Twoscore and five years ago, our fore-fathers brought forth a new magazine, conceived in some smoky 19th hole and dedicated to the American golfer. GOLF MAGAZINE would be for country-clubbers and muni players in all 49 states -- and Hawaii too, once the Aloha State joined the Union four months later.
In 1959 the Celtics swept the Lakers -- the Minneapolis Lakers -- in the NBA Finals. Frank Sinatra won his first Grammy Award, which was also anybody's first Grammy, since the Grammys began that year. And that spring our first cover showed Sam Snead, who was not identified. Everybody knew Slammin' Sam. Inside, the first GOLF MAGAZINE led off with a letter from Bob Jones: "I am delighted to know that you are projecting a first-class magazine devoted entirely to golf." Next came a note from Walter Hagen, who wrote, "Old-timers such as Bobby Jones and myself, who are watching through the picture windows, will be depending on your new magazine to keep us up to date on the links we knew so well yesterday." On the same page was a letter from Art Citrynell of New York, who asked, "Do you think you can run some articles which might help average players like myself? I can't seem to make my long-irons work.... My putting is a little weak too."
Through 534 issues and thousands of pages of swing tips, we are still helping players who can't hit their long irons. On that score, 45 years of instruction have boiled down to four words:.Switch to lofted woods. As for putting, decades of hard work have led to a two-word solution to your troubles: Dave Pelz. But the game is still maddeningly difficult. That's why more than six million readers turn to us for help every month. Millions more read our foreign editions in Australia, China, Korea and other lands. Someday we'll run a headline worthy of McDonald's: More Than a Billion Slices Cured.
"The advent of electric golf carts is bound to shape our future golf courses," Gene Sarazen wrote in a prophetic column in 1960. "Architects designing new courses will have to plan bridges and hard-top paths along the fairways to handle this new type of traffic." Six months later, in a story headed "Boy Wonder," defending U.S. Amateur champ Jack Nicklaus proved he was no prophet. "You can print this or you can forget it," the 20-year-old Nicklaus told GOLF MAGAZINE. "I will never become a professional golfer." We printed it and remembered it as Jack went on to demonstrate that the old, oblong Tourney he played was no crystal ball.
A March 1963 story held a better forecast. Nicklaus had won only one pro major by then, but we made him odds-on to become the best player ever: "What is there to stop him? Probably nothing. But if anything, boredom perhaps. Or calories." Noting that his weight was a worry ("Jack, called 'Blob-o' and 'Whale-man' by his classmates at Ohio State..."), writer Will Grimsley portrayed a 23-year-old Nicklaus so strong ("averaging around 280 yards with his driver") and willful that his destiny was clear. Grimsley quoted Sarazen: "I've never seen a player who could shut himself off from all around him the way Nicklaus does. Nothing affects him." That fierce will turned "Blob-o" into a champion who fulfilled our every prediction, including a line that helped fix the Golden Bear's famous nickname: "On the putting green, Nicklaus hunches over the ball like a frozen grizzly bear."
Gender roles were shifting in the '60s, but we seemed stuck in the '50s. A 1963 feature, "Ten Ways to Keep a Golf Widow Happy," prescribed Ricky Ricardo tactics ("Bring her a box of candy") to pre-empt a fate worse than bogey: "A powerful weapon she can use... is withholding sex. This, in turn, can trigger hostility on his part." And that piece, by Dr. Joyce Brothers, was progressive compared to a 1964 screed by columnist Oscar Fraley. While admitting there was "nothing like a dame," he asked,."But why do they have to foul-up a great game like golf?" Lest you think Fraley was the lone curmudgeon at that month's articles meeting, his story came with a note saying that the article didn't "necessarily reflect the viewpoint of the editors of GOLF Magazine -- but don't bet on it."
In 1959 the Celtics swept the Lakers -- the Minneapolis Lakers -- in the NBA Finals. Frank Sinatra won his first Grammy Award, which was also anybody's first Grammy, since the Grammys began that year. And that spring our first cover showed Sam Snead, who was not identified. Everybody knew Slammin' Sam. Inside, the first GOLF MAGAZINE led off with a letter from Bob Jones: "I am delighted to know that you are projecting a first-class magazine devoted entirely to golf." Next came a note from Walter Hagen, who wrote, "Old-timers such as Bobby Jones and myself, who are watching through the picture windows, will be depending on your new magazine to keep us up to date on the links we knew so well yesterday." On the same page was a letter from Art Citrynell of New York, who asked, "Do you think you can run some articles which might help average players like myself? I can't seem to make my long-irons work.... My putting is a little weak too."
Through 534 issues and thousands of pages of swing tips, we are still helping players who can't hit their long irons. On that score, 45 years of instruction have boiled down to four words:.Switch to lofted woods. As for putting, decades of hard work have led to a two-word solution to your troubles: Dave Pelz. But the game is still maddeningly difficult. That's why more than six million readers turn to us for help every month. Millions more read our foreign editions in Australia, China, Korea and other lands. Someday we'll run a headline worthy of McDonald's: More Than a Billion Slices Cured.
"The advent of electric golf carts is bound to shape our future golf courses," Gene Sarazen wrote in a prophetic column in 1960. "Architects designing new courses will have to plan bridges and hard-top paths along the fairways to handle this new type of traffic." Six months later, in a story headed "Boy Wonder," defending U.S. Amateur champ Jack Nicklaus proved he was no prophet. "You can print this or you can forget it," the 20-year-old Nicklaus told GOLF MAGAZINE. "I will never become a professional golfer." We printed it and remembered it as Jack went on to demonstrate that the old, oblong Tourney he played was no crystal ball.
A March 1963 story held a better forecast. Nicklaus had won only one pro major by then, but we made him odds-on to become the best player ever: "What is there to stop him? Probably nothing. But if anything, boredom perhaps. Or calories." Noting that his weight was a worry ("Jack, called 'Blob-o' and 'Whale-man' by his classmates at Ohio State..."), writer Will Grimsley portrayed a 23-year-old Nicklaus so strong ("averaging around 280 yards with his driver") and willful that his destiny was clear. Grimsley quoted Sarazen: "I've never seen a player who could shut himself off from all around him the way Nicklaus does. Nothing affects him." That fierce will turned "Blob-o" into a champion who fulfilled our every prediction, including a line that helped fix the Golden Bear's famous nickname: "On the putting green, Nicklaus hunches over the ball like a frozen grizzly bear."
Gender roles were shifting in the '60s, but we seemed stuck in the '50s. A 1963 feature, "Ten Ways to Keep a Golf Widow Happy," prescribed Ricky Ricardo tactics ("Bring her a box of candy") to pre-empt a fate worse than bogey: "A powerful weapon she can use... is withholding sex. This, in turn, can trigger hostility on his part." And that piece, by Dr. Joyce Brothers, was progressive compared to a 1964 screed by columnist Oscar Fraley. While admitting there was "nothing like a dame," he asked,."But why do they have to foul-up a great game like golf?" Lest you think Fraley was the lone curmudgeon at that month's articles meeting, his story came with a note saying that the article didn't "necessarily reflect the viewpoint of the editors of GOLF Magazine -- but don't bet on it."
