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VOL. XXII, NO. 4
SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 7, 1918
AN INFALLIBLE MASHIE
Wielded by Clapp Breaks the Hearts
of Hen in the Rough
Seventeenth Hole on the SemlFlnal
Tells the Romance of Autumn
or whatever genial de
ity it is that presides
over the royal game of
golf takes no delight in
favorites. And as has
often observed be
lie keeps few of his
final trophies for medal
ists. On both of these counts Franklin
II. Gates, of Broadacre, by common
consent first money in the pool and win
ner of the qualifying round of the Au
tumn Tournament, had no real show.
We begin this epic with Gates, for it is
proper to dispose of old heroes as well
as old loves before we go on with the
And now let us sing the wrath of
J. II. Clapp, the Son of Chevy Chase,
him of the horizon brassie and the cun
ning cleek. Sing his wrath rising as he saw
his prowess discounted among the pro
phets and his abiding fortune on the fate
ful 17th. It is the lasting lure of the
game that no man can possibly tell at
what stage or in what match of a well
fought tournament the critical and de
termining factor will arise. For exam
ple: In this autumn affray, suddenly,
Avithout notice and without audience, the
fortunes of Chevy Chase came to their
crisis, and the outcome of the whole
affair hung in the balance in the semi
final round on the 17th hole. Here was
C. F. Watson, Jr., of Baltusrol, wield
ing a winning mashie, one up, and lying
snug in two shots within a foot of this
same hole on the top of the volcanic
17th. And there was Clapp, shocking
the world by missing an easy two-foot
putt for a half and a three and a
chance at the match. I ask you? With
Watson one up, on the edge of the cup
in two, and Clapp missing a three, who
would you pick for the winner of the
tournament? Watson, or Allen or
Becker? Or anybody but Clapp? It is
a lesson that the game is never over.
For lo, and behold I Seeing that human
agencies had failed, Clapp 's foxy little
Radio took a hand in the game, and
rambled around the rim until it found
a position exactly between Watson and
the hole. Still, it was ninety to one
that Watson would get a half and still
keep his lead. But Apollo Sporticus
gently interfered, and Watson managed
to knock, not his own, but Clapp 's ball
into the cup. Mirabile dictu! And so
Clapp went on and won the match, and
turned into the final round unbeatable.
In recounting a carnival of matches
in which three sixteens spend a week of
play, and three full champions, and as
many more runners up and consolation
winners, divide the honors, it is no easy
matter to tell where to begin. So let
us begin at the end, and tell what hap
pened to J. Appleton Allen, of Baltus
rol, when he went out against the rab
bit 's foot. He had this much in his
favor. He was the lineal and logical
winner. He had cleaned up Phillips'
first crack out of the box, and exhibited
a whirlwind 37 on the first nine in so
the gallery had become aware that a
championship was being played. That
is a par five, that hole, and a good hard
one at that. But this Allen fellow, he
worried no more about it than Phil
Carter used to Avhen he went into his
accustomed clairvoyant state. His long
shots there were only two went as if
from a howitzer. His short shots might
have been the work of an engineer.
There were also just two of them and
presto, the ball was spurlos gesingt in a
birdie of the Paradise variety.
Now there is this to be said about
Clapp. He owns a dangerous and in
fallible mashie. He breaks the hearts
of men from the rough. He pulled this
on Allen when he got into a pit driving
the 8th. Of course he sailed out and
settled by the pin, not only taking a
three, but astonishing Allen into a total
decline. So the match was evened
again. Another 3 on the 9th put Clapp
UNCLE SAM'S FAST FINISH
1 LI ft
F. H. GATES, AUTUMN MEDALIST
doing. And Gates' mantle had fallen
on Becker, the Boswell of the links, in
a typical sensational Gates' finish
where the last shot was the only one
that counted. And Allen had taken the
glory from Becker, 4 and 2, thus having
under his belt the scalps of all the ac
credited champions present. Phillips
had gone off with the Carolina boys.
The opening holes in Allen versus
Clapp yielded no intense excitement.
Allen took the lead on the fourth with
a spectacular driblet into the bucket
from twenty feet for a par four.
Clapp brought his dreadnought into ac
tion and sailed for the distant fifth in
championship form in retaliation. He
negotiated the green with a second
spoon, and in correct imitation of
Harry Vardon, polished off the hole in
a perfect four, squaring the match.
Both parties managed to balance their
balls on top of the cone on the 6th with
a back spin from a hollow mashie, take
threes and all even drive for the 537
yard adventure of the 7th. By this time
one up at the turn.
End of Ninth Hole. Clapp one up.
Both out in 40.
Tenth hole. Clapp takes to the wa
ter. Allen evens up the match.
Eleventh hole. Clapp comes down
the line like Donald Ross on exhibition.
Barely misses a three. Ditto a four.
Calls on Apollo to repeat. Apollo re
peats. Allen stymied. Clapp takes the
lead again, one up.
12th hole. Turning point of the
match. Allen's morale badly shaken by
second apparition of the magic niblic.
It was this way: Allen was courting the
green in the open fairway in three,
while Clapp was buried in a dugout in
the offing on his second. Whence he
came flying like a homing pigeon and
lit on the rim of the cup, kicked in his
four and smiled at Allen's five. Clapp
13th and 14th. Comedies of errors.
In statu quo. Allen's game; shot for
the hole on the 13th from the middle dis-
(Concluded on page two)
Preston's Great Horse, Well Ridden by
Tates, Creates a Sensation
Wlnthrop Itutberferd, on Abden,
Beats tbe little Dora Opening:
Races feature Maude Tero,
Sarelta May and tbe
THE OPENING meet
of the Pinehurst Jockey
Club last Wednesday af
ternoon can be said,
without the slightest ex
aggeration, to have sur-
Oft passed the interest in
H11C1C UIO.J j 111 LWIS
particulars. One was in the staging of
one really thrilling horse race. The
other was in a discovery. Every track
lives in hopes of making a discovery.
The race was put up by a big roan
thoroughbred called Uncle Sam. He
belongs to J. Hayden Preston, of Prov
idence, R. I., attending Captain Ford's
Pinehurst School for Boys over here.
Ho made a run that on a more famous
track would live in men's memories.
It was a match race, in which the old
favorite and many times leader of the
track, Hurd 's Kinder . Lou, was slated
to win from the schoolboy's entry, and
a fast-running mare named Genevive en
tered by Fred Houston, of Petersburg,
and ridden by a yellow peril named
Harry Wells. Bob Burns was up on the
Kinder Lou, and a new jockey, a fairly
heavy fellow, Sam Yates, handled Uncle
When they got off for the three
fourths mile spurt with Kinder Lou
well in the lead, and Uncle Sam all but
left at the post, and particularly when
Yates passed the stand still well in the
rear and apparently in no hurry. The
grand stand settled down to see a race
between the leaders, and dismissed the
old National from the discussion. Hence
the cheers and the hurrah when the
Petersburg mare passed Kinder Lou on
the back stretch.
The real excitement commenced about
the time F. B. Shreve, in the judges'
stand, was saying: "Look at that boy!
He knows how to ride. It's a race be
lieve me; it's a race."
Shreve is an old hand at the game.
He has been starter for years on the
half mile circuit and incidentally his
precision and decision, and his fearless
(Concluded on page three)