Riviera grabbed Murray’s heart

It is on days like this that we miss him the most.

There were blue skies, soft winds and temperatures in the high-60s most of the day Thursday at the Nissan Open golf tournament. Jim Murray’s Nissan Open.

Many legends have played in this venerable tournament. But none the caliber of Murray, The Times’ Pulitzer Prize winner who died in 1998, have written about it. Super Bowls came and went. So did World Series, Kentucky Derbies, heavyweight title fights, NBA playoffs, Wimbledons, Masters and USC-UCLA football games. He wrote about them all with insight and passion.

But the L.A. Open, now the Nissan, was his first girlfriend. Golf was his game -- to write about, certainly not to play. And Riviera was his course. He was a member here, lived near here, played here and felt as comfortable as an old shoe here.

When it was time to get to know a new young sports editor in 1981, Murray set up a golf game at Riviera. The new kid didn’t play much then and was fairly overwhelmed just standing on the first tee at Riviera. Soon, on the par-five first hole, the group found itself on the green with everybody else putting for five or six and Murray somehow lying three.

His birdie putt was about 50 feet, with one of those Riviera double breaks to start and then a break to the left before flattening out at the hole. Murray, in his late 50s then, but always a bit feeble after battles with eye problems and a malfunctioning heart valve, hunched over his putt, stroked it and watched as it went left, then right, then left again before straightening into the cup. Slowly, he walked to the hole and picked the ball out, then stood silently as the others focused on staying out of double figures.

When all had putted out, he quietly walked to the cart, sat down and waited for his guest to join him. The drive to the second tree was short, but by then, Murray could stand it no longer.

“Sometimes, I miss those left,” he said. His huge grin foreshadowed what was to come. He shot 112.

Murray would not have been totally happy Thursday. Sure, he would have joked about the barely visible wisp of a cloud sighted to the south that was wrecking the day, and about how the wind-chill factor compared to Fargo, N.D. But Padraig Harrington’s 63 would have upset him. Murray always wanted the golf course to win, especially his golf course. He liked it when the winds blew shots into the bunkers and golfing millionaires rolled their third putt off the green and into the kikuyu.

There remains a legendary reverence about Riviera that Murray cherished, and helped create in his writing. He loved the days of Humphrey Bogart, sitting under the big tree near the 12th green, a vantage point nobody else dared -- or was allowed -- to use. So who was going to tell Bogart to leave?

Murray loved No. 4, the par three facing into the ocean breezes that played to a pin 243 yards away Thursday. There is a plaque directly behind the tee that quotes Ben Hogan as saying it was his favorite par three anywhere. Longtime marshall Al Roth of Los Angeles told a story Thursday about the time, years ago, when the wind was really blowing and Jack Nicklaus hit driver.

“He had bad vision, so he turned to me and asked if he had cleared the bunker,” Roth said. “I was stunned. No player had ever asked me anything before. I told him he had cleared, but that he was in the short rough in the front. He said he had cut the driver a little, and should have hit it full.”

Murray had a unique approach to No. 4.

“I’ll hit driver,” he’d say, “and then another one.”

Murray would have loved the Tiger Woods angles here. He would have either dissed the world’s greatest golfer for ducking these hallowed grounds this week, or dissed the rest of the field for not dissing Tiger. There would have been at least one great column, making fun of what wimps the other players are with their politically correct statements about how great Tiger is and how his dominance has helped the game. Take him on, call him out, Murray would write. Forget all the nicey-nice stuff. Let’s get it on.

Murray hated the 18th hole at Riviera, and loved it because he hated it so much. It is a 475-yard par four and the tee shot needs to carry more than 200 yards and up and over a hill. Murray always said he had two major goals in his life: to win a Pulitzer Prize and to get his drive up the hill on 18. In 1990, he won the Pulitzer, meaning he would achieve one of the two goals.

When he died, they held the funeral just down the street at St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church. It caused a traffic jam. Everybody was there. Jack Whitaker waxed poetic. Mike Tyson stood near the back of the church and cried. Bob Arum watched as O.J. Simpson lawyer Robert Shapiro, presumably non-Catholic, joined the Communion line and, unlike other non-Catholics who went to the front and crossed their hands over their chests to indicate to the priest they should not take the host, allowed it to be placed in his hands.

“He took the cookie,” Arum exclaimed.

Murray was buried on a hill alongside the 405 Freeway. During the graveside ceremony, one of his friends sized up the scene, sighed and said that Murray would love the view, but hate the location.

“Side-hill lie,” the friend explained.

Bill Dwyre can be reached at bill.Dwyre@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Dwyre, go to latimes.com/dwyre.