Locker Room:A few years ago a nice man with an American accent (okay, a nice American man) called me and asked how I would feel about writing a big piece on Bobby Locke. Because the man worked for an American magazine I said, why, sure, I'd love to. He said, that's great, I think he's a real interesting story, don't you? I said, he sure is.
Then I hung up and ran to the computer to find out who Bobby Locke is or was. A few weeks later I was standing inside a cottage in Johannesburg, South Africa, looking at the room in which Bobby Locke's wife and daughter had ended their own lives.
Bobby Locke was a golfing genius. He won the British Open four times between 1949 and 1957 and was top amateur in 1936 and again in 1937 at Carnoustie.
In 1937 it rained torrentially at Carnoustie on the final day and the 20-year-old Locke was the only amateur to make it through to play that day.
He was a white South African, with a sour, hangdog face that made Colin Montgomerie look like Little Miss Sunshine.
On the course, he wore white stockings, baggy black knickers, a long-sleeved white dress-shirt and a black tie tucked into the shirt between the third and fourth buttons.
He was a prodigy, and the great Wembley exhibition of 1923 included a photo of the five-year-old Bobby playing golf outside his home in the Transvaal.
The first tournament Locke won outside of South Africa was actually in Portmarnock, the Irish Open of 1938, when he had an 80 on the first day of play.
Locke was 21 at the time and not a big draw. Those who went to Portmarnock went to see the great Henry Cotton, who led after the second day.
Locke was nine strokes behind, but even then he was living by the maxim he is credited with having invented: he was driving for show and putting for dough.
After two rounds in Portmarnock no player had broken 70, and a prominent local sportsman put up a prize of £200 to be divided among any players who broke that mark in the last two days.
Locke went out in 34 on his third round and coming back needed a four on the last to break 70. He holed a 15-foot putt for a 69 and ended up winning the entire £200.
Cotton shot a 73 in the third round, and on the final day Locke hit 70 as Henry collapsed to a 76. Cotton told Locke he was "a lucky young fellow" - a patronising line Locke never forgot.
Locke lost good years during the war but at the 1946 British Open at St Andrews he was a stroke ahead of Sam Snead with nine holes left to play before taking 40 from there to the finish while Snead shot 35.
Congratulating Snead, he was surprised but intrigued to hear the new champion say, "Thanks, Bob, but it's just another tournament."
Locke decided on the spot he would adopt what he called "Snead's tournament temperament" as his own.
Later that year Snead was invited to South Africa to play Locke in a series of 16 matches. The great American was massacred; Locke won 12, two were halved and Snead won the other two.
Locke's success made big news in the US, where startled reporters described Snead's eclipse by a "man from the jungle".
The following spring the man from the jungle was invited to the US to play the Masters at Augusta. Playing without a practice round he finished joint 10th.
He won four of the next five US events he played in and finished third in the other. He left players like Ben Hogan, Lloyd Mangrum, Byron Nelson and Sam Snead in his wake.
By the end of 1947 Locke had won seven tournaments, had finished second twice and third once and had been in the top seven on another four occasions.
He finished second in the money list to Jimmy Demaret, who had played the entire 12 months on the circuit and won just $3,600 more.
Locke had a comical swing US pros laughed at and then denounced as unreliable. His trademark was a high hook, which he played with an unlikely, feathery touch.
The golf writer Ken Bowden once challenged Locke to play a fade as he stood over a tee shot. Without altering his stance, Locke said, "Mastah, let me show you how it is done," and hit a perfect fade, then dropped another ball at his feet and repeated the trick precisely.
(In fact when Lloyd Mangrum first saw Locke's swing and hook style in the US he entered into a series of unwise bets with a fellow pro, Clayton Heafner. Mangrum bet on Ben Hogan to beat Locke each week. After a few weeks Heafner owned Mangrum's Cadillac.)
Locke returned to the US in 1948 and took three titles. He also finished second at the National Capitol Open in Washington, where he accepted the prize and then entertained the crowd with a rendition of Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gone.
They did speak about him though. His plundering of the US had ceased to be a novelty. In two-and-a-half years of dipping in and out of the US PGA Tour from the spring of 1947, he played 59 tournaments, winning 11 and finishing in the top three in 30.
In 1949 he played the British Open for the first time since 1946 and won it.
Sponsorship commitments forced him to withdraw from two US tournaments, and the US PGA took the opportunity to ban Locke from all future tournaments with which they had a connection.
That first Open win, at Sandwich, is memorable. Locke and Harry Bradshaw shot 68 in the third round to tie the lead.
(Famously, in the second round Bradshaw cut his drive on the fifth into rough, where it nestled on some glass.
Not wishing to delay everyone with a reference to the rule book, Bradshaw shut his eyes and took a swing, hitting the ball only 25 yards with a wedge. His composure was shattered and he carded a 77.
An English newspaper faked a picture the next day of a golf ball stuck in the neck of a bottle. Nothing changes!)
In the final round Locke sank a 12-foot putt on the 17th and parred the last to force a 36-hole play-off with Bradshaw, which the South African won by 12 shots, shooting a 67 in a play-off round.
His US ban was rescinded the next year but Locke took his time in returning, spending most of the spring in Europe. When he went back to the US he won six tournaments.
His last British Open win was at St Andrews in 1957 and typically it was controversial.
On the final green, about to win the competition by three strokes, Locke moved the marker for his ball to give his playing partner a clear putt.
In his excitement he forgot to measure the required putter-head distance back when he replaced the marker and ball. He holed from a yard but his error was noticed on newsreel films.
Locke was left in limbo until he received a unique letter from NC Selway, the chairman of the championship committee: "The committee considers that when a competitor has three for the Open championship from two feet, and then commits a technical error which brings him no possible advantage, exceptional circumstances then exist and the decision should be given accordingly in equity and the spirit of the game.
"Please feel free to show this letter to anyone."
In a game where the rule of law is commendably sacrosanct it was the first and possibly last ruling to hinge on the "spirit of the game".
Locke treasured the letter and as a gesture of gratitude decided never to wear his trademark plus fours again.
His vow was superseded by life.
Three years later he was involved in a serious car crash. He suffered severe headaches and memory loss thereafter (it was then he began his habit of addressing everyone as Mastah). He lost the handmade Scottish putter he had used for 25 years.
His later years were hard. The property he bought in Johannesburg was in an area which went downhill. He became aggressive, fond of drink and difficult.
After his death, in 1987, his wife, Mary, and daughter, Carolyn, were left behind in a deteriorating city, living frightened lives in a little cottage (which Locke had christened Sandwich after the venue of that first Open win) with a heart-shaped swimming pool that sat incongruously on a little patch of grass behind the block of flats they owned but could not make a living from.
In 1993 they were forced to auction Bobby's four Open medals at Christies. They fetched £82,800.
A few years ago Mary and Carolyn took the dog to the vet and had him put down. Then they had their hair done, had a last lunch together and went to bed and drank champagne to wash down the sleeping pills they had hoarded for months.
There the story of one of the Open's more unique champions ended.
