The Washington times., 1933-12-08
BY NAN O'REILLY

By NAN O'RE1LLY
Joe Turnesa, the most brilliant
Of the golfing TurnesaS, stood on
the tenth tee at Scioto back in
1926 and looked down fortunes
golden fairways. On that sun
beaten landscape, fretted with
Fate's glaring sand traps, he
trudged his weary way and every
green became a beautiful mirage
that looked like the enchanted
isle of his dreams.
But as he three-putted green
after green he turned his back
on not an oasis, but to him a
desert waste. So we pause On
Memory'S fairways and look at
the scene of a Jones hollow tri.
umph, where a TurneSa lost when
by all the laws of golfing chance
he should have won.
With four-stroke lead on q
fast-flying field and nine holes
to play down fairways lined with
high grown grass, up to tightly
guarded greens that called for
putting nerves of steel, Joseph
Turnesa, his Latin blood running
hot, his nerves taut and tense but
timed and true to his every COM
mand, faced the final barrier.
fearless and unafraid. When his
putt at the ninth nestled in it's
nest for par 3, Joe Turnesa
walked over and climbed the tee
for the tenth hole and literally
he saw the Promised Land.
Mountain Climbers CredO
Mountain climbers say that when
scaling a high peak you must
never look up or down. So, when
you come to the last nine in your
climb to that snowcapped peak
where the flag of an open cham
pionship flies, never look UP at
that old rag; and don't ever look
down to see what the rest of the
world is doing.
On that fatal day-July 10,
1926-Turnesa'S rhythm and mo-
mentum accounted for automatic
4s on the tenth and eleventh.
Then came that long, heartbreak-
ing par 5 twelfth, almost 600 yards
of terrifying terrain. Here Tur-
mesa sent his drive singing its VIC
tory song, down a humanity
hemmed lane; fired his brassie far
and true, and pitched his mash1e-
niblick to a fluttering flag.
TITS all over" ran the murmur
through the sWirling mob.
Rhythmic As Broken
But just then the shadow of an
unseen grief fell across his line Of
putt, and three puts staggered
for a moment this game, tired lad.
Grim necessity kept league with
him on the next hole, yet once
again he stumbled ere he holed
and the rhythmic beat of his As
was broken. The sweet notes be-
came discords all, and, with two
of his precious strokes gone, Tur-
mesa rallied to mend his discorded
string. In despair and amid dis
aster he mustered wood and iron
for the final three holes. On the
par 3 seventeenth he barely missed
the green which to Joe seemed to
literally move out of the way.
The 480-yard eighteenth seemed
a Mount Everest that he could
never climb. Yet let it ever be
chalked in the records that Joe
walked that 'last mile" like a
champion, even though destruc-
ton had already had it's day. He
holed that final putt for a birdie
4, a round Of n, and a total of
294.
Tragedy Aids Jones
Bobby Jones had just few
weeks before watched AL WatrouS
toss his lead away at Lytham and
st. Anne's in much the same
manner, and as Bob followed in
the wake of Turnesa he saw the
wreckage Of Turnesa'S ship of
state broken on the unseen rocks
of fate. Glory fell on Jones;
tragedy laid its hand on Turnesa.
Jones round of 72 that hot
summer afternoon was one of the
greatest of his career, if only for
the reason that he knew what
he had to do to win-and he did
it. With seven holes to play,
just few couples behind Joe,
Bobby was trailing by strokes.
He picked up two at the twelfth
with a birdie 4; par 4 at the
thirteenth put him only a stroke
behind, and he was suddenly
leading the field with a pair Of
3's at the short holes, the four
teenth and seventeenth. Stand
ing on the home tee, Bob knew
he had a par 5 to Tie with Tur.
mesa, whose score was already
posted, and 4 to win.
How Bobby Jones got that
birdie for 293 to win his Sec
ond national open championship
crown in the space of a month
has been told and retold. His
drive was fully $40 yards; his
mashie iron dropped the ball 20
feet past the flag His putt for
his first double-crown was less
than SiY iNchaSI