Lee Trevino, a Joker but No Joke

Lee Trevino ad-libbed the funniest line I ever heard in golf. Where he did it and when are legend although I never have seen this reported anywhere, anytime. Thousands heard what he said, and now you will find out.

I was among the thousands.

The date was Sunday, June 20, 1971. This was the fourth but not “final” day of the U-S Open at what Sports Illustrated golf writer Dan Jenkins called “marvelous old Merion”, just outside Philadelphia. This was the famed course with the wicker baskets that Merion calls flagsticks. This was the course where Ben Hogan hit that one-iron on the 18th hole in 1950, and where, 20 years before that, Bobby Jones won to capture his famous Grand Slam, and, as an amateur, too.

Before the 1971 tournament, Lee observed: “There are 16 birdie holes here. But…there are 18 bogey holes. I’ll eat all the cactus around El Paso if anybody breaks 280.”

Nobody did. There is still plenty of cactus around El Paso. Both Trevino and Jack Nicklaus finished at exactly 280, which meant they had to face each other in an 18-hole playoff the next day, Monday. But that’s for later.

What about the ad-lib by Lee Trevino?

To get to the full measure of its verbal explosion, you have to recall what came before on that great Sunday. For one thing, the leader at the start of the day was a 21-year-old amateur, Jim Simons. He led Jack Nicklaus by two strokes at the start of the day.

Jack was two shots ahead of Lee. But Lee said that morning he thought he would win, just as he had won the U-S Open three years before at Oak Hill (Rochester, NY). “I’m playing fantastic”, said Trevino. “I’ve been playing super ever since Nicklaus told me in February that he hoped I never found out how good I really was. For the best player in the world to tell me that just filled me up with confidence, and I’ve almost won every tournament I’ve been in the last six weeks. I know I can win this thing.”

Nicklaus and Simons were the last pairing of the day, Trevino just ahead of them. As much as I liked Jack Nicklaus, something told me to keep my eyes on Lee.

Simons did what 21-year-old amateurs are supposed to do in a major: He quickly made two bogeys to draw everybody close. Nicklaus tied Simons when he sank a curling downhill 30-footer at the fourth hole.

But the next hole, Nicklaus double-bogeyed, hitting his tee shot into a creek.

Some say Trevino’s golf that day was the best he ever played. All he did, said Dan Jenkins, was split the center of the narrow fairways and rivet his irons close to the wicker baskets. When he birdied the 12th hole, he tied for the lead. He nearly made a deuce there “with more backspin on his approach shot than you can get in car wheels on a sandy road” (Jenkins).

When Trevino reached the 14th green, still tied with Nicklaus, he found himself with probably a 45-foot putt. I had a perfect spot in the gallary from which I could see the “break” (the hill) between Lee’s ball and the cup.

If there had been a pin to drop in the Merion rough as Trevino looked over the putt, I think you would have heard it, the gallery was that quiet, and respectful. Lee took a long time walking back and forth. Finally, he crouched behind the ball to check the line to the hole one last time. All eyes were focused on him; all mouths were shut.

In a slow, confidential but audible voice heard by everybody, he said: “I’d sure like to make you, honey!”

The gallery exploded. Surely the laughter could be heard in the group behind where Jack was playing with Simons, who, by the way, stayed competitive until his double-bogey on the last hole.

I recall that 14th green as though it was just today thinking THERE IS NO WAY HE CAN COMPOSE HIMSELF NOW AND SINK THAT PUTT. It was somewhat of a task for him to wait for the gallery to return to quiet.

The putt started up on that hill to his right and snaked downward into the hole. Birdie, and a one-shot lead.

The roar was louder than the laughter of the minute before.

For me, the rest was “anticlimactic”. Even the snake the next day. The rubber one, not a Trevino putt.

Because this is a Trevino story, I would be remiss not to add, here, for the record the additional Lee humor that day, and the next.

Some would say that Trevino choked on the 18th hole with that one-shot lead Sunday. Hardly. He was laughing on the 18th tee, teasing his caddie for forgetting to give him a club. “You choking already?” Lee asked him. The crowd roared. Grinning, Lee added: “You wanna give me something to fan this with?” The crowd roared again.

Lee hit a drive with a bit too much fade (that’s a slice for an amateur). His three-wood to the green was a bit too much club. His chip back from 70 feet was excellent, but stopped seven feet past. Had he made the seven-foot par putt, he would have won that day. But he had to back away from the ball when he became momentarily nettled, unlike his composure at the 14th green. As he was addressing his crucial putt, a kid fell off his perch near the clubhouse, breaking Lee’s concentration. Lee refused to blame anybody but himself. Surely, an hour before, on that 14th green, he proved to thousands he can crack a double-entendre and sink a putt in the same two minutes.

Missing the putt for a bogey, Lee still had his 280, the score he said nobody would beat.

Jack Nicklaus soon finished with the same score, and the Monday playoff (18 holes) was on.

I had to work the next day so I missed the playoff.

Dan Jenkins said the tension around the first tee on Monday was unbelievable. Nicklaus was sitting under a tree, his head down in apparent concentration when Trevino came out on the tee, smacking gum, rubbing his hands together, pacing, waving to the crowd. He reached into a side pocket of his golf bag, pulled out a three-foot-long toy snake and held it up. The crowd shrieked as Lee laughed and tossed it at a scrambling Nicklaus.

Said Jenkins: “Big Jack broke up laughing. So did the crowd. So did the world.”

Lee finished at 68 to Nicklaus’ 71. He was U-S Open champion for a second time.

He said: “I’m a lucky dog. You gotta be lucky to beat Jack Nicklaus because he is the greatest golfer who ever held a club.”

And in conclusion, you wanna know more about those times….back there in 1971? For winning, Trevino won $30,000; Nicklaus got second place money of $15,000. Somebody named Arnold Palmer won $1,500 and not many attaboys for the way he criticized Jack’s alleged slow play. They became best friends years later.

And one of Lee’s many “quotes” kept him in the limelight for decades after: “You can make a lot of money in this game. Just ask my ex-wives. Both of them are so rich that neither of their husbands work.”

My Pal Dizzy Dean

Jerome Herman Jay Hanna “Dizzy” Dean is in the Baseball Hall of Fame. He is there because of his pitching, but also because of his career. They didn’t call him Dizzy for nothing.

He preceded Yogi Berra in being a public figure (i.e., baseball star) in part for his sayings. And for what people said about him.

St. Louis Cardinals teammate Pepper Martin once said: “When ol’ Diz was out there pitching, it was more than just another ball game. It was a regular three-ring circus and everybody was wide awake and enjoying being alive.”

Others get some credit for this remark, but I heard it first from Dizzy: “It ain’t braggin’ if you can back it up.”

In one Cardinals game, he told the fielders to sit down on the field, he was going to strike out the side. He did. He was the last National League pitcher to win 30 games in one season.

You will note that this article began with Dizzy’s several names. Some say his legal name was Jerome Herman Dean, others said Jay Hanna Dean. One story about Diz’s legal name is that he gave conflicting information to three different sportswriters in quick succession. A teammate asked him about it and he replied: “I wanted to give each of them fellas an exclusive story.”

Ol’ Diz once said: “It puzzles me how they know what corners are good for filling stations. Just how did they know gas and oil was under there?”

If you have some time on your hands, Google DIZZY DEAN QUOTES for laughs similar to those that ensued when Yogi said things like: “Nobody goes to that restaurant anymore. It’s too crowded.”

This is a story about Dizzy Dean after his last days on the baseball diamond. But before I get to my friend (this is a stretch, of course, as you will see), let’s review some of the things that earned him entry into Cooperstown.

He was born January 16, 1910, in Lucas, Arkansas. He was just 64 when he died (July 17,1974, in Reno, Nevada). When he died, I was 40 and really felt I had lost a good friend. Actually, I hardly knew him. I knew him mostly as thousands did. But that’s for later.

He pitched for the Cardinals (1930-1937), the Chicago Cubs (1938-1941) and briefly for the St. Louis Browns (1947). I saw that game. I was 13 years old. But again, I am getting ahead of myself.

Dizzy was best known for leading the 1934 “Gashouse Gang” Cardinals to win the World Series in seven games over the Detroit Tigers. He had a 30-7 record, a 2.66 ERA in the regular season. His brother, Paul (they called him “Daffy”; that’s a fact), also pitched for the Cardinals. They both won two World Series games that year. Dizzy won the National League’s Most Valuable Player Award that year, and he was runner-up in the voting the next two years.

While pitching for the National League in the 1937 All-Star game, he faced Earl Averill of the American League Cleveland Indians. Averill hit a line drive back at the mound, hitting Dizzy on the foot. Told that his big toe was fractured, he replied: “Fractured, hell!! The damn thing’s broken!”

It was said he came back to pitching too soon from the injury, which caused him to change his pitching motion to avoid landing so hard on his sore left big toe. As a result, the story went, he hurt his arm and he lost his fast ball. By the next year, when he was with the Cubs, his arm was just about shot, but he kept at it for three more years. That year, 1938, he pitched well enough to help the Cubs win the pennant and he pitched gamely in the second World Series game before losing to the Yankees in what became known as “Ol’ Diz’s Last Stand”.

It was said that between ages 23 and 27, Dizzy was the best pitcher in baseball. By 28, he was just another pitcher, and at 31, it was all over. Except for that time in 1947 when I saw him pitch for real.

My Dad worked for Western Union and occasionally he would be assigned to Sportsmans Park for the baseball game. Using his telegrapher’s “bug”, he would transmit baseball results to other cities, and receive them for local consumption. Sometimes he would take me along, and I would be able to walk the bridge into the press box where my Dad worked along with sportswriters, the official scorer, and so forth, and Dizzy Dean and Johnny O’Hara in the radio booth.

Need I tell you? There was no security. I could walk all through the pressbox, including the radio booth. I was 10 years old. The year was 1944, and both the Cardinals and the Browns were in first place, and ultimately played each other in the World Series that year. It was a heady time for me, of course.

One night, I was standing behind Johnny and Dizzy, listening to them. Occasionally, they would look back at me, smile but not shooosh me away.

From my vantage point, I could not see all of the field, and a batter lofted a high fly to right field. It looked like it was going over the Mississippi River. I could not help myself. I was a kid. I started hollering WOWWWWWWWW!

The right fielder caught the ball.

Johnny was doing the play-by-play. He turned around and so did Dizzy. They said nothing. I have thanked them quietly ever since. I got into no trouble that I know of, and I never told my Dad. And I guess that was the start of my radio career, as that was the first word I ever said on the radio.

It was quite a while before I had the courage to return to that position in the pressbox.

And actually, it was because of my familiarity with my new-found friends in the pressbox that I had the courage to go to the radio booth one Sunday afternoon after a thunderstorm had caused a rain delay. This day, the Browns were scheduled to play a double-header, and before the first game, they had a “Long Ball Hitting Contest”, involving star players from both the Browns and the Detroit Tigers. I remember Chet Laabs was one of the Brownies’ stars and pitcher Dizzy Trout was one of the Tigers hitters.

The first game was interrupted early. While I had been sitting in the grandstand behind third base, when the rain stopped play, I went up to the pressbox, worldly as I was, of course, at age 10. And, of course, already fascinated with radio work, I headed for the radio booth.

Johnny O’Hara and Dizzy were just sitting there with the radio engineer, not on the air. Their broadcast had been returned to the studio during the rain delay. I think Johnny and Dizzy wanted to remind me about hollering about a high fly to right, but they didn’t bring it up. They started talking with me as though I was an adult.

Dizzy started really talking about the long-ball hitting contest. He asked me if I had seen it. I had. He asked me who I thought should have won. I think I said Chet Laabs. I remember, however, vividly what Dizzy came back with: “Dizzy Trout hit the HARDEST home run. That line drive would have gone through a mule!” I agreed. Dizzy wasn’t through. “He’s a pitcher, you know!!!” I said yes, I know he is a pitcher. Dizzy always told his radio audience what a great hitter he was.

The story is not finished. I had no place to go, doncha know, so I stayed right there as we waited out the rain delay. But the rain never stopped. Eventually, the umpires called off both games. And here came the bad part. The stadium announcer said all fans could get refunds at the streetside ticket windows WITH THEIR STUB for today’s admission.

I reached in my pocket to find my ticket stub. I pulled out four stubs. Obviously, I wore the same pants to several games, and never threw my stubs away. My mother always had clean clothes for me, but most likely I wore and wore the same pants to ballgames.

I held the stubs in my hand to show Dizzy. I asked: “How can I tell which stub is for today?”

As you know, they didn’t call him Dizzy for no reason. He replied, to his 10-year-old friend, “Turn all of ‘em in. You’ll get alot more money! They won’t be able to tell.”

It sounded good to me. I went downstairs to the ticket windows, and stood among the throng in front of the windows. There were no lines; it was just fight-your-way-up-there.

When I finally made it to the window, I turned in the four stubs. The woman ticketseller took my four stubs, and for the next two or three minutes, panic was starting to set in. She showed the stubs to another ticketseller, and then came back to the window, and in a tone similar to a school teacher, she asked, no, she demanded to know: WHERE DID YOU GET THESE?

As God is my witness, I broke into tears and replied rather frantically: DIZZY DEAN TOLD ME I COULD TURN THEM IN!

DIZZY DEAN TOLD YOU!!! she hollered as all fans within earshot roared with laughter.

I realized it was too farfetched a story to continue. So I just kept crying. She actually identified the one good ticket for the day, and gave me a refund. God Bless Her for not having me arrested for fraud. I know she never believed my answer. Nor did the nearby fans. Sneaky kid. Got caught.

Actually, Dizzy was pretty famous as a baseball broadcaster. He first started with the Cardinals and Browns in 1941 right after his playing days were over. In those days, the broadcasters did not travel with the teams but Ol’ Diz had a good deal for the season, as, when one team left town, the other team came home. Dizzy was both funny and colorful, partly for butchering the English language, much to the chagrin of St. Louis English teachers.

When Al “Zeke” Zarilla tripled, he described how Zarilla “slud into third”. When the English teachers complained, Dizzy simply enjoyed more opportunities to say “slud”.

An English teacher once wrote to him that he shouldn’t use the word “ain’t” on the air, as it was a bad example to children. He responded to the teacher on the air, not so elegantly: “A lotta folks who ain’t sayin’ ‘ain’t’ ain’t eatin’. So Teach you learn ‘em English, and I’ll learn ‘em baseball.”

Dizzy advanced to join Pee Wee Reese on the CBS-TV Game of the Week each Saturday, which he did from 1955 to 1965.

And yes, I enjoyed actually seeing Dizzy Dean pitch in an official baseball game. His last, so to speak. It was September 28, 1947. He was 37 years old.

By this time, Dizzy was well-known for his broadcasting. The story has been that he had been doing the St. Louis Browns’ games, enduring several poor pitching performances in a row, and he got so frustrated, he blurted out on the air: “Doggone it, I can pitch better than nine out of the ten guys on the staff!!!” The wives of the Browns pitchers complained, and team management, needing to sell tickets any way they could, took him up on his offer and had him pitch the last game of the season.

I thought Sportsman Park would be filled and got there soon after the gates opened. Sad to say, it was far from a sellout. But Dizzy did not disappoint. He pitched four innings, allowed no runs and got a single in his only at-bat. Rounding first base, he pulled his hamstring, ending his experiment.

Returning to the broadcast booth later on, he told his radio audience: “I said I can pitch better than nine of the ten guys on the staff, and I can. But I’m done. Talkings my game now. I’m just glad that muscle I pulled wasn’t in my throat.”

So that’s my story about my pal Diz. Now don’t forget to Google QUOTES BY DIZZY DEAN. Here are two that clearly identify him:

“I won 28 games in 1935 and I couldn’t believe my eyes when the Cards sent me a new contract with a cut in salary. Mr. Rickey said I deserved a cut because I didn’t win 30 games.”

And….. “Anybody whosoever had the privilege of seeing me play knows I am the greatest pitcher in the world.”

Tiger in Philadelphia

It has been my pleasure to have watched the play of many of the world’s top golfers. This past week, I hit the jackpot when, for the first time, I saw Tiger Woods “live” (i.e., not on the telly).

Tiger did not have an especially good tournament, finishing four over par in the AT&T National at the Aronimink Golf Club in suburban Newtown Square, PA. He finished in a tie for 46th, and won $16,581. Many Tiger followers will call that “chump change” for the likes of Tiger.

I agree with most golf fans of today “in the know” that Tiger is the best golfer of all time.

Before Tiger, I once put Ben Hogan in that slot, then Jack Nicklaus.

I never was able to watch Sam Snead in person (nor another great Byron Nelson). Snead won more golf tournaments than anybody. Now, Tiger is on a mission to surpass Slammin’ Sammy. Of course, at this writing, the Tiger question most golf fans want answered is WHEN is Tiger going to return to better than $16,581 form?

My first golf tournament was the 1963 Western Open in Chicago. I don’t remember much about it, except Bob Goalby and Bob Charles and Jack Rule were in the field. Arnold Palmer won the tournament, but I don’t remember much about my visit to the Beverly Country Club. The most noteworthy thing I remember is that I was in Philadelphia on the Friday of the tournament for a job interview with WRCV Radio-TV, owned by NBC. The news director and assistant news director, during the interview, seemed favorably impressed, and said they would contact me the next day back in my home city in Iowa. I had to cough up that I wouldn’t be home, but rather at a golf tournament. At the time, I didn’t think that might be a good thing for my resume, but Saturday night, after all day at Beverly, the call came through: you have the job.

Although I have watched Arnold Palmer in person since the early 1960′s, I could not adopt him as Number One of all time. But I well recognized he has been called “The King”. While working for WHO-TV in Des Moines, I was doing the half-hour Sunday night TV newscasts and one Sunday, Arnie was playing an exhibition at Waveland Golf Course in Des Moines. With a noisy camera of the era, I followed him around all 18 holes, recording virtually every shot. I had asked him prior to the exhibition if it would bother him; I said my camera was anything but noiseless. He said it would be no problem if I started the camera at least 15 seconds before he hit the ball. On one occasion, I was asleep at the switch, discovering he was about to hit an approacb shot to the fourth green, turned on the camera amidst the deafening silence and practically on his backswing, Arnie stopped. Everybody laughed but me. I was terribly embarrassed and suffice it to say I did not resume the coverage until the next hole. A little post-script to that faux pas: Arnie started once again to hit the ball, and then actually topped it up the fairway, so I felt further hurt. But he put his third shot on the par five hole on the green, and walked off with a birdie anyway. I have thanked him for that ever since. That night, after our film editor had put the whole three-minute package together, I used my local knowledge of Waveland (which I had played a hundred times) to ad-lib his entire round. It brought many nice compliments from people who did not trudge 18 with Arnie.

I still felt Ben Hogan was the best ever.

When I heard that Bantam Ben was coming to Philadelphia for the IVB Championship, in 1966 at Whitemarsh Country Club, I asked our Channel 3 sportscaster Jim Leaming if I could use his media pass if he wasn’t. No problem. My goal was to watch Ben Hogan.

To my surprise I was pretty much alone in my admiration for Ben Hogan. He was joined by the Hebert brothers, Lionel and Jay, and somebody else I do not recall, and me. Four players and me. No other gallery for Ben that day. Are the people in this city crazy???? It was not Ben’s first visit to Philadelphia. Perhaps you remember his famous one-iron to the 18th green at Merion to win the 1950 U-S Open? This was just more than one year after his horrific auto crash with a Greyhound bus in February, 1949. He was nearly killed; a broken collarbone was only one of his injuries that had doctors unsure whether he ever would pick up a golf club again. Glenn Ford played Ben in a movie about his life called “FOLLOW THE SUN”.

I wish I would remember more about his round of Wednesday practice golf at Whitemarsh. There were no Arnold Palmer-topped-fairway-wood moments. In fact, he was rather jovial all around the course, enjoying some, for him, casual banter with the Hebert brothers. Even in those days (he was now 53), Ben was pretty much a robot on the golf course. I am pretty sure Ben did not make the cut for weekend play in that tournament. I also watched him all around the course on one of the regular tournament days. I thought I was watching the best ever.

In those Whitemarsh days, Arnold won the championship in 1963, the same year I saw him win in Chicago. But Jack Nicklaus ultimately won three times at Whitemarsh, and I must be candid: Jack was the better golfer. I interviewed both of them during my TV years and found Jack to be the far more congenial, frank and cooperative. I think I caught Arnie on bad days, I’m not sure. For some time, Arnie had a tough time realizing that Jack was surpassing him. Now, they are pals, and I like that.

Jack has won 18 major tournaments. That is more than anybody, ever. And up until the last decade, I had changed the “best ever” from Ben to Jack. I saw Jack do more incredible things on the golf course than anybody else.

Until this past weekend. Tiger is the best ever. There is no question about that. Of course, I am talking golf here, not incorporating his off-course behavior into that analogy.

More than a year ago, it was revealed that the Congressional golf course in Washington, DC was to be renovated and re-shaped for a future U-S Open. It was the site of the 2009 tournament that was Tiger’s personal signature. For the next two years, however, the Tiger AT&T National needed another home. So 20 months ago, Tiger and his Foundation looked for a substitute home course for two years while Congressional is getting its major fixup. And his Foundation would continue to receive parts of the profits from the tournament.

Then, November happened. Tiger and his girl friends hit the front pages of newspapers and all the sports and celebrity TV shows all over the world. It was a horrific crash. Anybody, as I did, who already had bought a weeklong ticket for Aronimink wondered what it meant insofar as Tiger finally playing Philadelphia.

They sell “season” tickets for golf tournaments the same as NFL football teams. You have to buy the whole package: Tuesday through Sunday. In the NFL, you have to pay for the “pre-season” games when the regulars hardly even play. In golf, Tuesday is a practice day, Wednesday the pro-am.

Aronimink probably was one of the first events in which many people were happy to buy the “pre-season”. I watched Tiger play nine holes (he only played nine) on Tuesday, and 18 Wednesday. But actually, nobody saw him play all nine, or all 18. Oh, sure, some healthy blokes might have seem him walking or putting on every hole, but hardly in the fashion of being able to say you SAW HIM.

If you were lucky enough to get a spot where you could see him drive, you likely did not see him finish the hole. There were just too many people. So, after you had seen one laser drive (he was hitting the ball just about farther than anybody in the field, with the ball resembling an Astronaut in a Cape Canaveral rocket), you realized you had to concentrate on your position on the green, most likely the next green, not the one you just saw him where he hit the laser.

For the first day of competition, I had decided to forego watching his drive, and went directly to the Number One green. It was a 12:56 p.m. tee time so just about all the Tiger Fans already were on Aronimink real estate. I was fortunate to get a standing spot just behind a guy not any taller, and I was able to see Tiger’s Thursday drive off #1 alight in the fairway. His short approach to the green was dead-on, and Tiger drained the putt for a birdie. The pros say you can’t birdie ‘em all if you don’t birdie the first hole. Tiger had birdied the first hole.

But, alas, when he played the second hole, I already had headed for #3 green in the hope that I would find another vantage point almost as good as at #1. I did not see the play on the second hole. And Tiger bogeyed #2, and he no longer was one under par with just 71 more holes to go.

While earlier this year, Tiger has been spraying drives off the fairways, in this tournament he was impressively accurate. And long. He hit the ball so long off the tee. He said afterward he used his driver almost every par four and par five hole. He sounded as though that was alot of fun for him.

On his first day, Tiger birdied the first par three hole (fifth hole) to once again get a red number on the portable scoreboard. He finished the first nine at one under par, and his huge gallary already was figuring this was just Thursday, heck, this tournament is in the bag. (He was the defending champion for the AT&T National, having won last year at Congressional.)

But, of course, Tiger having proved his mortality in the November revelations, he bogeyed the 14th, a par three, to fall back to even.

He then did the un-Tiger-like: he bogeyed the par five 16th (Tiger bogeyed a par five??? C’mon!!!). Now, he was over par. And he never again for the four days would see a red number.

In fact, the very next hole, the par three 17th, Tiger double-bogeyed. His par on the 18th gave him a three-over-par 73 for the first day.

Most of the Aronimink gallery was there to see Tiger. Last November did not interfere except perhaps between Tiger’s ears. Then again, at the British Open in less than two weeks, Tiger may erase his recent negative golfing past.

The attendance at Aronimink was 36,685 Thursday, 45,366 Friday, 45,231 Saturday and 35,872 Sunday. While the blue sky weather moved into the 90′s for the weekend, I think the Sunday decline was as much due to Tiger’s far-back standing as it was perspiration. At the start of the day Sunday, Tiger was 13 strokes behind the eventual winner Justin Rose, who won by the narrowest of margins.

Tiger had even par rounds of 70 Friday and Saturday, but this kept him three over par and far behind. There was no charge. And Sunday, he finished with a one over par 71. In Round 2, he did birdie two holes in a row, #3 and #4, both par fours. Tiger had 13 birdies in all. I saw about half of them. I am happy about that. As the song says in “FIDDLER”, ON THE OTHER HAND, he had 15 bogeys and one double-bogey, mostly from faulty strokes with the flat stick. From tee to green, I would say: WATCH FOR A TIGER IN THE SHORT GRASS AT ST. ANDREWS, the British Open July 15-18.

I have seen Ben, though not in his prime, and I know his terrific record. I saw Jack and Arnie in their prime. And now Tiger.

Tiger is the best ever.

Wow! It’s Going to be Colder Tomorrow!!!

Unfortunately for the viewing public everywhere, not just in the Philadelphia area, weather “news” has overwhelmed the typical TV newscasts today more than ever.

Back in the 1960′s, this writer was a member of the Channel 3 “Eyewitness News” team.   We were the first of the “Eyewitness News” shops.  News Director Al Primo is credited with launching it.

As part of the new Eyewitness News, Channel 3 built a new studio/newsroom set.  It likely was the first time a television newsroom actually was in the studio.  More about this below.  If you are a senior citizen, you probably saw this studio in your youth.  This was where Ernie Kovacs did his network show.

Last night, on the 11 p.m. news (I usually watch my former station, Channel 3), the news had not been on for long when the “weather girl” was introduced.  Forgive the sexism but the “weather girl” has been a TV news staple since Trudy Haynes did the weather on TV news in Detroit.   Trudy moved to Channel 3, Philadelphia, not as a weather girl, but rather a reporter.

The television bosses don’t want to read items like this,  but rest assured or at least informed:  they want the babes doing the weather.   It is assumed you know why.   This is not a sexist statement but I think you also have noticed there are a lot more news bunnies today.  Some people will say that’s a good thing.  I would prefer that if they must be of the feminine gender, they ought to be able to show the professionalism of, say, Marge Pala, of Channel 3.   I think the high number of females in TV news has enabled the continuing softening of “hard news”, and I believe the station executives prefer it that way.   Some day I will have a lot more to say about this on thishere blog as this is nothing directly personal ”against” the women of today in TV news.   In large part, they are unable to fulfill a full commitment to journalism not due to their gender, but rather the policies of their bosses.   But this yarn is about….. lessee….oh yeah….the local weather!!

Last night, what was the reason the weather bunny was on almost at the start of the newscast?   It was to get 20 degrees colder “tomorrow”, i.e.,  Sunday (today, as I write this).  My, my, as I write this in the early afternoon, the temperature is 31 degrees.  The low today was 23.  The weather lady more or less suggested by her tone and commentary that weather terror was just ahead (“tomorrow”).   It may go below 20 tonight.  My, has that ever happened before???

It should be pointed out here that it would be the same reporting and emphasis situation if all the weather reporters on TV were men:   their bosses still would use weather as a major news item, even with a sprinkle of rain.  This is because most broadcasting executives are not journalists and want to stay as far away from journalism as they can. 

This also is because TV stations have conducted research of news viewers like you.  They have asked, in effect, why do you turn on the news?  To my chagrin, a most prominent response is to get the weather.   I would have preferred that you tuned in to find out the latest news.  But nowadays, it seems they mostly cover the “safe” stuff like fires and murders.  Their investigative pieces not infrequently are stings… or setups… such as the recent Channel 10 series catching pedophiles.   There are alot of murders in Philadelphia, and Mayor Street says he is concerned about that. 

But anyway, about that newsroom in a studio.  Back in the 1960s’, the Channel 3 sportscaster was Jim Leaming, who sat right behind me in the four tiers of news desks.  Jim was in the last row, I in the third tier.

Whenever I was doing a “cut in” on the six o’clock news, I would be seated at my desk, with Jim behind me.  We were part of the wide shots’ ambience during the newscast. 

Down below us, Bill Kuster would be doing the weather in the weather set portion of the floor level where the newscasters stood in front of a high table (where the late Ernie Kovacs once performed).

It was Jim’s almost nightly routine to whisper to me while Bill Kuster was on.   “Hey John!”

“Hey John!”.   I would turn around and Jim would say:  “Call WE 6-1212″.   And we would laugh.

The first time he had done this, I had asked him why.   

He replied:  “You can find out what he’s (Bill Kuster) talking about in 30 seconds.” WE 6-1212 was the phone number to get the weather forecast.
Now the phone company charges for this service.  I would not be surprised if the reason for the charges in part was because TV and radio people complained that the phone company was competing with them.

It would frustrate Jim that so much time was devoted to the weather, and so little to his sports.   You couldn’t cover the sports in 30 seconds, but frankly, you could take care of the weather with the 30-second forecast. 

When he first started at Channel 3, he was working two blocks down the street at Radio Station WIP where he did the late afternoon sports amidst a disc jockey show.  After his last radio broadcast, he would walk to KYW-TV and do the sports at 6:25 p.m., just before the Huntley-Brinkley Report.

After doing the radio sports in the afternoon, he had most of the sports news in his head, so he didn’t require alot of preparation for his little two-minute bit on TV. 

But this is my point:  most times, the newsroom’s assignment editor would not give Jim a crew so as to film a sports story earlier in the day.  

In other words, even in the 1960′s, the emphasis was to give nearly 10 minutes to the weather, two minutes for sports.  They didn’t want to give sports more time so why waste time and money on film stories that would mean you would have to take time away from the weathercaster.  

  
In a major sports town with major and minor pro sports and five major colleges, two minutes was ridiculous.  (Alas, sometimes even today the sports on the local TV news is a blip.)

Subsequently, Jim Leaming fought for more air time and sometimes got it.  He even got film crews.  One day, he asked me to “sub” for him and go down to the Spectrum (this was 1969)  and interview the new kid on the Flyers who, the night before, had scored his first NHL goal.   I never forgot that interview with Bobby Clarke.  I came back to the studio with the film and Jim came in and asked:  how long is the interview?  I replied it’s one minute and 23 seconds; three questions.   Said Jim:  I’ll use it all.  And he did.

That evening, Jim told the Channel 3 viewers this 19-year-old kid is going to be a big star.

Of course, Jim was right.

I was sad to hear of Jim’s death a few years ago.  I do not have to tell anybody who knew him:   Jim was a gem. 

His material, if he had been given the time, would have been better than one of those Bermuda highs.

As a postscript to all of this, all three local (network-affiliated) stations with early evening Sunday news led with the weather this evening.   I submit this is pathetic.   DANGEROUSLY COLD said Channel 3.   Channel 6 used the wind chill factor to say that it feels like 11 degrees.

Lemme see, now.   Doesn’t it get cold in the winter?

Nowadays, weather has become the lead story on many occasions, both summer and winter and even spring and autumn.  Hot and cold.  It is at the expense of good television journalism.

I submit to you that you are living a dull life if you pay attention to those Bermuda highs.