The Green Jacket

One of the great things about the Masters golf tournament taking place in Augusta, Ga., this weekend is that, true to tradition, you can still by a pimento cheese sandwich on the course for $1.50. It’s a tasty treat even if it’s not something you’d normally consider when ordering at your local deli. And as rich in tradition as the Masters is, one of its more storied, but lesser known traditions may not have been so preserved if not for the intervention by the Dusty Meyer.

As most know, the membership roster at Augusta National is not public and is generally not known. Occasionally, word filters out about one member or another but as a group we do quite well keeping our relationship to the club quiet. Many have assumed it is because the National is still considered a “good ol’ boys” club, a place where the supposedly rich and powerful meet to decide the fate of the world, an antiquated throwback that lacks any relevance today. Perhaps, but from personal experience, it’s just that we like our privacy.

Breaking ranks this one time only to reveal one of the favorite stories among the members seems appropriate with the re-emergence of the Dusty Meyer as one of the world’s most popular drinks today. The story has been kept alive by club historian Tanner Watkins, who is 86 years of age but still manages to play a round or two a year, albeit with the aid of a walker. Tanner has been a member of the National for over 40 years and despite his advancing years can still solve even the most challenging Sudoku puzzle. He made his money in iron ore and retired rather young after selling his various mining companies to the British-based Rio Tinto Corporation.

Although it would be difficult to tell the story with the same flair and gusto of Tanner, not to mention with the kind of southern drawl that seems to stretch every word an extra syllable or two, I’ll try to do it justice. To set the backdrop, the Masters tournament dates back to 1934 when Augusta National co-founders Bobby Jones and Clifford Roberts decided to hold an invitational only tournament at their new club in order to test the best golfers of the day, one of whom, of course was the aforementioned Mr. Jones.

Roberts had proposed calling it the Masters Tournament, the intention of which was to crown the winner as a master of the links. Jones, for all his accomplishments, was a humble and gracious man who felt that such a title would be a tad presumptuous, particularly since the U.S. and British Opens had been testing the best players in golf for many, many years. Though he was ever the accommodating southern gentleman, Jones had a knack for getting his way and eventually Roberts agreed to call the inaugural tournament the Augusta National Invitational Tournament.

Not to get off track too much here, but an interesting sidelight to all of this is that the tournament remained the Augusta Invitational until 1939. It seems that in December, 1938, Jones, Roberts and a handful of members had stopped by the club for their usual monthly poker game. Although the stakes were relatively modest given the financial wherewithal of its participants, it was always a highly contested affair. On this particular evening, the men were engaged in a particularly rousing game of 7-card stud, a personal favorite of Jones. Roberts was more a fan of straight poker. In any case, during this particular hand, Roberts was showing ace, king and Jones had a pair of tens up. After several rounds of successively higher bets, all of the other players had dropped out leaving Jones and Roberts to fend for the ever growing pot. Roberts, who was an aggressive gambler when drinking (which was often), was pushing Jones to the brink. Suddenly finding himself short on cash and itching to call Roberts one final time, Jones at first offered his prized putter, the Calamity Jane, as a final bet. Roberts demurred, baiting Jones to either come up with cash for one last raise or drop. Undeterred, Jones then offered to let Roberts rename the tournament permanently as the final bet. This was a bet Roberts couldn’t resist and he took it willingly, calling it with a crisp $100 bill, which Jones accepted as a comparable bet. Jones flipped over another 10 and was certain he had the hand. But Roberts had a pair of Kings in the pocket and, with that, won the hand and the right to rename the tournament. From that night on its been known as the Masters Tournament.

But back to the main story. The early years of the tournament, by whatever name, gave birth to much of the history and tradition that has served as the foundation for the four greatest days in golf each year. While it may seem commonplace today, the Masters was the first tournament to adopt 4 days of 18-hole stroke play. In those days, most tournaments ended on Saturday with a 36-hole final. After the first few years, it was Jones who decided that the winners would enjoy a permanent invitation to the tournament for the remainder of their lives, a practice that was only recently amended by former Club chairman Hootie Johnson to the dismay of some. It was Roberts who started the tradition of awarding the winner a green jacket emblazoned with the club logo. The idea was that during tournament week, all members would wear a green jacket in order to be more easily identifiable. The winner was considered an honorary member of the club and thus given a green jacket as well. The winner also receives a beautiful keepsake trophy as the green jacket is required to remain on the grounds of the club.

It was Jones who established the champion’s dinner that takes place on the Tuesday of Masters week that is hosted by the previous year’s winner. The great thing about that dinner is that the menu is set the champ. As many will now recall, it was this tradition that temporarily landed Fuzzy Zoeller in hot water for making what many considered to be racially insensitive remarks about Tiger Woods’ possible culinary choices for the champions dinner following his historic win in 1997. If you recall the interview Zoeller gave at the time, he had a drink in his hand at the time and most presumed he was drunk. The drink, of course, was a Dusty Meyer and although he had had a few following his round, I’ve personally seen Zoeller drink much more and act less drunk. I think it had just been a long day for him, that’s all.

Again, getting back to the main story, the year was 1935 and it was the second Augusta National Invitational. Horton Smith claimed the inaugural trophy with a one-stroke victory over Craig Wood, who also would figure prominently in the events of 1935. Most know that the 1935 event was won by Gene Sarazen in a playoff against Wood, who again would come up short. In fact, Wood continued to come up short until breaking through with a victory in 1941.

Sarazen was one of the finest men to ever tee up a golf ball. The first person to ever win all four major tournaments over a career, Sarazen was thought to have been on the downside of his prime when the 1935 Invitational rolled around. Although Sarazen had won the U.S. and British Opens in 1932 and the PGA Championship in 1933, it had been a few years since he had tasted any real success. In fact, despite his successes just a few years earlier, there had been thought about not inviting him to the Invitational in 1935, particularly by Roberts, the club’s chairman who ran the club and tournament in a very autocratic fashion.

Despite Sarazen’s well deserved reputation as a gentleman, he and Roberts were like oil and water. Sarazan was gregarious. Roberts, as Herbert Warren Wind accurately observed “said no more on any subject than he had to.” Sarazen was from Harrison, New York, Roberts was from Morning Son, Iowa. In short, the two had little in common. Thus, with Sarazen struggling with his game a bit in 1935, Roberts was all too willing to exclude him from the invite list. In fact, when Roberts handed the invitation list for the 1935 event to his long time secretary, Trudy Parker, Sarazen’s name was absent. It was about 2 p.m. and Jones, who had just finished playing, had stopped by the clubhouse to discuss something with Roberts when he passed by Parker’s desk on the second floor, took a look at the list and noticed the Sarazen’s name had been omitted. Thinking it was simply an oversight, he casually penciled it in and the invitation went out. When Sarazen responded by cable to Roberts (Sarazen had been on holiday in Africa) that he would be there, Roberts fumed at what he thought was the utmost in presumptuousness by Sarazen. Wandering over to Parker to show her the cable from Sarazen, Roberts was still seething. Parker, not knowing that the omission of Sarazen’s name was intentional, sheepishly related how Jones had penciled in Sarazen’s name on the invite list after assuming that the omission was a simple mistake. Roberts stormed back to his office, shut the door and didn’t emerge from his office for several hours, which, actually was not all that unusual anyway.

If all of this sounds a bit harsh toward Roberts, it shouldn’t. His demeanor was well known. But that shouldn’t diminish his immense contributions to both Augusta National and the Masters. Indeed, while Jones often got the credit as the tournament host, it was Roberts who really did all the work. It was Roberts’ enormous attention to detail and commitment to quality that made and still makes the Masters the best run event in the world. As Jones’ health began to suffer it was Roberts who provided the steady hand and stewardship to keep the tournament going in the right direction.

Despite almost not being invited, the 1935 tournament started well for Sarazen. He carded a four-under 68 and was tied for second with Lloyd Mangrum. Henry Picard opened with a 67. In fact, Picard had it to 9 under after the first two rounds, four strokes ahead of Sarazen and Magrum, his two closest competitors. But Picard faltered on the weekend, shooting 76 and 75 to finish at two under. Sarazen was faltering as well, shooting a one over par 73 on Saturday. Wood, meanwhile started a weekend surge and carded a 68 to take the lead by three strokes over Sarazen.

In that final round, conditions were predictably tougher for the field. Sarazen was one over par entering the difficult par 5 15th hole. Needing an eagle to have any hope of capturing Wood, who himself was struggling, Sarazen faced a daunting 235 yard shot over the pond fronting the 15th green. Sarazan pulled out a 4-wood and hit it pure. Sarazen knew the shot was well struck and had a chance to get close to the hole but was as surprised as anyone when the rather smallish Saturday gathering of patrons erupted as the ball went into the cup for a rare double eagle. That put Sarazen at two under for the round, six under for the tournament. He parred 17 and 18 and waited for Wood to finish. Wood did his part for history by struggling to a one over 73, tying Sarazan at the top of the leaderboard. The two returned the next day for a 36-hole playoff, won by Sarazan, 144-149.

The victory for Sarazen clearly signaled his return to form. Though it would be his last major victory, Sarazan did card wins in the Massachusetts and Long Island Opens later that summer. He was winless in 1936 but won twice more in 1937 and once in 1938, ending one of the greatest careers in professional golf.

Nearly everyone was happy about Sarazen’s victory at Augusta in 1935, but not every one. Roberts was still privately seething over the fact that Sarazen should not even have been at the tournament, despite the historic and legendary shot that led to his victory. As was and still is customary, the champion was toasted in the clubhouse following his victory and the presentation of his green jacket. Although Augusta, Georgia was a “dry” community back then, it hardly stopped the members of Augusta National from establishing their own rules without local interference. Jones led the charge, opening a bottle of Dom Perignon, poured some into the winner’s trophy from which Sarazen was to take the first drink. It was then incumbent upon the champ to pass the trophy around to the assembled members, almost like a Communion chalice, for a celebratory toast and drink.

When the trophy made its way to Roberts, he was well into his seventh Dusty Meyer, a drink Roberts had come to appreciate after hosting Clark Gable a few years earlier at the club. Gable wasn’t much of a golfer but he knew how to have a good time and he and Roberts had become good friends over the years. Trey Henson, another of the club’s original members, had just made his toast to Sarazen and handed the trophy to Roberts. As the members stood in silent amazement, Roberts dumped the remaining champagne into a nearby ice bucket and replaced it with his Dusty Meyer.

Grasping the trophy with both hands, Roberts lifted it up and offered this toast: “to Gene Sarazen, this year’s Invitational champion. He hit a shot that made men roar. The sound, of course, rumbled from shore to shore. He hit it true, he hit it sweet. A beautiful sight for a club pro with such large feet.” A few members chuckled awkwardly at what they thought was a weak effort to make a joke by the usually ultra serious Roberts. Others didn’t know what to think. But Sarazen felt the reference to “club pro” was derogatory and seemed ready to challenge Roberts when Jones stood up, took the trophy, and let out a booming laugh, telling the group “this is why we never let Cliff tell the jokes. He always mangles the punch line.” That brought a smile to the face of Sarazen and Roberts, who seemed to know that he had committed a social faux pas, something he wasn’t used to doing and something the members weren’t used to seeing. What could have been a tense and awkward moment was broken by Jones’ grace.

Jones, still with the trophy in his hand, lifted it high in the air and echoed Roberts’ words. “To Gene,” he said, “and his shot heard ‘round the world.” With that the legend of the famous Sarazan 4-wood shot, which now is referred to everywhere as the “shot heard ‘round the world” was born along with a new tradition. Now, each year, following the presentation of the green jacket to that year’s winner, the members gather in the formal dining room with the new champion. The chairman of the club brings out the 1935 Sarazen trophy and proceeds to fill it, not with champagne but with Roberts’ favorite drink, the Dusty Meyer. It is hoisted high and a toast is offered to both Sarazan, who died in 1999 at the age of 97 and the new Masters champion. While this tradition may not be well known to the general public, it truly is a magical moment for the members and one I look forward to each year.