Word: flecking
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...airport. Above a nearby hangar streamed a banner proclaiming: "Congratulations, we're proud of you, Jack." Below the banner hung a 20-ft. cardboard putter. Out stepped a lanky, lean, tired man in blue slacks and white sweater. A thousand welcomers cheered. Unashamedly, the weary man wept. Jack Fleck, 32, a week after leaving Davenport as one of the nation's most obscure golf pros, was home as the city's No. 1 citizen -rocketed from nowhere to glory as the darkest horse ever to win the U.S. Open golf championship (TIME, June 27). Mopping his tears...
...considered hiding, Fleck soon found that his life will be very public for quite a spell. With his pretty blonde wife Lynn and four-year-old son Craig at his side, he was whisked off, in a new white Cadillac, through Davenport and his birthplace village of Bettendorf (pop. 5,000), as thousands more huzzahed. At home on East Street, he riffled through a 2-ft.-high stack of telegrams. Then, swamped by offers for endorsements, interviews and public appearances, he telephoned Fred Corcoran, professional business manager for professional athletes, became a Corcoran client. Later in the day the local...
...hero-worship might have over blown a less elastic man than Golfer Fleck. But the operator and pro of Davenport's two municipal golf courses, as unpretentious as an ear of Iowa corn, has seen too much adversity in golf to let one victory, even though golf's greatest, pop his sides. After years of luckless touring on the winter circuit (in 1953 he won a total of $13-75), how did Jack Fleck win the big one in San Francisco? The trick-turner was the change in his putting. Although he once offered...
Impossible Rough. Next day, in the playoff, Ben Hogan stayed up with his young competitor until he dropped a stroke on the fifth hole. After that Hogan never caught up. On the 139-yd. eighth he sank a soft, putt for a two; Fleck and his hot putter matched the birdie. On the eleventh Hogan picked up a stroke with a par four; Fleck promptly took it back on the twelfth. Going to the 18th, the bone-weary veteran was one stroke down. There was still a chance, but he hooked his drive off the high tee into thick, impossible...
Three days before, Jack Fleck barely had the cash to pay his caddy. Suddenly, the golf world was his. Tears filled his eyes as he watched Gentleman Ben Hogan grin for the cameras and fan the red-hot Fleck putter, the Hogan-designed club that had carried him home...