A Golfer And A Gentleman

One of the sport's greatest players and solid citizens, Byron Nelson, who died at 94, left a legacy far beyond a stunning season like no other

Staying in the present: Nelson, shown in 2002, kept up with the modern game he helped shape.

By Bill Fields

Photo By Darren Carroll

September 15, 2006

The mastery exhibited by many sports legends is often coated with a considerable layer of mystery, but that was not the case with Byron Nelson. His golf swing was likened to an efficient machine; his playing record, compressed by choice into a truncated prime, shone like a neon sign decades after he produced it; his character, according to those who knew him well, was more unswerving than any of the sure and solid shots he ever struck.

Although Nelson won more silver trophies than all but a handful of golfers, many of them in his fantastic 1945 season—when he claimed 11 consecutive tournaments among 18 victories—he was most proud of a long life lived by the golden rule. "If whenever people mention great players, they think of Nelson, too, that would be nice," he said. "But I prefer being remembered as a nice man with a lot of integrity, as somebody people could love and trust, as being friendly and a good Christian man."

Nelson, 94, died of natural causes Sept. 26 at his Fairway Ranch in Roanoke, Texas, slightly more than 60 years after moving there following the most concentrated period of dominance the game has known. In three seasons—1944-46—Nelson won 34 of the 75 tournaments he entered, was runner-up 16 times and only once finished out of the top 10. Ruling the tour in 1945, Nelson had a stroke average of 68.34 (a mark that stood until Tiger Woods broke it in 2000) and a final-round average of 67.45.

Among Nelson's 52 PGA Tour victories—which place him sixth on the all-time list behind Sam Snead (82), Jack Nicklaus (73), Ben Hogan (64), Arnold Palmer (62) and Woods (54)—were five major championships: 1937 and '42 Masters; 1939 U.S. Open; and 1940 and '45 PGA Championships. He was "in the money," the equivalent of making a cut in the modern game, 113 straight times, a record that also stood until Woods bettered it.

"He was a legend who transcended generations and was loved and respected by everyone who knew him," said PGA Tour commissioner Tim Finchem. "His legacy spans across his historic performances, the gentle and dignified way he carried himself and his tremendous contributions to golf and society."

Nelson carved his place in golf history with an individualistic swing against fellow icons Snead and Hogan, with whom he shared a birth year (1912) in an era when the purses were small, course conditions ragged and travel hard. The circuit visited cities such as Corpus Christi and Durham, Tacoma and Gulfport, and the pros usually got from one place to the next by car—it was a far cry from the life led by current pros who came to play in the EDS Byron Nelson Championship, for which Nelson had been the host and soul since 1968.

In Golf's Golden Grind, Nelson described the travel: "We would drive Sunday night, Monday, and Tuesday sometimes. Once you got to the tournament it took two days before you got rid of the shakes in your hands and the golf clubs quit feeling like the steering wheel. It's a wonder anybody could putt at all."

But the journeys between tournaments weren't in some ways as arduous as Nelson's path in making it to adulthood. Born Feb. 4, 1912 on his family's 160-acre cotton farm in Long Branch, outside Waxahachie, Texas, John Byron Nelson Jr. was momentarily given up for dead during a difficult delivery. Before he was a teenager, Nelson had survived a bite from a rabid dog and typhoid fever (the latter making him sterile, which, he said, is why he and his first wife of 50 years, Louise, didn't have children).