He was timeless. A man who understood it was the simple things that made a happy life. Love. Faith. Grace. Honesty. Humility. Respect. And most of all, character. Byron Nelson. Lord, we’re going to miss him. There was something comforting about just knowing he was there. That you could pick up a phone, dial his number and listen to him spin a tale. That his handshake was still firm. That he remembered things people half his age had already forgotten. That he could spend his day fiddling around in his woodworking shop. That he always made time for the important things in his life. He would look up at you and those eyes would speak to you. You found yourself looking at his huge hands, which, for too long, have held a cane more often than a golf club. You remember how they used to swallow those old grips. You made sure to listen carefully when he spoke, knowing you were going to learn something about golf or life. Byron. We were blessed to have him into his 95th year. And even then, when you stood beside his fragile frame, you knew you were in the presence of one great man. Not that he’d ever mention all those things we talk about -- the elegant swing, the incredible 11 consecutive wins and 18 victories in 1945, the scoring average, the majors, the legacy he left for those who followed. That wasn’t like him.
We call him Lord Byron and say, without compunction, he was the game’s greatest gentleman. He was also the game’s most gentle man. His wife Peggy found him sitting peacefully on the back porch Tuesday. She’d gone to a Bible study and he. .. well, maybe he was on the way to his shop. Maybe he was just sitting there reflecting on a life that was so rich, so full of people. So blessed. He played a game so he could live his dream as a rancher. He walked away at the peak of his career and no one questioned why. And when he lost his beloved first wife Louise, the Lord, as he’ll tell you, gave him another great love in Peggy. No man was richer. The dollars he valued were the ones his PGA TOUR event spread around the Metroplex, helping children. That it was raised by growing a game he loved, by allowing him to stay active and give something back was yet another joy as well as a blessing. The moments come flashing back of Byron with a young Tom Watson. Of them working together at Preston Trail. Of Watson winning all those then, Byron Nelson Golf Classics. Of the incredible bond between those two. Of Tiger’s eyes when he told the story of being in awe watching Byron and Ben Crenshaw grab butter knives at the Champions dinner at Augusta and talking about the swing. Of the catch in Crenshaw’s throat when he talked about Byron telling him he couldn’t attend the dinner anymore and asking if he would, so kindly, take over his role. Byron. His name is forever linked with Ben and Sam. They were born within months of each other in 1912 and became three of the game’s greatest players. Ben and Byron were the Texans who caddied together at Glen Garden and lived about 30 miles apart for most their lives. They were friends, but from a distance. Byron understood how Ben was and respected his solitary ways. But don’t forget that marvelous story of the day when Hogan’s pockets were empty and his tires were flat and Byron gave him a ride to the next tournament. Byron, Ben and Sam -- they finished in exactly that order at the 1946 Tournament of Champions at River Oaks Country Club in Houston. It was the only time in their careers. To talk about Byron’s career would take another column. Maybe two. There was his famous Goldust Twins friendship with Jug McSpaden. That magical 1945, when the stories of his legendary wins were tucked deep in the newspapers while World War II grabbed the headlines. The way he could -- in his 90s -- set Sam Snead straight. His retirement. His legacy. Byron always said he was luckiest man in golf. He had everything he ever wanted. And he never ceased to be amazed that so many people wanted to talk to him about things he did 50 years ago. His only regret was that $500 he took to endorse a cigarette -- 20 Grand -- in 1936. He was a Christian man who never drank or smoked, but he needed the money. He was mortified when he got “terrible letters” from Sunday school teachers. “I was sick about that,’’ Nelson said. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done.’’ When the call came Tuesday, my thoughts went straight to Las Colinas and a late afternoon when Peggy and I stood near the putting green talking. Byron was a few yards away making new friends. Fans trickled by, stopping at by his golf cart to ask if he’d mind taking a picture with them. He said most certainly. To every one. A few months later, I called Byron at home. I was working on a Masters story and needed a few minutes. The family parakeets were chirping and Peggy said it had been a good day. We talked about Augusta, the Texas weather and how there hadn’t been a decent rain in the state in quite some time. About the match he won against Lawson Little in San Francisco that got him invited to his first Masters and how the headline in one newspapaer -- Honeymooner defeats Little -- embarassed his new bride Louise. About Bob Jones and Clifford Roberts and a man who plays a little bit of country golf whose one dream in life was going to the Masters. Byron got him tickets a few years ago because, well, it was the right thing to do. “He said it was the greatest thing that ever happened to him, Magnolia Lane,” Byron said. Heart. That’s another thing about Byron. His was huge. And everything he was or did came straight from that big ol’ heart. He touched ours in so many ways. Through his incredible career in golf. His character. The down-home Texas way he had of spinning stories. His life. So when you think of him, think about his place in the game, his character and his life. It was rich and filled with all those the simple things we take for granted -- things that made him happy. Things that made him timeless. Things that made him Lord Byron. |
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