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The blond Nicklaus walked around with a god-awful buzz cut, and his pale skin could blotch up in the summertime; it would never accommodate an even tan like Palmer's.
Arnold and Jack both stood about 5' 10", so they looked each other squarely in the eye when they shook hands on a tee box for the first time. For all of Palmer's smoky, leadingman looks, Nicklaus might've had an advantage here: Even as a kid his piercing blue eyes had already cut through many a foe on the 1st tee.
Blosser had arranged for four of his Ohio players to serve as caddies, and he had Dow Reichley, Bill Santor, Larry Snyder and Charlie Vandlik make their way down to the 1st green to shag the driving-contest balls.
"I know they had a bet," Reichley says of Palmer and Nicklaus. "I don't know how much it was for."
Something more important than a few bucks was on the line here. Palmer was a pro, Nicklaus an amateur. Palmer was a man, Nicklaus a boy.
Hundreds of fans closed in around the 1st tee, giving it the feel of a boxing ring. The golfers and fans looked out from their elevated perch at a hole that turned slightly left to right. On the right side of the fairway, rows of pines stretched toward the green. Two bunkers were lurking to the left of the putting surface, one about 30 yards short of the fringe.
The 3rd green sat 35 downhill yards behind the 1st green. Nobody in his right mind believed that either competitor could drive his ball there — not in the age of persimmon clubs and balata balls.
Nicklaus took the honors, and his first drive was a monster.
"He hit it so high," Santor says, "you could barely see it up in the sky."
The ball cleared the 1st green and stopped rolling only after it had traveled 356 yards. Santor picked up Nicklaus's ball on the 3rd green.
The caddie knew a thing or two about Jack's tape-measure power. As a high school senior in 1955 Santor had played in the same field with Nicklaus, an underclassman, in the state Jaycees tournament. Santor placed second. Nicklaus beat him by only 12 strokes.
Palmer had no such intimate knowledge of Nicklaus and his game. He had heard a few vague tales of the boy wonder from the Columbus area sweeping through the amateur ranks, but Palmer had enough to worry about with his own generation to lose any sleep over the next one.
Only, in Athens the future was suddenly now. Palmer teed up his ball, knowing he had almost no chance of matching the kid's first drive. He lashed at it with vile intentions, hoping to power his ball down to the 3rd green, but it stayed low, like most Palmer drives. Much lower than Nicklaus's ball.
"Arnold hit a big hook," Swearingen says. "It hit short of the 1st green and bounced downhill to the left."
Nicklaus then ripped his second drive. As Santor stood near the 1st green, he squinted to track the ball's high, majestic flight. Again, Nicklaus put his drive on the 3rd green, more than 350 yards away.
Again, Palmer failed to match it, unleashing another low, screaming hook.
"Jack was outhitting Arnold by 35, 40 yards," Santor says. "I could hear the crowd yelling around the 1st tee."
His face three shades of red, Palmer shot an incredulous look at Nicklaus. "My God," he said, "no man hits it that far. It's men like you who make problems for us."
Blosser was dumbfounded. He had never seen a player of any age put a drive from the 1st tee onto the 3rd green, never mind two drives. The de facto master of ceremonies decided to make a show of it.
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