'67 Masters Cemented Hogan Myth

NEW YORK - Slowly the little man emerged from the valley, head bowed under his trademark white hat, battered 54-year-old legs carrying him up the hill toward the 18th green at Augusta National.

As Ben Hogan shuffled along, thousands crowded around the last green at the third round of the 1967 Masters carried him along with a thunderous ovation.

They knew what they were seeing: The last great round by arguably the greatest golfer ever.

More than his nine major championship victories, more than the 30 tournaments he won from 1946 to 1948, more than sweeping the Masters, U.S. Open and British Open in 1953, more than coming back from the car crash that nearly killed him, that Masters showed what made Hogan special.

Long past his prime, 14 years past his last major championship and eight years since he last won a tournament, there was Hogan - months short of his 55th birthday - shooting a 66 in the third round of the Masters, finishing the back nine with a brilliant 30.

"I think I played the best nine holes of my life on those holes," Hogan said years later. "I don't think I came close to missing a shot."

Sam Snead won more tournaments. Jack Nicklaus won more majors. But no one was feared more than Hogan. No one worked harder.

Think how many majors he would have won if he hadn't missed nearly three full seasons to World War II. Think how many majors he would have won if not for the car crash that limited him to playing no more than seven tournaments a year after 1948.

Hogan turned pro in 1929, but didn't win his first major championship until he was 34, in 1946. He won two majors in '48, missed '49 because of the crash, won one in '50, two in '51 and three in '53.

The car crash that crushed his legs secured Hogan's place in golf history, added to his mystique. After the crash, when his shattered legs could no longer stand the rigors of weekly play, Hogan retreated to what he loved most - practice.He was the first player to spend hours working on his game.

Hogan would warm up on the practice tee before a round by hitting every shot in the order he assumed he would hit them on the course.He was relentless, unyielding.

Even as his mind faded with Alzheimer's, Hogan still thought of practice. "He talks about hitting balls," Valerie, his wife of 62 years, said in 1995, "then he forgets."

Valerie may be the only person who ever really knew Hogan, the hardened man who was 9 when his father committed suicide.

"You know, I always thought he was a handsome man," she said. "And a warm person. He wasn't the machine everyone thought. He just worked harder."