Survival Course

BETHESDA, Md. — Here on this side of the Potomac, Tuesday was a typically warm June day at Congressional Country Club. But it wasn’t at all like that steamy day in 1964, when it was hot enough to melt sand in a bunker and Ken Venturi staggered home to win the U.S. Open.

Nothing could stop Venturi at Congressional 33 years ago. Not 95-degree temperatures, not 95% humidity, not playing 36 holes on the last day and not a case of dehydration so bad that Venturi nearly passed out.

Venturi was so overcome by the conditions, he doesn’t remember what happened. His only memories of the last day are the ones others have told him.

But on this day, there is nothing wrong with Venturi’s memory, only with what he is thinking about. While Venturi ought to be enjoying the defining moment in his life in golf, he cannot.

Venturi doesn’t feel like celebrating right now, not with his wife, Beau, so sick with cancer. The doctors have said Beau Venturi has an inoperable brain tumor and the Venturis have called in a hospice for help.

So when the 1997 U.S. Open begins at Congressional, the scene of his greatest triumph, Venturi’s mood will be decidedly mixed.

“You know, the U.S. Open 33 years later, I’m glad it passed my way,” he said. “Of course, my priorities now have changed with my wife being ill.

“I think I have to be home . . . it’s a very important time. That’s what comes first now . . . it’s just too tough.”

Maybe that is what pushes Venturi now, the tough times, as always. Even when he won at Congressional in 1964, he wasn’t supposed to.

Venturi had won 10 tournaments by 1960, but he hurt his neck and back in a car accident in 1961 and his career went into a tailspin. He played in 54 events in the next two years and finished in the top five only once.

In 1963, Venturi won $3,848.

At 32, Venturi was washed up, or so it seemed to many. He stayed at home in Hillsborough in the Bay Area and worked hard on his golf, hoping he could come back.

After all, Venturi was well acquainted with disappointment. He was on his way to becoming the first amateur to win the Masters in 1956 when he led by four shots on the last day, but finished with an 80 and lost to Jack Burke by a stroke.

In the 1958 Masters, Venturi was one shot off the lead with eight holes to go and finished fourth. And in the 1960 Masters, Venturi lost by a shot when Arnold Palmer birdied the last two holes.

Venturi’s preparation for the 1964 U.S. Open began when he begged the tournament director at Westchester for an invitation. Venturi got one, then finished third. When he finished fifth at the Buick, Venturi felt good enough about his golf to try to qualify for the Open field. He succeeded.

Congressional was waiting. The Washington area was having one of its driest months of June. At Congressional, sprinklers kept the fairways alive. In the locker room, there were warnings about the heat and humidity as well as suggestions to drink plenty of water and take salt tablets.

Venturi arrived with new-found confidence and a letter from a friend of his, a priest, in his pocket. Father Francis Murray, who sometimes played golf with Venturi, urged him to persevere at the Open.

Venturi, Murray said in the letter, could become a symbol of overcoming adversity.

The letter said, in part:

“For many, there is a pressing temptation to give up, to quit trying. Life at times simply seems to be too much, its demands overpowering.

“If you should win, Ken, you would prove, I believe, to millions everywhere that they, too, can be victorious over doubt, misfortune and despair.”

In 1964, the Open was decided on Saturday with the final 36 holes to be played, the last year that format was used. It was a grueling regimen even under the most benign conditions, much less the oppressive heat and humidity on that third Saturday in June 1964.

Venturi began the last day six shots behind the leader, Tommy Jacobs.

But it took only nine holes for Venturi to catch up. Venturi made the turn in 30, but he began to falter on the back because of the heat. He bogeyed the last two holes.

“When I got to the 17th green, I stopped sweating, my hands started shaking and I just kind of stood there,” Venturi said.

After the first 18 holes, Jacobs still led by two shots over Venturi, whose friends were worried that he might not be able to play in the afternoon.

Venturi was so far gone, he remembered almost nothing.

“I don’t remember getting into the car, I don’t remember going into the locker room, I don’t remember leaving the clubhouse and I don’t remember going to the first tee for the last round,” Venturi said.

He also didn’t remember how he looked in the locker room between rounds. Venturi was unable to talk, his face was drawn and pale and he slumped on a bench. He had not taken any precautions for the heat . . . no water, no salt, no nothing.

“I’m from California, what did I know about salt tablets?” Venturi said.

Raymond Floyd, who was playing with him, said he thought Venturi was sick. Dr. John Everett, a member at Congressional, took one look at Venturi and didn’t think he would be able to play after the 50-minute break.

But he did play. With Everett in his gallery, Venturi played the front in even par and passed Jacobs by two shots.

With four holes to play, Venturi’s lead was five shots. He played slowly, deliberately, trying to hang on while his shirt was soaked through and stuck to his back.

“It might have been a blessing in disguise,” he said. “All I saw from the tee was where I wanted to go. Then I saw the flag and it looked like a telephone pole. I didn’t see anything else.”

Vince Lombardi walked the entire last round with Venturi, and Green Bay Packer players told Venturi later that the legendary coach used him as a halftime pep talk on many occasions.

By the time Venturi walked down the 18th fairway, his gait was unsteady, but he knew he would win, just as long as he could finish on his feet. When the ball finally fell into the hole on 18, Venturi let the putter slide from his hands, raised his arms and said: “My God, I’ve won the Open.”

And 33 years later, Venturi is simply glad he was able.

“You see the picture of me on 18, you think, ‘if I had another hole to play, it’s over with.’ It’s like runners getting to the finish line, then collapsing.”

In the end, Venturi’s last round of 70 put him only two strokes off Ben Hogan’s 72-hole U.S. Open record of 276.

Venturi’s last three rounds of 70-66-70 also was an Open record, and his last two rounds of 136 tied the Open record.

As for unexpected virtuoso performances, this one was a classic.

Venturi was out of it when he reached the scoring tent. He had held Floyd’s card, but when Venturi took it out of his pocket, the card was blank. Venturi hadn’t filled in a single score for Floyd.

“If you offered me a million dollars, I can’t tell you anything about any hole he played,” he said.

Venturi sat and stared at the numbers on his own scorecard, but he wasn’t able to figure it out.

“I checked it over and over,” he said. “I knew that the only way I could lose was if I signed the wrong card. I just couldn’t put the pencil to the paper. I just sat there. I was just staring.

“Then a hand came on my shoulder. A voice said ‘Sign it, Ken, it’s correct.’ ”

The voice belonged to Joe Dey, the executive director of the U.S. Golf Assn.

Venturi signed his card and history was his.

Two years later, his career was over after an operation for carpal tunnel syndrome that left two fingers permanently bent.

The former champion is 66 now and his wife is sick, but that day in 1964 at Congressional is forever linked with his name.

Even now, Venturi can still hear the applause as he walked down the 18th fairway in 1964. One winter’s day, he stood on the veranda of the clubhouse and looked out over the golf course covered by snow.

“I could still hear the cheers,” he said. “I’ll never forget it. Let’s face it--it couldn’t happen. It was fictional. It was stupid. If you wrote it, somebody would say, ‘Get out of here!’ It simply could not happen that way.”

But it did. Venturi might have wanted to talk more about it, but he couldn’t. He needed to be back home in Florida with Beau. History is great, but priorities have changed.