A Will to Win : Forty-One Years Ago, Ben Hogan Returned to L.A. Open After Nearly Being Killed in a Car Crash

A hush fell over the gallery ringing the 18th hole at Riviera Country Club.

Sam Snead, never noted for his putting ability, was surveying a 12-foot birdie putt he needed to catch Ben Hogan and send the 1950 Los Angeles Open into an 18-hole playoff.

As he was about to stroke the ball, there was the crack of a tree branch breaking from the weight of a man, who fell.

Snead backed off while the gallery laughed.

Hogan preferred not to watch. He was sitting with friends in the clubhouse, listening for crowd reaction.

When Snead sank the putt, the gallery roared. Hogan heard it and slammed a magazine to the floor.

Because it rained the next day, the playoff had to be delayed for a week because the Crosby clambake at Pebble Beach was about to begin.

That kind of delay would never happen today.

But it did in 1950, when pro golf was much different. That was well before corporate America and television had taken over.

Players weren’t walking billboards in those days, and there was no such thing as a metal wood. Golfers relied on “feel” rather than yardage markers and many players traveled by car from tournament to tournament.

And you knew where a tournament was by its name. The Los Angeles Open was in Los Angeles, the Reading Open was in Reading, Pa., the Miami Open was in Miami. Even those who follow the sport closely today might not know where they play the Centel Western Open, the Deposit Guaranty Classic or the Sazale Classic.

The pros played 33 tournaments for a total of $459,950 in 1950. The world had not yet heard of Jack Nicklaus. There was no Arnie’s Army.

But the sport was not without its heroes. In fact, because the top players won more often, they were better known than many of the megabuck players on today’s tour.

That is why the 1950 Los Angeles Open will be remembered as one of the greatest tournaments ever played at Riviera Country Club.

It wound up in a playoff between the two greatest players of the day--Ben Hogan and Sam Snead--less than a year after Hogan had been in an accident that nearly killed him.

In fact, Snead’s four-stroke playoff victory was almost anticlimactic. It was Hogan’s comeback on one of his favorite courses that stirred the public.

Hogan was 36 when he was involved in the accident. On the morning of Feb. 2, 1949, Ben and his wife, Valerie, were returning to their home in Ft. Worth from Phoenix.

They were driving near Van Horn in West Texas, when a Greyhound bus suddenly appeared out of the ground haze from the opposite direction.

Hogan threw his body across his wife to protect her, in the process saving his own life, since he escaped being impaled by the steering wheel, which was driven through the driver’s seat.

Still, he was horribly battered. His pelvis was broken in two places, he had a broken collarbone, a broken left ankle, broken ribs and suffered severe shock.

The original prognosis was that he would never play golf again, at least not on the tournament level. Then a blood clot developed in one of his legs, and it was feared he might not live.

Phlebitis was causing the clot and doctors, fearing it would travel to his heart, performed a two-hour operation and tied off the principal veins in one of his legs.

That operation saved his life, but his golf career was another matter.

Hogan, however, never gave up. Not even during the next 58 days while he was flat on his back.

When he was finally able to go home, his weight had dropped to 95 pounds, but he was still saying he was going to come back.

It was typical Hogan.

He was born in Dublin, Tex., in 1912, the son of a blacksmith. He didn’t take up golf until he was 12, when he and his mother moved to Ft. Worth after the death of his father.

He enjoyed the game and found he could make more money being a caddie than selling newspapers. He had visions of playing the game for profit and turned pro at 19. Unfortunately, he had a chronic hook and made little impact.

He joined the tour in 1931 with $100 in his pocket and was broke in a month.

He tried again two years later and failed again.

Hogan went back to Ft. Worth and supported himself with odd jobs. But he always found time to practice and tried the tour again in 1937.

This time he met with mild success and was able to stay on the circuit. He broke through in 1940, at 28, with four victories and the Vardon Trophy for the lowest scoring average on tour.

Now he was rolling. He won five more times in 1941 and six times in 1942 before World War II interrupted his career.

By 1945, Hogan had finally rid himself of his hook and in ’46 he won his first major, the PGA Championship, when it was match play, with a 6-and-4 victory over Ed Oliver at Portland, Ore.

In 1947 he won the Los Angeles Open at Riviera, then won it again in 1948. He won the U.S. Open that same year, again at Riviera, which was by then being called Hogan’s Alley.

That’s why fans were so excited when they heard Hogan was going to make his comeback at Riviera, less than a year after his accident.

Hogan used the same determination that made him a great golfer to rehabilitate himself. As soon as he could walk, he began taking laps around his living room. He started with 55 and added five each day.

He didn’t try to hit any balls until late August, nearly seven months after the accident, and finally played his first practice round in December. It took so much out of him, however, that he went home depressed.

Because he had such a great record at Riviera, he decided to enter the Los Angeles Open, simply to see if he could do it.

“A lot of people didn’t think he would be able to play very well, but I knew he would play well that week,” Snead said, recalling the tournament. “Knowing Ben the way I did, I knew he would never be unprepared to play in a tournament. If he said he was ready to play, I knew he was ready to play great.”

Not all shared that opinion.

“It caught me by surprise just like it did a lot of people,” said Chuck Pollock, who had been Hogan’s caddie on the West Coast. “But then when he came out here and shot a 69 the first time in practice, I knew he was ready. He was taking a lot of kidding from a lot of people because he would hit all those great shots, then sit down and rest a lot. He would get tired very easily.”

Because he was concerned about his stamina and the strength in his legs, Hogan didn’t announce that he was going to play until three days before the start of the tournament.

Although Hogan was the sentimental favorite, Snead was generally picked to win over a field that included such players as Cary Middlecoff, Jimmy Demaret, Dutch Harrison, Jim Ferrier and Clayton Haefner.

Besides, Snead had a pretty fair record at Riviera, too. He had won there in 1945 and had finished third, fourth, fifth and seventh in other years.

Snead was the opposite of Hogan. Hogan was quiet and had to work hard to excel in golf. Snead was an outgoing, story-telling hillbilly from Hot Springs, Va., who was a natural athlete. He had played football and basketball in high school and turned to golf after a broken hand took him out of the other sports.

Because of his long drives, he was called Slammin’ Sammy and his naivete was played up on his first visit to the West Coast when he won the 1937 Oakland Open. The day after he won, somebody showed him a picture of himself in the New York Times.

“How’d they get my picture?” he drawled. “I ain’t never been to New York.”

The first round of the 24th Los Angeles Open drew a record gallery of 9,000 on Friday, Jan. 6. Ed Furgol shot a 68 and led, but most of the crowd followed Hogan, watching him shoot a 73.

Early in the round, Hogan was surrounded by photographers on the first fairway and backed away from his shot, saying, “No pictures or no play.”

Hogan later explained that he had never intended to walk off the course, he merely wanted the photographers not to take pictures during the tournament. He had posed for a few before teeing off and felt that was enough.

Shortly after the incident, a sign appeared in the gallery that read, “No cameras please. Players’ request.”

A few holes later, the sign had disappeared, but Hogan had made his point.

Some of the other golfers were irritated. They thought Hogan was getting favored treatment. After all, they had to put up with cameras, why shouldn’t he?

One unidentified player said: “No doubt his nerves are jumpy as a result of his accident and long hospital siege, but if he didn’t feel up to competing, he should have waited longer before attempting a comeback. I know a lot of fellows in this thing whose nerves are bad, too, because it’s a bread-and-butter matter to them. Ben doesn’t have to worry about that wolf at the door.”

Hogan met with photographers after the round to get the matter settled, but still left the impression he didn’t want to be photographed while playing.

Jerry Barber, now the pro at Griffith Park, made a move in the second round, shooting a 68 after his opening 69 for a 36-hole total of 137.

That gave Barber a two-stroke lead over Henry Ransom. Hogan had shot a 69 and moved into a third-place tie with Ellsworth Vines, five strokes behind.

Snead, meanwhile, was staying close to par, never falling too far back. He had rounds of 71 and 72 and was only a stroke behind Hogan.

It rained Sunday during the third round and Barber’s 73, which had put him in the clubhouse with a 10-stroke lead, was wiped out.

Although there were others on the course who might have gotten closer to Barber, it would have been tough because many of the greens were under water and players were trying to chip over puddles on the greens.

Players had been requesting cancellation of the round but the rules committee was adamant: Play would continue.

It continued until Hogan reached the barranca at the 11th hole. The barranca was nearly overflowing and threatening to wash away the bridge players used to cross it. Hogan simply sat there, waiting for a siren to sound.

Snead, meanwhile was on 16 when a tournament official asked him to walk in.

“I didn’t know why he wanted me go in,” Snead said. “But he told me people had been trying to get somebody to call the tournament all day and that if I would walk in, others would follow.

“As I started back in, players were watching me, and I would tell them we were through for the day. They were happy to quit, too. When I got into the clubhouse, Lawson Little was sitting there with a martini and asked me what I had shot. I told him I picked up at the 16th.

“Lawson looked at me and said, ‘Hell, man, you guys can’t play when things get a little tough?’

“Tough? We couldn’t use our putters anymore. We had to quit. I heard Hogan was out there at 11 and wasn’t going to cross unless somebody got him a boat.”

Although the cancellation of the round wiped out a probable victory, Barber took it in stride.

“It just means I’ll have to go out and do it again tomorrow,” he said.

Barber actually played better on Monday, shooting a 72. But the rest of the field played better, too, and closed in on him. Hogan shot another 69, moving within two strokes of the lead. Jackie Burke shot a 68 and was a stroke behind Hogan. Two strokes behind Burke was Snead.

By the time the fourth round started on Tuesday, Hogan was a weary man. After six practice rounds, followed by a day off, he had played four competitive rounds and was about to go out for the 11th time in 12 days.

“It was really beginning to take a toll on Ben,” said Bob William, a longtime member of Riviera who walked every hole with Hogan that year. “He was telling me his arms felt like wet noodles and he was in some kind of pain on every step.”

But he also had that steely Hogan determination.

“Nobody was ever more determined or worked harder than Ben,” said Pollock, his caddie. “That man had a plan for every single shot. He plotted his way around the course.”

Despite the pain and fatigue, Hogan shot his third consecutive 69.

“Ben thought that was going to be enough to win,” William said. “He didn’t want a playoff. I don’t know if he could have played the next day. Walking up the 17th, he turned to me and said, ‘You know, I never realized till today that every inch of this hole is uphill.’ ”

When Hogan finished, the only player on the course with a chance to catch him was Snead, who needed two birdies on the final three holes.

“I parred the 16th, then birdied the 17th with about a 25-foot putt,” Snead said. “I was lucky because Jackie Burke had a putt along the same line and his broke left when I thought it would break right. So I played mine to break left, too, and it went in.”

The 18th hole at Riviera, an uphill, 453-yard dogleg to the right, is among the most demanding finishing holes in golf.

“I hit a great drive,” Snead said. “But I still didn’t have a clear shot to the pin because of that big sycamore tree out there. So I hit me a shawndale up there (a shawndale was a fade) and hit it off the hill and onto the green about 12 feet away.”

He made the putt and forced the playoff, but more rain the next day caused the postponement.

A week later, Hogan and Snead had returned from the Crosby, which Snead had won. They no longer had to worry about rain, but a misty fog had settled over Riviera for their 18-hole playoff.

By then, Snead was getting into a groove. Hogan was tired.

Hogan hooked his drive on the first hole out of bounds, but still managed to save par. Snead birdied the hole.

Hogan hooked another drive and bogeyed the second, falling another stroke behind.

Snead finally made a mistake at the fourth hole, a 243-yard par-three that is fronted by a massive bunker. He bunkered his tee shot, then barely got out with his second shot, which landed in the fringe. He chipped on and two-putted for a double-bogey.

Hogan two-putted from 40 feet for a par, squaring the match.

Each player bogeyed the fifth, but it was obvious that Snead was hitting better shots. Hogan had hooked yet another shot off the tee and had to scramble to make his bogey. Snead was unlucky on the hole because his second shot hit a fan crossing the fairway.

“I think the ball hit him in the neck,” Snead said. “He was lucky the shot didn’t kill him. I was unlucky because the ball was going right at the stick and wound up bouncing off him into the rough.”

The match remained even until Snead hit an iron shot to within 10 feet of the pin at the eighth hole and made his birdie putt.

Each player lost sight of his drive into the fog on the ninth. Hogan lost another stroke when he three-putted from 12 feet, missing his second putt from two feet. Snead made a routine par and led at the turn, 36-38.

With a two-stroke lead, Snead’s plan for the final nine holes was obvious. He would play for the middle of the green, get his pars and let Hogan feel the pressure of having to make birdies to catch him.

The strategy worked because Hogan, trying to get a little extra with his driver on the 569-yard, par-five 11th hole, pushed his shot into the trees and had no chance of positioning himself for a birdie. He had to chip back to the fairway and wound up making a bogey and falling three strokes behind.

The weary Hogan started walking more slowly, trying to conserve energy, and was more deliberate over his shots.

That’s not the way Snead perceived him, however.

“He knew I was in a groove and he was just trying to get me out of my rhythm,” Snead said. “I wasn’t going to play into his hands. After I putted out at the 13th hole (for another par), I saw him taking so much time, I just left for the next hole.”

Hogan seemed irritated when he reached the 14th tee. Snead had already hit and Hogan said to him, “What’s the hurry, Sam?”

Snead merely smiled and said, “It’s your shot, Ben.”

Snead won the playoff by shooting a 72, one over par, to Hogan’s 76.

As he walked off the green, a fan tried to console Hogan, telling him how unlucky he had been that day.

“Unlucky, hell,” Hogan said angrily. “That was just damned bad golf.”

It was as poor a round as Hogan had ever played at Riviera. He couldn’t recall ever playing it without a single birdie.

For Snead, his second victory in a row and second victory at Riviera meant a $2,600 payday.

Hogan earned $1,900 for his second-place finish in his failed quest for a fourth Los Angeles title.

But Hogan came away with something far more valuable than a title.

He had won the admiration of the nation’s golf fans, not to mention some doctors who had underestimated his resolve. Hogan’s comeback was a success and still is regarded as one of the most amazing in the history of golf.