My Shot: Miller Barber

Interviewed By Guy Yocom
Photo By Darren Carroll November 2005

Age 74 • Clinton, Montana

I wasn't the first Mr. X. George Bayer, the longest hitter on tour in the 1950s, had the nickname because he hit the ball so far. At the Hartford Open one year they had a long-drive contest on the first hole. George missed the fairway with all three of his drives. I had the longest drive in the fairway. Instantly I became Mr. X.

That's one version. The other is that Jim Ferree gave me the nickname because I never told anyone where I was going at night. I was a bachelor and a mystery man with many girlfriends in many cities—I didn't marry Karen until I was 39. It wasn't their business to know where I was going, so for a while they called me "007"—the James Bond movies were popular at the time. But my activities prompted Ferree to start referring to me as "The Mysterious Mr. X," and it really stuck.

Speaking of James Bond, I was a huge fan of the movies and was excited when I got to meet Sean Connery at Pebble Beach during the Crosby in 1970. Sean invited Ray Floyd, me and our wives over to play Troon the week before the British Open at St. Andrews. We played Troon on Friday and Saturday and had a wonderful time. I don't know who was more excited to be with Sean Connery, me or Karen. But on Sunday morning Sean called from the hotel lobby, very upset. I rushed down to meet him, and he had a very nasty letter from the R&A, objecting to our conducting "an event" without giving them the opportunity to come out and officiate. There were four of us actually playing golf, but the R&A viewed it as "an event." Sean was mortified that he'd upset them, and in fact it ruined the trip. I always thought the R&A was very hard to understand.

Arnold Palmer is retiring, and I think it's a shame he wasn't able to play his best his last years on tour. Not only is there a generation of young people who never saw him in his prime, the generation before that never saw him in the '60s, when he was at his best. You see his swing on those old TV shows, and they hide the fact that he was a tremendous driver of the ball, long and incredibly straight. He had great touch and could just putt the eyes off it, was an excellent sand player, the whole package. Nobody wanted to win more than he did. Hey, he won 62 times on the PGA Tour. Seven majors.

They've taken away golf carts on the Champions Tour, which I think is a terrible mistake. Take Arnold. He's always refused to take a cart; he's a big proponent of walking. He feels it keeps you healthy, but I think it took 10 years off his career. Walking as much as he did, at his age, wears out your body something terrible.

I live in Scottsdale part of the year and know Phil Mickelson very well. For a long time I begged him to find a driver he could hit the fairway with, or do something to get the ball out there on short grass. Underneath that soft personality is one of the most stubborn people I've ever met in my life. But last year he played with control and had a super year. Then early this year he said, "I've decided to play like Vijay does. I'm going to hit it as far as I can, because if he's in the rough with a pitching wedge and I'm in the fairway with an 8-iron, I can't beat him." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. And he did go with that bombs-away style, and he went backward. What he did in winning the PGA Championship—play with control—I hope makes a permanent impression on him.

The 1969 Ryder Cup had an element of intrigue not everybody knows about. You've heard how Jack Nicklaus conceded the putt to Tony Jacklin on the last hole on the last day, the competition ending up tied. [The U.S., as the defending champion, retained the Cup.] Jack has said that he conceded the putt purely out of sportsmanship, but I was on the team and none of us players believed that. See, our captain that year was Sam Snead. He sat Jack down in the morning the first day and in the afternoon the second day because he didn't want Jack to get worn out. Jack wanted to play and was upset about being benched. Most of us believe Jack conceded the putt at least in part to get back at Sam. And it worked, because behind the scenes Sam was furious that Jack didn't make Jacklin hole that two-footer.

Jack was the greatest champion ever, although the best ball-striker and shotmaker I ever saw was Sam. There was no shot Sam couldn't hit on demand, and I saw him hit them all because I was his partner hundreds of times in practice rounds. Sam took a $10 nassau every bit as seriously as he did a tournament, and he hated to lose. If you played a match in the morning and got beat, it ruined his day. If you played poorly, you heard about it from Sam. The good news is, Sam didn't lose very often.

Ryder Cup pressure is something. In 1969 I was at the peak of my game and was paired in the alternate-shot matches with Ray Floyd. We talked strategy and decided that Ray would play first on the odd-numbered holes, and I'd play the even-numbered holes, where most of the par 3s fell. Well, they play the national anthem and Ray is crying. I'm crying, too, but now the song ends and it's time to play. Ray says, "I can't hit it." I said, "Ray, you've got to hit first, otherwise it'll foul up our whole strategy." He says, "I don't care, I can't hit it." Well, Ray missed the green on every par 3 that day and we lost, 3 and 2.