My Shot: Jack Fleck

On D-Day, I was on a rocket ship off Utah Beach. Our job was to fire 1,140 five-inch rockets over the first waves of fellows going ashore. As some guys fired the rockets, others machine-gunned the waters around the ship, trying to blow up mines. The sea was red with blood. It was something our current generation of golfers hasn't had to go through, which is good. On the other hand, it did give us a perspective on the world that maybe they don't have.

In the fall and winter of 1946, I was determined to play the PGA winter tour. I arranged to travel out West with another pro, Bill McPartland. We removed the back seat of his car, installed a mattress and stretched into the trunk, and lit out. We just about froze to death the first night, and after that we decided we needed a place indoors. Finding lodging was always a challenge out West because there were no motels. The city of Tucson, for example, had just one hotel, and it was crowded. We ended up spending the week there with 23 other pros on the balcony of the Pioneer Hotel, all of us sleeping on Army cots. We weren't playing for much, so we were glad to have those cots. Me especially, because I wasn't finishing in the money very often.

The scramble format is terrible for your game. Playing from the preferred lie robs you of your ability to manage yourself around the golf course. You lose the knack for playing from poor lies, how to lay up, play back to the fairway and a hundred other things you need to score. And they take forever to play.

Statistics are fine for the fans, but if you're a player, it's better not to keep track. How many fairways you hit, the number of putts you took, greens in regulation—the hard numbers plant very negative ideas about your game because they call more attention to your shortcomings than is necessary. If you're driving the ball poorly, you don't need statistics to know it.

The condition of a course is everything to golfers these days. No matter how bad a golf course is, if it's well-manicured, most players will rave about it. And if a good course is in poor shape, they'll let you know about it.

Sam Snead was the best I ever saw. He was a genius. I saw him give an exhibition in Seattle one time when he hit nothing but a 1-iron and hit every shot in the book, on call. High, low, slight draws and fades, deliberate snap-hooks and screaming slices that delighted the audience. It's impossible to explain how I won a U.S. Open and he did not.

Many nice things followed winning the '55 Open. I got to meet President Eisenhower. I appeared on "The Today Show." The best thing, I think, was the welcome home I received at the airport in Davenport. There were many speeches. When it was my turn to talk, I held my son, Craig, and thanked God, my family and the people for being so nice to me. When I came down off the platform, my father looked at me and said, "I thought you forgot about me." When I said, "I love you" and gave him a hug, his eyes filled with tears.

At the 1967 U.S. Open at Baltusrol, I was on the putting green when I heard a voice behind me call out, "Hi, Jack!" I turned around, and it was Ben. I walked over and we chatted for a bit, and when I went to resume my putting I noticed several other pros were staring. I must have looked surprised, because Ted Kroll came over and explained why they were taken aback. "That's the only time Ben Hogan has addressed anyone's back," he said.

Many years later, I decided to phone Ben, and he was nice. His voice sounded good. As we talked, I mentioned the clubs that he made for me and how much I appreciated what they did for me at Olympic. There was a pause, and then he replied, "Is that a good course?" He didn't remember the 1955 U.S. Open. He didn't remember making the clubs for me. Not long after, my friend Ben Hogan passed away.

One day a golf course I built in Arkansas flooded, and there was a terrific amount of damage. To pay for repairs and avoid owing any money, I auctioned off my U.S. Open gold medal. I was nowhere near destitute, as was reported. I had a home, two cars and money in the bank. I really don't regret doing that, because I don't need trophies to remind me of what I did. I have the Ben Hogan clubs I used, which are much more symbolic. Material things just aren't that important to me. Money isn't everything. They won't let you into heaven with it, and if you go to hell it'll burn up anyway.

Where did life lead me? I'm 83 and can run around the golf course. My health is wonderful, and Lord willing, I'll live for many more years. I made an awful lot of mistakes, but I have very few regrets. I did win the U.S. Open, which is a lifetime achievement for people who play this game. All in all, it's been a good, interesting life.