1912-1997 HOGAN

In 1920, 8-year-old Ben Hogan of Fort Worth began his golf career as a caddie at Glen Garden Golf Club. In 1925, 13-year-old Byron Nelson of Fort Worth began his golf career as a caddie at the same club.

That’s sort of the way it went for the next 72 years . . . two Texans, two golf legends, two rivals, two contrasting personalities linked forever by their heritage, their fame and their incandescent way of playing the game of golf.

Nelson, six months older than Hogan, was at his Fairway Ranch home in Roanoke, Texas, when he heard the news of Hogan’s death.

“I’m so saddened,” Nelson said. “I knew he was on the downhill grade, so I was a little bit set for it, but still. . . . You know, we were friends, or at least we knew each other for nearly three-quarters of a century. That’s a very long time.”

During their prime, from the late 1930s until Nelson retired in the late 1940s, they were constantly being compared. Nelson was the personable, friendly one. Hogan the dour, serious one. Nelson was the first to have success, winning the 1937 Masters, but Hogan lasted longer, playing until 1971.

They were never really close, but then Hogan wasn’t the type to develop that sort of relationship with anyone he played against. There was talk that Hogan resented Nelson for not taking part in World War II. Nelson, a hemophiliac, barnstormed around the country playing golf to help sell War Bonds while Hogan was a lieutenant in the Army Air Corps.

Nelson said they were simply different . . . golfers the same age from the same city and from the same golf club, but entirely different people.

“Ben was always quiet, and maybe I was considered more approachable,” Nelson said. “He never was outgoing, but that’s probably due to his wonderful powers of concentration. They were like no one else’s.

“But after he left the tour, you hardly saw him at all. He became sort of a recluse. The only way you could see him was at Shady Oaks [Country Club] where he would come in about 11:20 and be out of there about 3 o’clock.”

Nelson said that for as long as he knew Hogan, he never had been to Hogan’s house and he never had Hogan’s private phone number. He had not seen Hogan in five years.

“What he has left us, though, is an inspiration, an inspiration for anyone who wants to play and is willing to devote themselves to it with their whole spirit, those people can learn from Ben Hogan. We’ll miss that. We’ll miss the name.”

Gene Sarazen, 96, said Hogan once autographed a picture for him.

“He wrote on it, ‘You’re the kind of man I like,’ then he signed his name,” Sarazen said from his home at Marco Island, Fla. “I was a straight-talker, and Ben liked that.”

Even from the first, Hogan kept his lips zipped up like his golf bag, Sarazen said. Such a personality didn’t detract from the golf he played, but Sarazen said it did create a distance between Hogan and his contemporaries.

“He was such a great player,” Sarazen said. “But I think he had more admirers than friends. He didn’t talk to many people. If you were paired with him, he never said a word to you all the way around. I remember playing him in the 1950 PGA and I don’t think he said five words all day.

“No doubt about it, he was a great hero to the people in his country. He had a lot of determination, maybe because he didn’t have success right away. He had to work for it.”

Sarazen, the first player to win all four of golf’s major titles, said that Hogan wasn’t as great a player as Bobby Jones and compared him to Walter Hagen.

“Well, Hogan was a better player than Sarazen or Nelson, all right, but he was so different,” Sarazen said. “He kept to himself so much that nobody got to know him very well. That was Hogan. He just didn’t extend himself. All I know is that I always admired him. He just had his own way of doing things.”

Reaction from the golf establishment included a comment from Ben Crenshaw, a fellow Texan.

“No one ever played the game like Mr. Hogan and no human has ever come close to controlling the golf ball as perfectly as he did,” Crenshaw said. “He was relentless in his pursuit of perfection. Ben Hogan defined the inner will that lives within us. The Hawk’s shadow will be felt upon the game forever.”

Jack Nicklaus, who was in British Columbia for a Skins Game, said Hogan loved the competition.

“I always liked Ben,” Nicklaus said. “He treated me as an equal, and I was very flattered when he sought me out to play. Golf has lost, in my opinion, the best shotmaker the game has ever seen.”

Arnold Palmer, who was in Park City, Utah, for a Senior PGA Tour event, said he was grateful that his career had crossed Hogan’s and glad he had been able to play against Hogan.

“I enjoyed that very much,” Palmer said. “He was, as they say, pretty much a machine. He was a great competitor and a great player. We’ve lost a good one.”

Johnny Miller, who also was in Park City, said Hogan was a great influence on the game.

“He was maybe the best player who ever lived,” Miller said.

PGA Tour Commissioner Tim Finchem released a statement that said Hogan personified golf for many.

“He will be remembered for his tremendous courage and the way in which he went about his business,” Finchem said in the statement. “The sport may never see another like him.”

Paul Runyan feels the same way. Runyan, 88, who lives in Pasadena, won the PGA Championship in 1934 and 1938. In addition to Hogan’s legendary prowess, golf has lost something else, Runyan said--one of its most enduring personalities.

“One of the most colorful and most taciturn players of all time,” Runyan said. “His demeanor was so stern, people who saw him play must have thought he was doing poorly. But he had to be that way for his great focus. He may have been the second most stern disciplinarian in all golf, second only to Gary Player.”

Runyan remembers beating Hogan in match play on two occasions, neither one being particularly easy.

“I would hate to play Hogan every day for a living,” Runyan said.

“I know I’ll miss him. If a person has more pluses than minuses, he’s worthwhile. And Hogan had so many more pluses.”

Runyan called Hogan a “mythic figure” and “the epitome of a shotmaker,” but one who never allowed anyone much familiarity. As far as Runyan knew, the only player Hogan ever took advice from was Henry Picard, winner of the Masters in 1938 and PGA in 1939.

“I knew him well, but I never got close to him,” Runyan said. “Hogan didn’t have the myriad of friends that a [Jimmy] Demaret or a Nelson had. It was an interesting comparison between Hogan and Nelson. Fabulous golf figures. Never, in my opinion, close friends. Golf enemies, you might say. Remarkable figures, though.”

The telephone continued to ring at Fairway Ranch. There were more people with more questions for Nelson about Hogan.

“It’s been ringing since dawn,” Nelson said. “I’m not talked out, yet, but I wonder what more I can say. He made himself into a great player. We knew each other for 72 years. He stayed to himself. And I know one thing more. We’re going to miss him.”