"The Wee Ice Mon"

"These greens are awful," Ben Hogan told his new Scottish friends. "It's like putting on glue. I've got a lawnmower back in Texas. I'll send it over to you." Indeed, U.S. Champion Hogan, making his first practice rounds of the old municipal golf course at Carnoustie on the eve of the British Open, saw very little that he liked.

The Scots were riled; they are proud of windswept Carnoustie, chiefly because of its jagged hillocks, fiendish traps and stubbly greens. One crusty old codger on a shooting stick spoke up for all of Scotland: "Hogan talks a bloody lot about the greens and a bloody lot about his putter; he should put the two together and shut up."

But as the days wore on and methodical Ben went about his practice routine--three shots, differently placed, from every tee--Scottish annoyance turned to admiration for the dour little man from Texas. Before long, the Scots were calling him, almost affectionately, "The Wee Ice Mon," though a hard core still proudly insisted: "No American is going to burn up Carnoustie."

In Rain & Hail. On the first day's round Hogan did no course-burning. He shot a 73, one over unofficial par on the long (7,200-yd.) course; he was three strokes off the pace. But his second-round 71, some of it played in rain and hail, left him tied for third, just two strokes off the pace. A reporter suggested that he was in a nice position for the run for the finish, the 36 grueling holes of the last day. "Yeah," agreed Ben, "it's not a bad position, but you've got to play. You've really got to play."

On the final day, Hogan appeared on the first tee bundled up in two sweaters and feeling the touch of flu. "Better have an oxygen tent ready on the 18th; I'll need it," he warned an official. A Scots paper headlined: HOGAN FALTERS. Instead of faltering, Ben began gunning out 300-yd. drives in place of his usual, careful 250-yarders. Where his putts had been falling short, Ben changed style and stroked harder. His third-round 70 left him in a tie for the lead at 214.

In Toil & Trouble. That afternoon, his face pale with cold and exhaustion, 40-year-old Ben Hogan teed off for the last round. The critical play came on the par-four fifth hole, where his second shot hit the green, spun, and dribbled into the deep grass edging a bunker, some 40 ft. from the pin. In trouble, Ben studied the difficult shot from all angles for fully five minutes. Then he hauled out a No. 9 iron, lined up the shot once more, and swung. The ball bounced, rolled boldly toward the hole, struck the back lip, bounced a foot in the air and plunked into the cup for a birdie. From then on, the wee ice mon was invincible.

He came up to the 18th green, where a golf-wise crowd of 20,000, bigger than any Hogan had ever seen in the U.S., was waiting to greet him. The British Open was all but certainly his already, but he had a final course-burning in mind: a birdie four would give him a 68, a Carnoustie course record. To the roars of 20,000 fans, Ben Hogan shot his birdie four. His 282 for 72 holes beat the rest of the strong Carnoustie field by four.

In Triumph. Not until the final putt had been sunk did Ben unbend. Then he doffed his cap and smiled for the crowd. At the trophy presentation, Hogan made a little speech: "I didn't come here to take home a trophy. Whether I won or lost was incidental. I came over here because a lot of people back home wanted me to, and some people over here did, too."

Britain's sportswriters spent their superlatives: "The Hogan Open, the greatest open in modern times," said London's Daily Express. "Hail the greatest golfer of our time," said the Daily Herald. "And who shall say he's not the best of all time?" echoed the Daily Telegraph.

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