In 1956, Ken Venturi was one of the best players in the world. As an amateur in that year�s Masters, he finished second by a shot, despite hitting 15 greens in a final round 80 on one of the toughest and windiest Sundays ever. The following year, with only four months left in the season, he turned professional, won twice, finished 10th on the money list and was voted Rookie of the Year.
Over the next three years, Ken won eight more tournaments, and in the 1960 Masters, he again finished second by a shot, this time to a charging Arnold Palmer whose two birdies in the final three holes would begin his legend. As the year drew to a close, Ken Venturi had won ten Tour titles in only four years and was at the pinnacle of Golf. Then he hit the wall.
The next four years were as dismal as the previous four had been brilliant. His marriage shattered, and he began to drink heavily. He suffered a series of injuries that robbed him of his physical abilities. In the 1962 and 1963 seasons, he won a total of only $10,799. He was no longer invited to the prestigious tournaments, and he had failed to qualify for the U.S. Open three years running.
By 1964, the career that had begun with so much promise was on the rocks. And so was his golf swing. It had become shockingly flat and quick. His hands were overactive, and his throwaway produced sharp, hard hooks. His balance, once the envy of the golf world, had degenerated into a 'fire and fall back' that rendered the ease and grace of his former finish only a memory. He was in real trouble.
What to do? He left the tour and returned home. There he pulled out every note he had ever taken under the tutelage of his master, Byron Nelson. And then, far from the yellow ropes and crowds of the PGA Tour, in the silence of desperation, he went to work.
He started with the chipping clubs but without a ball, swinging the club back and through the impact interval. Brushing the grass. Back and through and back and through. No more than a few feet in both directions. He referred to his notes. This was the Moment of Truth that Byron had insisted he master: Impact. This was where he had to begin.
Straight back. Straight through. Watch the clubhead blur. Club, left wrist and arm all in one piece. Release. Follow-through. No quitting. Straight back. Straight through.
As the days went by, he began to hit chip shots. Fifteen feet. Twenty feet. Thirty feet. First one. Then, one thousand. Day after day. All the while repeating the mantra of his trusted Teacher: �Straight back and straight through. Straight back and straight through. Club, left wrist and arm all in one piece. Watch the clubhead blur through impact. Straight back. Straight through.�
With his body now quiet, his clubhead back on plane, and his hands now in their correct impact alignments, Ken began to sense once again the coordination and rhythm that had so long eluded him. He progressed to the little pitches, feeling in his hands the lagging clubhead at the end of the Shaft. He allowed his arms to swing freely the same distance in both directions. Halfswings back. Halfswings through. Balanced at the top. Balanced at the finish. Minimal body motion, just enough to clear a path for the hands to swing back and swing through.
Back and through. Thousands of pitches. Up on plane. Down and through in one piece. Poised and balanced into the follow-through and finish. With his body, arms and hands finally coordinated for the first time in years, he extended his motion to the full shots. First with the short irons. Then with the middle and long-irons. Finally, with the woods.
When he was ready, he knew it. He was physically healthy for the first time in years. He had stopped drinking the previous winter, throwing his empty glass into the trash of a San Francisco bar and vowing, �I will not have another drink until I win again.� His finances were still a wreck, but his swing was back, and he was ready to play. He was able to borrow enough money to rejoin the Tour.
He had been reduced to playing on sponsor exemptions, but he made the most of those he got. After a last minute exemption into the Thunderbird Invitational, he finished third. Encouraged, he went to Franklin Hills and qualified for the U.S. Open by three shots. It had been four years since he had qualified for the Open Championship, and four years since he had won a tournament.
Twelve days later, with temperatures soaring to more than 100 degrees in the grueling 36-hole finish, a courageous Ken Venturi won the United States Open.
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