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All Pumped Up. Only once in the 18 wondrous holes that followed did Jack fail to hit a green in regulation figures. Five times, by his own estimate checked against a detailed chart of the course that he kept in his back pocket, he drove 350 yds. or more. "My adrenalin is running strong," Nicklaus beamed. "I'm all pumped up inside." The longest club he used for a second shot all day—even on the four par-five holes—was a No. 3 iron. And his putting? On the second hole, Jack rolled in a 22-footer for a birdie. On the fourth, he sank an eight-footer; on the sixth, a 20-footer. By the turn, he was five under par, and three more birdies on the back nine gave him an eight-under-par 64—tying the course record set by Lloyd Mangrum in 1940, when the course was several strokes easier to play.
Now Nicklaus' new smile became almost a fixture. The gallery knew a winner when it saw one: on the last day, an admiring crowd of 25,000 turned out to trail Jack around the course. Tied with Player for second place at eight under par, Arnie Palmer buttonholed Tournament Director Clifford Roberts. "Mr. Roberts," he cracked, "how about letting Gary and me double our scores so we can have a playoff with Jack?" Even that wouldn't have been enough. Sporting a floppy white hat for which he had to shell out $6.50 at the pro shop ("it would sell for $3 anyplace else"), chatting casually with spectators lining the fairways, Nicklaus fired a last-round 69 that gave him a nine-stroke victory worth $20,000 and a 72-hole total of 271—three strokes better than Ben Hogan's 1953 Masters record.
"Unbelievable," sighed Palmer. "Fantastic," agreed Player. So what's next for Jack Nicklaus? Well, there's always the Grand Slam, the unrequited dream of every golfing great. He would only have to win the Masters, U.S. Open, P.G.A. and British Open—all this year, of course. "And why not?" demanded Jack. "After all, I'm the only one who can."