Veteran reporters saw lots of Masters magic

AUGUSTA, Ga. Only at the Masters could the day's biggest news story be 71 years old.

It seems that Horton Smith, the eventual winner of the 1936 Masters, was walking up the 18th fairway at Augusta National unsure of exactly where he stood vs. his competition in the final round.

"You're going to win, Mr. Smith," Smith was told by his caddy. "One rabbit's foot is supposed to be good luck, and you have four rabbit's feet in your bag today."

Sure enough, the caddy had snared a small wild rabbit while Smith was in the process of playing the fifth hole and had slipped the terrified creature into the bottom of Smith's golf bag.

"The only thing Smith had noticed was that his caddy had gotten awfully careful putting the clubs away," recalled John Derr, an 89-year-old retired writer and broadcaster who was working his second Masters that weekend. "It's not an apocryphal story. Before he turned the rabbit loose, he let us all peek into the bottom of the bag and look it in the eye."

This dusty bulletin came to light yesterday when Augusta National officials chose to recognize 14 press-room veterans who'd reported from a minimum of 40 Masters.

None of the other old-timers ever had ever heard the anecdote about the rabbit, making Derr the only newsman ever born who was capable of sitting on a story that good for that long.

Derr, who was a 17-year-old reporter for the Gastonia (N.C.) Gazette when he staffed his first event in 1935, had seniority. He's broadcast or filed stories from 62 Masters.

Derr's rookie year was same year that winner Gene Sarazen made his double eagle on the par-5 15th hole. Sarazen's gallery of 13 people included no writers or photographers.

"We all had our typewriters set up on the second floor veranda at the clubhouse," Derr said, "and a caddy ran up on the lawn and yelled 'Mr. Sarazen just made a 2 on No. 15.' We figured he was talking about No. 16, which is a par-3 where a lot of guys make 2s. Every one us ignored it."

So much for press vigilance.

While none of the other 13 vets could match Derr's tenure, many of them dated their first Masters back to the 1940s or 1950s, when there was an entirely different atmosphere around the event.

The original Masters was almost an anti-major, a break for touring pros between the winter events in Florida and the late-spring and summer schedule on the East Coast. The U.S. Open and the PGA were the majors. The Masters was a low-key week when everyone could take a breath.

And maybe a drink.

"When I did my first one in 1946," recalled Miami Herald columnist Edwin Pope, "they had a press tent set up near the first tee. Inside were 16 chairs, 16 typewriters and 16 bottles of whiskey, all of them in varying degrees of fullness."

Somehow it all morphed into today's Masters, where demand for admission is so high that any ticket scalped for less than $1,000 is allegedly a bargain.

"It might have been color television, which let everybody see how beautiful the course was," said Pope, "and Arnold Palmer. People today don't appreciate how popular and charismatic he was."

It's hard to pinpoint exactly when things took off, although the 1954 tournament is frequently cited. It ended with a playoff pitting Sam Snead against Ben Hogan and featured a spectacular fourth-round implosion by amateur Billy Joe Patton.

Another candidate is 1958, when a Sunday eagle on No. 13 helped push Palmer to his first win. Or 1960, when Palmer birdied his final two holes to beat Ken Venturi by one stroke.

"A lot of magic moments," Derr said.

Including the day when the winner pulled a rabbit out of his hat.