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About three years ago, Hollywood, always on the lookout for new and interesting personalities, began to take note of one who called himself John Montague. Handsome, debonair and genial, Montague would have been a welcome addition to Hollywood for his social talents alone. He had other ones as well. He was so modest that, in a community where a private telephone number is considered the ultimate in self-effacement, he not only demurely refused to reveal the source of his apparently lavish income but firmly refused to have his picture taken, politely smashing the cameras of photographers who tried it. Where chivalry is rare, he made no secret of his feeling that men should not swear when ladies were present. For strength, John Montague was marvelous. When a friend had a blowout, he held the rear end of the car up while he changed the tire. John Montague could drink whiskey by the quart but no one ever saw him drunk. Finally, he was a prodigious golfer.
By the time Montague had been around Hollywood for a year or two, he was sharing a house with fat Comedian Oliver Hardy whom he could lift with one hand. He golfed with celebrities like Bing Crosby, and joined the Lakeside Club where the rumor was that he amused the members one day by standing husky Cinemactor George Bancroft on his head in his locker and closing the door. Through his social success, John Montague retained his peculiar shyness. Whence he came or where he got his money, he told no one. His friends were either too afraid or polite to ask. There were rumors that Montague had gold mines in Arizona. This was merely because he often disappeared into the desert for months at a time. It was said he had a connection with a company that made super-chargers. This was because he drove two Lincolns and a geared- up Ford. Unconcerned with antecedents, Hollywood asked no questions. Montague played golf. . . .
Surest way to attract attention anywhere is to appear to shun it. In Hollywood, where attention is the population's bread & butter, this technique is doubly infallible. And what Montague did on golf courses would have brought him notoriety anywhere whether he shunned it or not.
First public notice of Montague's golf was written two years ago by famed Sportswriter Grantland Rice. Sportswriter Rice heard that Montague had, 1) played Crosby using a baseball bat, a rake and a shovel and beaten him, 2) broken the course record at Palm Springs four days in a row, with a 61 the last day, 3) picked a bird off a telegraph wire with a golf ball at 170 yards, 4) been called by onetime U. S. Amateur Champion George Von Elm, who had played with him daily for a month, the "greatest golfer in the world." Sportswriter Rice played several games with John Montague. In his Sportlight, Grantland Rice substantiated Golfer Von Elm's opinion.
Sportswriter Rice's column established a golfer who was not only conceivably the best in the world but also so shy he refused to play in tournaments or have his picture taken as a public figure. John Montague promptly became major news. Last September, Westbrook Pegler devoted a column to him. Last January, when a freelance photographer finally got two snapshots of Montague, TIME published them with an account of his progress (TIME, Jan. 25).