Hogan’s comeback exemplified legend

As players in the golden age of golf glad-handed and laughed over cocktails in clubhouses, one of the game’s most reclusive stars wasn’t famous for his formal introductions.

Ben Hogan’s introduction to golf – one that fused perfection with courage – runs deeper than shallow outings.

In a sporting world that loosely parallels the word courage with hitting a last-second shot or scoring touchdowns, Hogan actually lived it.

If it wasn’t for Hogan’s lunge over the passenger seat to protect his wife, Valerie, that February day in 1949 in Van Horn, Texas, the two might not have survived the car accident with a Greyhound bus that left Ben with a smashed rib, a double fracture of the pelvis and a broken ankle.

His resurgence on the course was historic, winning the 1950 U.S. Open 16 months after the accident. Six of his nine major titles came after the crash, including two at the Masters tournament, which started Thursday.

Whether or not Tiger Woods earns his 65th career win Sunday, which would surpass Hogan for third all-time on the PGA Tour, it won’t be life or death.

“I can’t remember anything better than Hogan’s comeback when it comes to great golf stories,” said Tom Place, a former communications director with the PGA Tour who knew Hogan well over the years. “They thought he’d never walk again, and he comes back and wins the way he did. That might be one of the most impressive feats in all of sports.”

For every story about Hogan’s aloof attitude toward people or his quiet nature – stuff everyday people relate to – there were also the superhuman golfing stories that made his peers wish they could relate:

How he could drive the ball to the same divot spot on consecutive days.

How he’s one of the only players to receive a standing ovation from the practice range.

How his commanding swing inspires Golf Digest sections and how-to books, an influence possibly stronger than that of any other golfer.

How die-hard golf fans still recognize the “Hogan Slam,” when Hogan won three majors in 1953, the year he also won five of the six tournaments he entered.

This decorated career emerged despite the life-changing interruptions of a World War II stint and the car crash that left him hospitalized for 59 days.

His personality wasn’t as glamorized.

NBC Sports golf analyst and former Tour star Johnny Miller said Hogan often forgot names and called people “fella” or “pro.” Arnold Palmer echoed those sentiments years back at a news conference for the Bay Hill tournament.

Miller said he once heard about how a kid asked for Hogan’s autograph at a restaurant. Without a glance at the kid’s direction, Hogan said, “Can’t you see I’m eating my soup?”

“He didn’t have a lot of time for anything else,” Miller said. “He was a pretty single-minded guy. It’s like he built a house with one room because he didn’t want any guests. Golf was it. He was a tough guy who came up the hard way. He only respected guys who worked hard and got in the dirt.”

Hogan died in July 1997, at age 84, but his legacy hasn’t been forgotten by the world’s best player.

Woods said he spoke with Hogan on the phone less than a year before he died. Hogan’s Alzheimer’s led to an ineffective conversation.

Woods said he never saw Hogan swing a club, though he had heard Hogan owned his swing better than anyone. The amazing ball-striking ability of Hogan lured even the best players who were eager to learn from him.

“I just wanted to talk to Mr. Hogan,” Woods said. “I mean, he’s a legend of the game, and I never got a chance to meet him. His health wasn’t good enough for me to come over to Shady (Oaks Country Club) and talk to him.”

When asked if Hogan tried to get Woods to change clubs, Woods said, “He probably thought my lies would have been too upright.”

Talking golf was a way – maybe the only way – players could reach Hogan on a warm level.

Place said it’s likely that the only person to really understand the makings of Hogan’s soul was Valerie because “all they needed was each other.” The two never had kids. They were married 62 years. She died in 1999 at 87.

Hogan could talk golf from the clubhouse, maybe watch a little football with a cocktail in hand, but some say that’s where it ended.

“He was a private man, but once you got through that shield, he had a good sense of humor and was friendly, so cordial, so pleasant,” Place said. “The biggest thing with him was trust. Even when he trusted you, you still probably didn’t know everything he was thinking.”

The same personality traits that some have ridiculed over the years helped form the part of Hogan people loved the most – the golf swing.

Every time Hogan shut himself off from the world, he was likely spending 10 to 12 hours hitting more than 1,000 balls, sometimes at two courses a day perfecting his fundamentals.

Billy Maxwell, 78, a former PGA Tour player who played with Hogan numerous times, said no one matched Hogan’s work ethic.

Hogan’s routine on the course was almost artistic, Maxwell said.

“I’d go out and watch him at the Masters, and he’d puff on that cigarette at Amen Corner, he’d stand there for a couple of minutes like an orchestra leader as he looked at the shot he was about to hit,” Maxwell said. “He’d take the club out and he was ready to go. He never balked, he didn’t look the second time. He had already decided he was going to hit a perfect shot. Never saw him fail to hit the green after that.”

That’s an art that golf purists hope never becomes lost. Remember Hogan’s name, they say, even if Hogan didn’t know yours.

“Kids are starting to forget him now, but in my era, we studied him inside and out,” Miller said. “I hope people still do.”