CAPTAIN'S CHOICE

Just over a month later, Lacey, then 53, drove to Augusta National Golf Club, where he had agreed to be a rules official for the 1958 Masters. His service in that capacity was uneventful until the late stages of the final round. He was stationed at the par-3 12th when the pairing of Arnold Palmer and Ken Venturi arrived on the tee. Palmer — who would go on to win the first major title of his illustrious career — led the field with Venturi hot on his heels, one stroke behind.

Both Venturi and Palmer struck their iron shots a bit too far, their balls landing beyond the putting surface. Venturi’s ball spun back onto the green. According to legendary golf writer Herbert Warren Wind, who was on-site, “Palmer’s ball struck low on the bank about a foot or so below the bottom rim of a back-side trap and embedded itself. It had rained heavily during the night and early morning, and parts of the course were soggy.”

When Palmer reached his ball, he called Lacey over and asked for relief from his embedded ball lie. Lacey denied the request, informing Palmer he would need to play the ball as it lay. To some, Lacey’s ruling and the dramatic — and still swirling — controversy it precipitated, would overshadow his substantial accomplishments in the game.

Under the USGA’s Rules of Golf at the time, there was no provision granting a player relief for an embedded ball. However, Augusta National could put in place a “wet weather” local rule that would allow such relief in inclement weather. Given Sunday’s rainy conditions, Augusta National had adopted such a temporary rule for that day’s play. Its precise wording is unknown. However, in a Golf World magazine article following the Masters, it was reported that this wet weather rule provided for embedded ball relief “through the green,” meaning virtually everywhere on the golf course except hazards, bunkers, and tees and greens of the hole being played.

Given the local rule, what basis did Lacey have for denying Palmer relief? There are differing accounts of his rationale. Venturi, who overheard at least part of the conversation between Lacey and Palmer, wrote in his 2004 autobiography, Getting Up & Down, that Lacey told Palmer his ball was, “not embedded. It’s only half-embedded.”

Years after the ruling, Lacey would relate a different explanation in a discussion with writer Al Barkow. The veteran golf journalist wrote that under the rule handed down by the Masters committee early Sunday morning, “Lacey was given to understand (rightly or wrongly) that a player would be allowed a free lift from an embedded lie only if his ball was on the green or fairways.” Palmer’s ball was neither.

That was merely the beginning of the debacle. More instances of “he said, he didn’t say” followed regarding whether Palmer used proper procedure in deciding to play a “second ball.” In situations like the one Palmer faced, a player could opt to play a second ball along with the first, then have the tournament committee decide which ball should count as his score. To do so, the rule stated that a competitor “must” declare his intention to play a second ball prior to playing the first ball. The competitor was further required to announce which ball he wished to count for his score. Furthermore, he was supposed to play both balls “at the same time” until both were holed.

Palmer would later say he advised Lacey of his intention to play a “provisional ball” (technically he should have said “second ball”) before proceeding. Venturi emphatically denied this occurred.

Palmer then played the embedded ball and did not recover well, finishing the hole with a double-bogey 5. He returned to the spot where his tee shot had embedded to play a second ball, and took a drop. From a much better lie, Palmer chipped close and holed his putt for what he hoped was a 3.

Venturi was visibly upset. He told Palmer he could not invoke the rule because of his alleged failure to declare a second ball before hitting his first one. “Suppose,” Venturi bristled, “you had chipped in with the other ball. Would you still be playing a second?” Palmer replied he had followed proper procedure.

But did it really matter whether Palmer verbalized his intention to play a second ball before hitting his first one? Rule 11(5) then stated, “Should the competitor fail to announce in advance his procedure or selection, his score with the second ball shall be his score for the hole if played in accordance with the rules.” This provision, as written, appears to excuse a player’s failure to announce his intentions. The sloppily written rule (later changed) seemingly permitted the “two bites of the apple” scenario advanced by Venturi.

So did Palmer have a 5 on the 12th or a 3? A 5 meant he was now a shot behind Venturi, who parred the hole. With a 3, Palmer would remain one shot ahead. The two would be uncertain how they stood until the Masters Tournament Committee reviewed the situation.

Venturi believed this muddled situation may have led Palmer to play the par-5 13th more aggressively than he might have otherwise. Venturi laid up short of the water hazard fronting the green. Palmer, after initially pulling an iron, returned it to his bag, pulled out a wood and struck a sensational shot onto the green, then holed the putt for an eagle. Venturi birdied. That would make Palmer either two strokes ahead of Venturi or even with him, depending on the committee’s ruling.

While the leaders were playing 14, they were informed that the committee had decided in favor of Palmer. An incensed and rattled Venturi imploded. He 3-putted three of the final four holes and faded to fourth. Palmer hung on for a one-stroke victory over Doug Ford and Fred Hawkins, capturing his first green jacket.

After signing his scorecard, Venturi sought out Clifford Roberts, Augusta National’s chairman, to complain that Palmer had broken Rule 11 by failing to timely announce his intention to play a second ball. “I was wasting my breath,” Venturi wrote in his book. But not wanting to take no for an answer, he asked that Roberts bring in Lacey. “Only one problem,” wrote the exasperated Venturi. “Lacey, I was told, had already left the golf course, and there was no way to track him down. There were no cellphones in 1958. A pretty quick exit from the premises, don’t you think? I certainly don’t have any evidence that Mr. Roberts, anxious to avoid controversy, made sure Lacey got off the grounds in a hurry, but it sure looks fishy.”

So Lacey became something of a fall guy in this strange episode. He, according to the tournament committee (apparently Bobby Jones and Roberts), had made an incorrect decision. But no matter; all’s well that ends well. Palmer, an extremely popular winner, had addressed Lacey’s mistake appropriately, and there was nothing more to be said.

Golf writer Guy Yocom admits to a fascination regarding the brouhaha. He maintains that regardless of how much one studies the available evidence, certainty regarding what actually happened is elusive.

Yocom feels Lacey may have gotten a bad rap. “There is a possible distinction to be made between the traditional application of ‘through the green,’ and how Augusta National applied its rule,” Yocom says. “Why would Lacey, a man with decades of golf experience at the highest level, claim the rule applied to fairways and greens only, if it wasn’t so? Officials don’t just make this stuff up.” And if Lacey made a mistake, why didn’t he acknowledge it to Barkow? “There’s no shame in admitting it,” says Yocom, “because officials make mistakes all the time.”

It’s possible, Yocom believes, that when rules officials were briefed on the local rule Sunday morning, they might have been orally instructed to construe the phrase “through the green” as applying only to balls embedded in fairways and greens, notwithstanding that phrase’s more expansive defined meaning in the Rules of Golf. That scenario would be consistent with what Lacey told Barkow.

Over the years, the dispute drifted away from public consciousness until Venturi rekindled it with his 2004 book. Lacey’s actions were criticized anew. Venturi and Palmer were still around, and the book reopened scars for both men. The sensitive Venturi was accused of exhibiting sour grapes. Writers asked why Venturi had signed Palmer’s scorecard if he felt the ruling was wrong. Other pundits interpreted Venturi’s account as an accusation of cheating on Palmer’s part. Venturi vehemently denied this. And Palmer, viewed by the golf world as a paragon of golf ethics, was hurt by any suggestion he had won his first major by skirting the rules.

When Lacey died in 1979 while working in his garden, no one in Pinehurst appears to have given thought to the Masters controversy. Locals who knew him recalled other things about him. Lacey’s neighbor and friend, Pilot columnist Evelyn de Nissoff, remembered him as a man of “pleasant personality” and “quiet humor.” She had purchased Lacey’s treasured yellow Renault, which he had brought over from England. When encountering her at the post office, Lacey would invariably inquire, “How is the Renault working out?”

From all that is known, Lacey did not appear to have been overly anguished by what happened in the 1958 Masters. If he dwelled on it at all, he kept, as the Brits say, a stiff upper lip. And though his team may have been trounced in the ’51 Ryder Cup, Lacey managed to find the storybook ending anyway.