches.

There’ll be a gallery fee of $1.10.

“And watch Snead drive that No. 7 green at Colonial if the wind’s with him,” said Jack. No. 7 is an ornery 389-yard hole.

No. 7 made Babe Didrikson speak in annoyed and picturesque phrases early last autumn.

January 1, 1938, Johnny Revolta, Henry Picard, Jack Grout and Sam Snead during their Four-Ball Match at Colonial Country Club in Fort Worth, Texas

Fred Scobie Ridley (born August 16, 1952) in Lakeland, Florida is an American amateur golfer and golf administrator who won the U.S.G.A. Amateur Championship in 1975, was elected president of the United States Golf Association (USGA) in 2004, and then became chairman of Augusta National Golf Club in 2017.

Ridley was introduced to golf by his father, Claude, a citrus grower and later assistant superintendent of schools in Polk County. Claude once recalled to a reporter “sawing off some clubs so [Fred] could knock the ball around a little when he was very tiny.” He played in his first junior tournament when he was 14. Ridley spent his early years learning the game from Jamie Jackson, the head pro at Lone Palm in Lakeland, and later he worked with PGA professionals Mike Killian and his mentor, Irv Schloss.

Fred Ridley developed into a talented golfer and played his college golf at University of Florida, where he was an alternate on the 1973 national championship-winning team. He graduated from the University of Florida’s College of Business Administration with a bachelor’s degree in marketing in 1974. He went on to earn a Juris Doctor degree from Stetson University College of Law in 1977.

“Fred was a good player in college, but not a solid player. We used to fight it out for the seventh and eighth spot on the team,” says former Gator teammate Steve Smyers. But it was a nonchalant comment Ridley heard from another of his teammates at Florida his senior year, Brad Baldwin, that would soon turn his golf game around and alter the course of his life. A friend’s simple suggestion led him to Grout.

“He had taken lessons from Jack Grout,” Ridley said. “Brad and I were going to Pinehurst for the North and South Amateur in 1974 and he said, almost flippantly, ‘I’m going to call Jack Grout and see if he’ll give us a lesson and tune us up for the North and South.'”

Ridley was stunned that his teammate could just ring up such a famous teacher, but they headed south to La Gorce Country Club in Miami Beach, Florida.

“I took two days of lessons and thought, ‘Golly, I’ve never hit it this good,'” Ridley said. Lessons from Jack Grout helped Ridley become a better driver. “I had a good short game, and the thing he did was he made me a good driver of the ball,” Ridley said. “That was always my Achilles’ heel.”

“I won two or three matches at the North and South, beat Jay Sigel (who achieved one of the more illustrious careers in the history of U.S. amateur golf), and then that summer (1975) I qualified for the U.S. Amateur.”

Ridley started law school and said his father allowed him to take the following summer off to play golf.

“That was going to be my last fling,” Ridley said. “I spent a lot of time with him (Grout) that summer at Muirfield Village Golf Club. He continued, “To be at one of the world’s great facilities with one of the best golf instructors of all times was like dying and going to golfer’s heaven … and then I won the U.S. Amateur at the end of the summer. Those other gentlemen (teachers) were great, but Jack Grout really took my game to another level.”

At the 1975 U.S. Amateur championship played at the Country Club of Virginia (James River Course) in Richmond, second-year law student Fred Ridley, played the best golf of his life. On his way to the matchplay title, he defeated the far-more heralded players and future PGA Tour winners Curtis Strange, Andy Bean and, in the final, Keith Fergus. The key to his victory was Ridley’s work with Jack Nicklaus’ lifetime teacher, Jack Grout.

Steve Smyers, who later became a member of American Society of Golf Course Architects (ASGA), and roomed with Ridley during the early stage of the amateur championship said, “We played all three practice rounds together. He was following what Jack Grout was telling him, and you could just see him hitting these great golf shots, and his game had improved dramatically. Grout had been training him to hit it hard, telling him to take a bucket of balls on the range and hit driver as hard as he could while still holding his finish position in balance. Everything was sequencing up right, and he was hitting this low draw that went forever, and straight. It was a magical week.”

At the end of 1975, Ridley was ranked the #2 amateur in the country by Golf Digest Magazine. In 1976 he won the Monroe Invitational in Pittsford, New York; one of the oldest amateur events in the country. Later that year, he competed in the British Open Championship at Royal Birkdale Golf Club in Southport, England. In addition, Ridley was selected as a member of the 1976 Eisenhower Trophy team which competed in Algarve, Portugal. In 1977 he played in the British Amateur Championship in Ganton, England. Later that year, he participated in the prestigious Walker Cup Matches held at Shinnecock Hills Golf Club, Southampton, New York, where he won two singles matches (both against Sandy Lyle).

Fred Ridley remains the last U.S. Amateur champion to have never turned professional. After Ridley’s time as a serious competitor came to an end he continued his dedication to the sport in other ways. He served as non-playing captain for the American sides of the 1987 Walker Cup, 1989 Walker Cup, and the 2010 Eisenhower Trophy. In 2004, Ridley was elected president of the United States Golf Association (USGA). He was awarded the PGA of America’s Distinguished Service Award in 2006. Later in his career he was inducted into the University of Florida Athletic Hall of Fame as a “Distinguished LetterWinner.”

Ridley became a member of Augusta National Golf Club in 2000. He served as the tournament’s Competition Committee chairman from 2007-17. On August 23, 2017, Augusta National announced that Ridley would succeed Billy Payne as chairman of the club. He took over that responsibility on October 16, 2017 when the club reopened for its 2017–18 season.

One of the more popular photos when Fred Ridley became the new chairman of Augusta National Golf Club is shown below. It features Ridley and Jack Nicklaus playing together in the 1976 Masters, the traditional pairing of the defending Masters champion and the current U.S. Amateur champion.

Personal Life
Ridley works as a commercial real estate lawyer in Tampa, Florida. He is a partner in the law firm of Foley & Lardner, and practices in the areas of commercial real estate finance and development, planned unit development, resort development, and multifamily and condominium development. He is married to the former Elizabeth (“Betsy”) Herndon, a fellow University of Florida graduate. They have three daughters and two grandchildren.

My thanks to Doug Ferguson – Golf Writer – The Associated Press for portions of this article.

A tune, a dialogue, and a painting from the mid-nineteenth century, the Arkansas Traveler became a catch-all phrase for almost anything or anyone from Arkansas. It has been the name of a kind of canoe, various newspapers, a racehorse, a baseball team, and a well-known American professional golfer whose career spanned over four decades – one of the longest in the history of The PGA Tour.

Ernest Joseph (E. J.) “Dutch” Harrison was born in Conway, Arkansas and nicknamed “The Arkansas Traveler.” Harrison turned professional in 1930 at the start of the Great Depression. In short, he took the plunge into the ultimate insecure job, touring professional golfer, at the precise moment when life on tour was at its toughest point. The early years of the Depression left 30 million people with no income at all. They were desperate people whose tolerance of crime was the highest in American history. It was Bonnie and Clyde time.

The tour in the 1930s was little more than an excuse to go gambling, if not on the course then in a hotel room dealing poker and rolling dice. My father, who joined the pro tour in December, 1931, laughed when he recounted a story about a craps game he was in with Dutch Harrison and some other pros. When it was ol’ Dutch’s turn for the “come out roll,” he reckoned that it would be lucky for him to back away from the others so he could heave the dice clear across the hotel room!

“It was all gambling,” said Jack Burke Jr., the 1956 Masters champion. who learned the game during the Depression from his father, a prominent Texas pro. “They had bookmakers at every tournament. They’d make more gambling with each other than there was in the purse.”

“As long as there’s been golf, there’s been gambling.

And where there is gambling, there will be hustling.”

Dutch Harrison believed the modern art of golf hustling was a product of The Great Depression. “After the stock market crash in 1929, half of the country’s 6,000 golf courses went broke,” he said. “Who’d want to become a golf pro? It was the day of the hustlers hustling the hustlers, and anyone else.”

In addition to the usual cons, down-home Harrison was known in the trade as an “oil artist.” He buttered up his opponent as a means of playing with the man’s head. “This course is built for your game, Mr. Henry – fits you perfect,” or “You’re such a great putter, Mr. Henry, I probably should concede that short putt, ’cause it’s a lead-pipe cinch you’ll make it.”

Although he was one of the better players on tour for over two decades, the mainstay of his income was the many exhibition matches and private “money” games in which he played. Adding his gambling income to his “official” prize money vaulted him into being one of the “unofficial” leading money winners in the late 1940s. Undoubtedly, Harrison won so many bets because of his gamesmanship. He would always find a way to beat you. But the stakes did not necessarily have to be high. Sam Snead recalled a day when Dutch Harrison lost a $5 bet to a player he thought was an easy mark.

“Dutch, this is really an honor,” said the man. “I’m going to frame this bill.”

Harrison grabbed it back and said, “In that case, I’ll write you a check.”

Dutch Harrison had a total of 18 career victories spanning from the 1939 Bing Crosby Pro-Am to the 1958 Tijuana Open Invitational. However, as late as 1969, Harrison had a top-25 finish in the Canadian Open at the age of 59. He played on three Ryder Cup teams: 1947, 1949, and 1951. Harrison finished nine times in the top-10 at major championships, including third place finishes at the PGA Championship in 1939 and the U.S. Open in 1960. He won the Vardon Trophy for lowest scoring average in 1954, and ranks fifth on the list of players with the most PGA Tour victories without a major championship on his resume. In 1954 Harrison became the Old Warson Country Club’s first golf professional. He died of heart failure at age 72 in 1982 in St. Louis, Missouri.

A week before final exams, during my junior year of high school, my father asked me a couple of memorable questions. In his typical nonchalant manner, he said, “Dickie, do you want to be in Golf Digest with me?” My response was a clear and unambiguous “Whaddya’ kiddin’?” Then, he asked, “Can you get out of school?” I gave him an enthusiastic, “Yes, I’m sure I can!”

As it was, my father had already written his article on junior golf for the magazine. What he wanted from me was to be his demonstration model. The photo session was scheduled on May 14-15, 1970 at La Gorce Country Club. Dad and photographer Doug Kennedy worked together to capture the various images needed to illustrate and compliment the story. My father’s feature article along with a number of photos appeared in a four-page spread in the August 1970 issue of Golf Digest magazine.

HOW TO RAISE ANOTHER NICKLAUS

Professional, La Gorce Country Club, Miami Beach, Florida

In my 44 years as a golf professional I probably have taught more than 10,000 youngsters to play the game. Many of them have gone on to considerable success as amateur and professional golfers.

But whenever my name is mentioned in a group of golfers, someone invariably refers to me as “Jack Grout, the man who taught Jack Nicklaus.”

I appreciate the many nice things Jack Nicklaus has said about me. He still comes to me when he wants to work out a problem in his swing. Jack calls me “my only golf pro.” We had a close rapport when he was a youngster of 10 taking up golf. But his great ability was developed more through his own determination than my teaching.

For instance, I first taught Jack in the summer of 1950. He worked harder than any of the 50 or so youngsters I had in my class at Scioto Country Club in Columbus, Ohio. He was always the first there and the last to leave. One of the points I made then, and still do, was that, to be a really fine player, a golfer must be willing to practice. Significantly, when it rained at Scioto, Jack was usually the only one of my juniors who’d come out to the course.

During the past two decades I’ve also had a chance to teach golf to my own sons, so many remarks are made as much from the viewpoint of a parent as from that of a golf professional. My son, Dick, reminds me a great deal of Jack – he even started at the same age. Dick is 16 now, and he has the same attitude toward practice. He hits bucket and bucket of practice balls every day. He appears to have the desire and the determination to become a fine golfer.

Dick’s older brother, John, had a fine golf swing when he was 13 or so, but later lost interest in the game and decided not to play. I didn’t try to argue him out of that decision, and I don’t think that any parent should, in similar circumstances. But now, as an adult, John has started playing again – in fact, he’s worked down to a two handicap. This is tremendously satisfying to me as a father because, in effect, it justifies my action in exposing him as a boy to a thorough grounding in the fundamentals of golf. Once a child learns the basics of the swing (or any skill, for that matter), he’ll never forget them; he can pick up his game again and play at least decently after any period of golfing inactivity or disinterest.

The best incentive to play golf that a child can initially receive is the example of one or both of his parents actively and happily (by which I particularly mean in good temper) playing the game. Unless you spend a lot of time on a golf course, as I do, your children won’t be as naturally exposed to the golfing environment as mine were. But, with very little fuss, it’s possible to involve a child in some of your practice sessions in the backyard or at the driving range. You may even be able to have the youngster trail you for a few holes during an actual round at your course, but only let him tag along while his interest lasts – don’t try to force him into your kind of commitment to the game if his interest wanders.

Golf, to appeal to very young children, has to be fun, a game – not a “must” subject like school or homework. One excellent way of increasing a child’s interest in the sport is to take him to one of the pro tournaments. Most youngsters are thrilled to watch famous sportsmen perform, and if you are able to manage an introduction and chat with one of the players, the youngster will always remember the day. Children are great imitators, too, and will often benefit from watching the actions and absorbing the rhythm and swing tempo of the top players.

Most boys and girls are mature enough physically to start learning golf – at least in a clinic – at age 10. A child will normally take well to group instruction at this time, particularly if he already has been given a taste of the game by his parents. Individual lessons generally should wait until the child is around 14. In my experience, that’s when a youngster generally begins to have the interest and intelligence to properly assimilate detailed instruction, and also to accept the idea of meaningful practice.

Unfortunately, girls tend to give up golf at about age 14 in favor of other pursuits. It’s too bad, for girls have natural rhythm, good touch around the green and the ability to learn quickly. But even the girl who “drops out” of golf will usually have absorbed enough of the fundamentals to make it worthwhile. And very often she will decide to start playing again after she’s married or is well into a career. So don’t automatically count out your daughter as a golfer if she quits as a teenager. She’ll probably thank you for getting her started when she’s a wife and mother herself.

Ideally a child should play with equipment fully-suited to his size and swing. Adult-size clubs, whether “cut down” or not, can produce bad swing habits if youngsters find them too heavy to control and tiring to go on swinging. My son, Dick, started with regular junior clubs, then shifted to using his mother’s (ladies’) clubs when he grew a little older and stronger. Finally, he started using men’s clubs. This is a natural progression for any boy who plays the game regularly.

A sound group-instruction program will, in the course of a summer, firmly implant the fundamentals of golf in a child. It also should be so structured as to give the youngster his first taste of golf competition – showing him the point and purpose of what he’s learning. Thereafter, he’ll probably prefer playing with golfers in his own age group, rather than with his parents, and that’s fine. It’s in actual competition that the junior golfer will quickly learn to play all the shots he didn’t learn on the practice tee.

Parents still have a role to play, though. They must constantly help and encourage the child by setting realistic scoring goals, and in developing a healthy attitude to competition. For instance, as a parent I am always watching for suitable junior competitions in our area in which to enter my son. Young golfers today are lucky in that there are numerous opportunities to compete in club programs, municipal tournaments and the like.

Attempting to do well in a tournament can be a realistic goal, but I believe that it is more important for the parent to help the child set goals that are not directly related to competition. Rather than having a child aim towards winning a certain event, for instance, it is better to encourage him to keep track of his scores. A realistic goal would be for him to make his scores for every two-week period, taken as a total, better than for the same number of rounds in the previous period.

In practice, too, the child should be urged to set goals. For example, he could work with his driver until he is able to put the ball within a designated area half of the time, or chip until half of his shots end up within three feet of the pin.

The photos accompanying this article show my son Dick illustrating the swing fundamentals I would stress in teaching all junior golfers. These are basically the key points I have concentrated on ever since starting to teach golf. The only change I’ve made in my teaching program over the years has been the emphasis I now place on the short game. I believe strongly in the value of practicing all possible shots required from 50 yards and on in – pitches over bunkers, chips from rough, lag putts, and all the rest. Even today I see pros on tour with beautiful swings who, after getting close to the green, can’t get the ball “up and down.” I’d recommend intense short-game practice to any youngster who wants not only to swing well, but also to score low.

The 68th Amateur Championship of the United States Golf Association was held at Scioto Country Club in Columbus, Ohio. The tournament was won by Bruce Fleischer with an even-par total of 284 on the famous Donald Ross design. There was only one sub-par round that week and it came on the final day when then University of Virginia law student Marvin “Vinnie” Giles III shot an incredible closing 65 and set a course record but came up a shot short of Fleisher.

One of the most memorable aspects of that championship was the unusual number of young golfers – virtually all collegians – in the field who went on to become well-known regulars on the PGA Tour. Besides Fleisher, there was Tom Watson, Hubert Green, Lanny Wadkins, Andy North, Doug Tewell, Leonard Thompson, Rod Curl, Barry Jaeckel and Jim Simon.

My father and I were at Scioto for the 1968 U.S. Amateur. One morning after arriving at the club and before we went our separate way, Dad told me to meet him at the practice area at 4:00 p.m. He said, “we’ll hit some balls.” Later that afternoon, while I was in the midst of hitting a few warm up shots, he approached the tee. But, Dad was not alone. Walking alongside him was his longtime companion Byron Nelson and legendary sportscaster Chris Schenkel.

My father introduced me to his famous friends and then mentioned that they had come to watch me swing a bit. As I remember it, Chris Schenkel appeared as the consummate gentleman; very pleasant but he did not say much. By contrast, Byron Nelson was in his element and ready and willing to give counsel. First, he told me to relax and just swing the club like I always did. Then, as I was about to hit another shot, he moved in close enough to actually step-on the head of my club. At that point, Mr. Nelson’s instruction was pretty simple. He said, “Even though my foot is on the club, I want you to go ahead and make a swing.” With obvious restrictions, I moved as far as I could into my limited backswing. Then, he lifted his foot off the club head and, in an instant, the club rebounded its way to the top of my backswing.

Byron Nelson’s lesson that day dealt with the importance of everything moving together during the takeaway. Evidently, by using primarily my hands and arms to move the club away from the ball, I had gotten too far or too deep into my backswing without shifting my weight and turning my hips and shoulders. For future practice sessions, Mr. Nelson advised me to purposely keep the club head on the ground a little longer as I hit balls. Though still in my mid-teens, I knew what he meant because that was how my father taught. Both of them favored a teaching technique that involved getting people to do something by prompting them to do the opposite.

During those halcyon days in 1940s, when Nelson was winning a record number of tournaments on the early PGA Tour, his backswing started off with a choreographed movement of his right foot. His right knee moved slightly forward which would roll his right ankle inward and imperceptibly pull his right heel off the ground. From there he would plant his right heel down as his club, arms and body moved together away from the ball. For Nelson, these initial swing movements acted as a trigger to relax his muscles which gave him the great rhythm, tempo and timing that he always seemed to have.

Through the years my dear father was responsible for introducing me to a great many wonderful people. Which I am most grateful. Both Byron Nelson and Chris Schenkel were indeed world-class gentlemen. I know that the instruction given to me that day by Byron Nelson helped my golf game. His interest in me added to my love and respect for the game. Mr. Nelson made himself available on a number of occasions and he offered valuable information to my book Jack Grout, A Legacy In Golf. I am happy to say that I was fortunate to remain in contact with him until the time of his death on September 26, 2006.

Chris Schenkel was a television stalwart. His versatility and easygoing baritone won over fans during a more than six-decade broadcasting career in which he covered all major sporting events. He was the first to cover The Masters on television, in 1956; the first to call a college football game coast to coast on ABC; and the first to serve as live sports anchor from the Olympics, in Mexico City in 1968. And he did it while earning a reputation as one of the nicest guys in the business.

Mr. Schenkel was named sportscaster of the year in 1963, 1964, 1967 and 1970 by the National Sportscasters and Sportswriters Association, which inducted him into its hall of fame in 1981. He died September 11, 2004, following a long battle with emphysema. He was 82.

Jack Grout probably didn’t realize it as he was driving across the desert in early 1936, heading back to Texas, but a key factor in creating a higher comfort level for himself as a touring pro was finding the ideal traveling companion. Having a pal alongside to help ease him through the rough patches, a chum right there to share the good times, was what he lacked. In each of Dad’s previous winter excursions he paired himself with friends who would become exceptional players. As great as Ben Hogan, Byron Nelson and Jimmy Demaret were on the golf course, though, all three were emotionally tough guys to be around on a daily basis, at least for my father. All three were, in a sense, lone wolves.

My father’s search for a supportive tour traveling partner came to a happy conclusion later in 1936 in the person of one of the game’s most accomplished players, Massachusetts’ own Henry Picard. Picard liked Dad’s strong character and businesslike approach to the game, and a close and lasting friendship developed. As they traveled the circuit together and eventually worked side by side as club professionals, Picard became one of my father’s key mentors, teachers and colleagues.

Henry Gilford Picard was born in Plymouth, Massachusetts on November 28, 1906. He began his lifelong career in golf as a caddie at the Plymouth Country Club. While in high school, Picard advanced to the position of clubhouse steward with the help of Donald Vinton, the club’s golf professional. The pro knew that this promotion would give the young fellow playing privileges at the club. Vinton recognized Henry’s love for golf and wanted him to have an opportunity to develop his burgeoning natural talent.

In the fall of 1925, after Picard had graduated from high school, Vinton petitioned William Picard for his 17-year old son’s services, as his assistant, at the Charleston Country Club. Vinton had the pro position at the South Carolina club in the wintertime. When Henry told his father how badly he wanted to go, Mr. Picard reluctantly gave his approval. Before Henry left home, however, his father gave him a little piece of advice to take along with him. He said, “You’ll always be rated by the people you choose as friends.”

In 1925, the Carolina’s Open was held at the Charleston Country Club. To everyone’s surprise, it was won by young Henry Picard. However, to show that it wasn’t a fluke, he won the tournament again the following year. In January 1935, Picard journeyed to the West Coast to put his flourishing game to the test against much tougher competition. During that winter campaign, Picard was traveling and rooming with his pal Johnny Revolta, an excellent player who would win nineteen pro tournaments, including the 1935 PGA Championship. When my sister Ronnie and her husband Tom visited Mr. Picard at his Charleston, South Carolina home in December, 1995, the aging pro reminisced how Revolta was “out on the town every night.” While Picard enjoyed Revolta’s company, rooming with him was difficult because Picard was a staunch family man. He didn’t begrudge Revolta and the other pros their nighttime fun; he just preferred to have calm and restful evenings, better to prepare himself for the next day’s golf.

Picard and his wife, Sunny (Annie Addison), had married in December, 1930 and by 1936 were parents of a pair of young sons, Bill and Larry, my dad being the latter’s godfather. It was disquieting to family-man Picard during his first foray in 1935-36 that Revolta sometimes was returning to their shared hotel room just as Picard was leaving for his morning round. It was a piece of good fortune that Picard began to notice my father’s purposeful ways and quiet work ethic at about the same time. Soon the two men began palling around away from the golf course, and later in 1936 they began traveling together.

Jack Grout would find no greater ally, confidante and traveling companion in all of golf than Henry Picard. In retrospect, the Picard-Grout pairing seems such a natural. Their playing styles were comparable; each had a long, rhythmic swing and could hit the ball a great distance. More importantly, the two also were like-minded, with many similarities in the way they approached life. Honesty, hard work and modesty were attributes they shared. Picard was more serious-natured than my father and a tougher individual both physically and competitively. With his lighter personality, Dad generally was more fun to be around. In many ways these contrasting traits tended to attract one to the other.

When the tour reached San Francisco in January 1937, Picard had a candid discussion with my dad about his own increasingly busy work schedule and how my father could help him deal with his obligations as head pro at Hershey Country Club. Then and there the job offer was made and accepted. My father experienced three solid years of growth as a player and a teacher at Hershey. His day-to-day association with Henry Picard had a lot to do with that. That is, Picard and Dad worked together on the golf swing for countless hours.

Over the succeeding decades the personal lives and golf careers of Henry Picard and Jack Grout would crisscross many times. In the fall of 1943 when Picard was in his second year as Twin Hills’ head pro in Oklahoma City while also employed during the week in a war-plant job at Douglas Aircraft Company, his trusted friend Jack Grout was there to run the golf operation in his weekday absence. In the fall of 1945 this golf version of musical chairs continued to unfold after the prestigious Canterbury Country Club reached out to Picard offering him its head professional position. When Picard told his employers at the Harrisburg (PA) Country Club that he was headed for Cleveland, Ohio, the club quickly set its sights on my father and in 1946 made him their new golf professional.

Dad wasn’t looking to begin the 1950s in a new job or in a new city. The four years in Harrisburg had been good for him and his family. But in the fall of 1949, a head professional position opened in a city that my father had driven through a number of times during his various travels and he had liked a lot. Things happened pretty fast after that. Henry Picard, still the head pro at Canterbury, teamed with Ohio businessman John W. Roberts in contacting my father about the position. Then the two men backed Dad’s eventual efforts to secure the new job.

The Associated Press reported the news on December 9, 1949: Thirty-nine-year-old Jack Grout, head professional at Harrisburg Country Club in Pennsylvania for the past four years, had been named head professional of Scioto Country Club in Columbus, Ohio. The story noted that, as the new head pro, Grout would be the host for the 1950 PGA Championship, scheduled at Scioto on June 21-29, 1950.

The prospect of hosting one of golf’s major championships excited my dad. But I know he would have been infinitely more excited had he been able to look into the future and see that within a few months, his orbit would collide with that of a husky Columbus ten-year-old redhead named Jackie Nicklaus, who would become under Jack Grout’s tutelage, the most successful golfer the world had ever seen.

My father and Henry Picard were shy and humble men. They were gentlemen and “first-class guys” who had great respect for one another. Throughout their long and successful careers they provided each other with assistance and support whenever and wherever it was needed. Both men had much to be proud of, including their ability to inspire in their respective families great loyalty and devotion for their father.

Note: Henry Picard had 26 wins on the PGA Tour and won the 1938 Masters Tournament and the 1939 PGA Championship. He retired in 1973 and returned to Charleston where he was a fixture in the local golf community. Picard played golf regularly into his 80s and died at age 90 on April 30, 1997. He was elected to the World Golf Hall of Fame in April 2006.