He could be spotted from one fairway to
another by his trademark white hat,
his disciplined demeanor and serious work
ethic were as much a part of his game as
his golf clubs.
Then it was harder
for him to learn to play well.
But obviously he dedicated
man to his.
Desire, I thought
that dedication and desire would serve
him well throughout his life, but
never more than in 1949, when
a near fatal auto accident left doctors
predicting he might never walk again.
But the man who came to be known as the
Hawk because of his steely stare
and dogged determination would win
the U.S. Open the following year.
One of nine majors he'd win in his
career, his discipline and,
you know, just his his
unending desire to be the best
and to learn the golf swing, I think will
live on for four years and years.
Mr. Hogan was born in Dublin, Texas,
in 1912, but it wasn't long
before he had moved to Fort Worth,
got a job at Glen Garden Golf Club,
joining yet another pre-teen caddy,
Byron Nelson.
And although the two had contrasting
personalities, Byron forever gregarious,
well, Mr. Hogan remained quiet.
And to himself, they share many
memories. I remember one time that
the Lehman
washed at the Lehman Hotel and opened
and been had and I
think the first deathy car ever had.
And we were going to go out to the golf
course and we parked on the parking
lot and we I'm going to go to the golf
course with him and we go out.
And somebody hijacked his pickup and sold
all four wheels of his car.
When I grew up, I thought he hung the
moon and whenever I played
golf with it, very difficult to play with
him in his final years.
Some even find it tough to approach him
as he sat in his favorite chair at Shady
Oaks Country Club.
He was a very private person and
he didn't like for people to infringe
upon him.
But he was probably one of the most
gracious people I've ever been around.
The passing today of Ben Hogan marks
the end of an era, but be assured
that the legend that is Mr. Hogan
will long endure.
Scott Murray, Texas News 5.