Almost every hole in golf requires some kind of an iron shot. If you can consistently hit the greens with your approach irons and position your ball near the pins, you are going to get your share of birdies and pars. It stands to reason that a good iron player who can direct his ball to within the 15-foot circle around the flag is going to shoot lower scores than the player who is 50 feet away, chipping from off the green or blasting from a trap. It is rather difficult to three-putt from 15 feet, but the odds against parring a hole go higher when a player is trying to get down in two from 50 feet, whether he is on or off the green.

There may be some disagreement with what I have said here, because some golfers believe the drive to be the most important shot in golf, others believe it is the putt, while still others consider the iron shot to be most crucial. One golfer contends that you can't get the ball on the green with an iron shot if you are always playing out of the rough or behind trees. However, I wish to point out that, no matter where a player happens to be, a second shot, usually an iron shot, is still required to reach the green, whether you are in trouble or not. If you are, and your second, or maybe your third, shot is off line or misjudged, you are in further trouble. A good iron player can often salvage a par, or even gain a birdie, from out of the rough. A poor iron player has no such chance. It is well to remember that you measure drives in yards but accuracy with your irons in feet.

Another golfer maintains the premium should be on putting. I grant that ability with a putter is a great asset, but it can't compensate for poor iron play indefinitely. Great players like Bill Casper and Arnold Palmer do not rely entirely on driving or putting to bring them championships and regular paychecks. Naturally, they excel in those phases of the game, but it is their skill with their iron clubs that puts them on the offensive as soon as they drive off the first tee. By the same token, a faulty iron player must play defensive golf, steer clear of trouble, and rely on his short game to help salvage a respectable score.

I was never more forcefully aware of how important accurate iron shots were in a major tournament until I played in the U.S. Open championship at Oakland Hills, near Detroit, Michigan. Of course, I had competed in the Open before, but never in my eight previous attempts to win the championship did I encounter such a difficult and demanding test of golf. I can now appreciate Ben Hogan's statement made after winning the Open championship there in 1951. In a grueling final round, Hogan toured the 18 holes in 67 strokes to win the tournament, and then, when accepting the championship trophy, he told the crowd, "I'm glad I brought this course, this monster, to its knees."

The four-time Open champion's fitting description of Oakland Hills lingered over the course for ten full years, and when the traditional event returned for the sixty-first running few changes had been made. The "monster" was still there. He wasn't quite so threatening as last time, but, nonetheless, the severity of the rough and the huge, undulating greens earned the profound respect of every player in the field. Several traps had been removed and the fairways were slightly wider. It was a challenging assignment to any player who became so emboldened as to believe that par could be broken over the 72 holes of play. No one did, thus preserving master golf architect Robert Trent Jones's contention that Oakland Hills is the "toughest test of championship golf in the world."

Looking back on my play there, I believe it was my irons, especially the long ones, that enabled me to win the championship. Oakland Hills was a type of course that can beat you down and wear you out until you are physically and mentally exhausted. The difficult par-four holes and long par threes required accurate irons or woods to greens which were extremely fast and highly contoured. Most of them had several plateaus on which pin settings were placed. If your ball happened to land on the plateau where the pin was nestled, your approach putt was not too difficult. If an undulant portion of the green separated your ball from the pin, it was quite another story.

My good friend Bill Casper, who won the Open championship in 1959 at Winged Foot, in Mamaroneck, New York, said of the course, "If you could birdie the first seven holes, you might have a chance to shoot par."

Bill was making reference to the following 11 holes, 8 through 18, the toughest stretch run in golf as far as I know.

It was on these holes that I made my bid, and won the Open with some of the greatest irons that I have ever hit in my life. After opening with a three-over-par 73, in which I played better than I scored, I posted a 68 for a 36-hole total of 141. This put me two shots behind the leaders, Bob Rosburg and Doug Sanders, going into the final 36 holes. I slipped one more stroke behind Sanders after the morning round when I came in with a 72. Throughout the first three rounds, I had been playing extremely well, driving straight and hitting my irons with surprising accuracy. My iron play gave me confidence that a good final round could win the tournament. I also knew that if I were to win I would have to shoot an exceptionally fine round that afternoon, for there were almost a dozen players in contention. Sanders was leading at. 210, which was even par for three rounds. He was playing extremely well, and I knew he would be tough to beat. Doug is one of the straightest hitters in professional golf, and this was a course that demanded straight shots. One stroke back of Sanders were Bob Goalby, Mike Souchak, and Jacky Cupit, a newcomer who is sure to make his mark in professional golf before he is through. At 212 were Doug Ford and Gardner Dickinson. I was tied with Eric Monti, Bob Rosburg, and Allen Geiberger at 213.

I soon fell four strokes back of Sanders when he birdied the long par-five second hole. I was playing just ahead of Sanders, but not doing anything spectacular, which I felt that I must do, and do soon, if I were to try and catch him.

The break came on the seventh hole, a short (for Oakland Hills) par four measuring 381 yards. I had parred the first 6 holes, and this one was the last "breather" hole before starting that tortuous journey over the remaining holes. I hit a good drive and a seven-iron about 15 feet from the pin, which was on the back right side of the green, and then holed the putt for a birdie three. This putt seemed to give me a lift, as a good birdie always seems to do, and the eighth hole, a murderous par four measuring 458 yards uphill, didn't seem quite as threatening now as it had in previous rounds. It is difficult to describe the difference in the first 7 holes in relation to the remaining 11. I would surmise that it is like riding a roller coaster. The first swing down the track isn't too bad, and not too eventful; then with jarring uncertainty you hit the upper track and you are in for the ride of your life. Such is the case at Oakland Hills, and after four times around it you are ready for the sweatshop. The opening holes are not too demanding of your skill. They lie there quietly, if not serenely, accepting all shots, and not too scornful if you stray off line a little bit. But the whole picture of the course changes as you step to the eighth tee. You are looking into the jaws of the monster Hogan spoke so sternly of in 1951. The forbidding traps reach out and snare drives that are just slightly off line, and the fairways close in tighter with each backswing.

But I could feel no pressure now. I had just nailed a birdie on the seventh hole, and, after two fine wood shots and two putts, I had my par on eight. Another par on nine, a 203-yard par three, gave me a front-nine 34. Standing on the tenth tee, I made a brief mental note that if I could possibly duplicate that score, or perhaps improve it a stroke or two, I could win the championship. I didn't linger long on that thought, however, because projecting yourself to the end result sometimes leads to disaster. Golf is a game that must be played 1 shot at a time, not 3 or 34 shots ahead of the one before you.

After parring the tenth, a long 448-yard par four, I played what I thought were two of my finest shots of the tournament on the tough eleventh. This was another par four, one of the many key holes that required a good second shot if a player was to get within birdie range. On the final round the pin was on the extreme back side of the green and slightly left of center. The green was long and narrow and had two levels, making it difficult to judge properly the distance to the hole. I chose a four-iron and struck the ball a crisp blow that sent it in a slight right-to-left arc straight for the pin. Owing to the elevation of the green, it was difficult to determine how close the ball was to the hole, but the roar of the crowd told me it must at least be on the top level somewhere near the hole. It was, just eight feet away. After checking the line carefully, I tapped it into the hole for a birdie three to go two under par.

This long iron shot and four others that I was to hit on the holes to follow proved to be the keys to my victory in the Open championship. Looking back on those shots now, I cannot recollect that in any other previous time in my golfing life, before or after this tournament, have I ever struck such telling blows with my iron clubs. I simply stepped up to the ball with hardly a conscious effort at all and swung, and the ball took off like it was on a string—straight and true toward the target. It was one of those rare times when my physical actions blended perfectly with my mental commands. There was no hurrying or rushing of the swing, and certainly there was no nervousness that I had always thought might engulf me at a time like this.

Although I knew at the time that I was back in the thick of the battle, I didn't know just where I stood in relation to the other players in the field who were in contention. Several scoreboards around the course had me one or two shots back of Sanders at this juncture, but it wasn't until I was about to hit my second shot to the sixteenth green that I learned Sanders was having trouble and that I actually had a two-stroke lead at this point. I started to get a little excited then. Before that, however, I had picked up another birdie on the thirteenth hole, a 169-yard par-three hole, and pars on the long fourteenth and fifteenth holes. I remember these three holes especially because each iron shot that I hit was struck exactly as I had planned. The longest putt I had was the 20-footer on the fourteenth hole.

The sixteenth was the fabulous "lake hole," and certainly one of the greatest golf holes in America. Measuring 405 yards, it requires the most exacting second shot on the course—normally a three-, four-, or five-iron over a lake which protected the right portion of the green. On the final day, the pin was tucked in just behind the lake, so a full carry was needed to reach the green.

Both my playing partner, Gardner Dickinson, and I split the middle with our drives, so we were in a good position to go for the green. It was at this moment that I learned that I had a two-stroke lead over Sanders. I also found out that Bob Goalby, one of the fiercest competitors on the PGA tour, had just posted a 282. Par in would give me 280. I was now faced with a major decision of playing it safe or going for the green. There wasn't much room to play it safe on this hole, however, the only really safe place being the green itself. I had been hitting my iron shots all day with such wonderful directional control that I didn't see why 1 couldn't continue. I decided to drill it right at the hole.

No shot is a key shot until you get into position. At this precise moment, I was in this position—facing the toughest hole in the tournament and, to me, the most important shot of my life. A gentle breeze was blowing, so I wanted to make certain I had enough club to carry the green. It was either a full five-iron or a three-quarter four. I decided to go with the four. I aimed directly for the flag and swung rather firmly. The ball took off over the lake, climbed over the heart of the green, and then settled down for a gentle roll across the green and onto the back fringe, from where I made a good chip and a two footer for a well-earned par. After dropping that putt, I felt for the first time during the round that I could win the tournament, despite the two tough finishing holes that faced me.

As it turned out, I did win, but I had several uncomfortable moments in the process. I parred 17, but bogied 18 after a poor four-wood second shot that found the bunker to the left of the green. I exploded out and two-putted for a five, my only bogey of the round, and posted a final round of 68. My total was 281 for 72 holes. Sanders made a gallant bid to tie, for he birdied 16 and parred 17 and 18 to fall one stroke shy of my 281.

Looking back on my play in the Open championship, I shall always feel that it was my fine iron play, particularly with my long and medium irons, that made it possible for me to win. I was fortunate enough to have been able to position my iron shots near many of the holes which were situated on the high rims and plateaus of the expansive Oakland Hills greens. Thus, my approach putting was made infinitely easier, not to mention the relief from the mental stress that is usually so indelibly within you during the play of a great championship.

Now, as we swing into the chapters on iron play, I urge you to pay heed to the six basic "feel" positions of the swing. They are: (1) the grip, (2) the stance and address over the ball, (3) the position halfway on the backswing, (4) the top of the swing, (5) the most crucial of all the feel positions—the start of the downswing to a point where the hands are about hip-high, and (6) the position of the hands, arms, and body through the hitting area to a point where the arms parallel the ground on the follow-through. Study these positions closely, then try to get into them yourself. This, along with the little swing exercise that I described in the first chapter on fundamentals will help you piece your swing together as one would fit the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle into their natural places.

Slowly, but surely, the mold of your swing will take form, and it will create a repeating pattern that will make your golfing shots go straighter and truer than you ever before believed possible.

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