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As tailored for last week's Open, Oakmonth's string-bean fairways had been tightened to only 30 yds. in width on some holes, and the enormous greens had been shaved until only one-eighth inch of grass remained. Par had been lowered from 72 to 71, so tough that only 19 sub-par rounds were shot during the entire tournament. The lead skipped around as though the golfers were playing hot potato: Gene Littler, the first-day leader with a sparkling 69, sank rapidly to a tie for seventh, and five players held the lead at one point or another on the final day. In the end, though, only Palmer and Nicklaus remained, deadlocked at 283, just one under par.
Visions of Grandeur. In the next day's playoff, everything seemed to favor Palmer. He had grown up in Latrobe, Pa., just 40 miles from Oakmont's rolling fairways, and he had played the course "at least 200 times" before. Winner of 33 tournaments, including the 1960 U.S. Open and last year's British Open, golf's reigning king was having his best year. With $60,331 already in the bank, he was—and still is—a good bet to smash his alltime money-winning record of $75,262, set in 1960. Having won his third Masters title in April, he now had visions of a one-year "grand slam," winning all four of pro golf's major championships—Masters, U.S. Open, British Open and Professional Golfers' Association. Nobody, not Hagen or Hogan or Snead or Sarazen, had ever accomplished that before. "I want to win this one more than any tournament I've ever played," said Palmer on the eve of the Nicklaus play-off-but he was frankly worried. "I'd rather it was anybody but that big, strong, happy dude," he said.
By tee-time at 1 :45 p.m., 10,000 keyed-up golf fans were strewn around the 6,894-yd. course. Wise ones invested in cardboard periscopes; wiser ones bought two, used Scotch tape to build periscopes on periscopes. All of them, it seemed, were for Palmer, the home-town hero. "Attaboy, Arnie!" cried the fans. "Go get him, Arnie, baby!" Some suggestions were even more pointed: "Needle him, Arnie." "Walk around while he's putting, Arnie."
Nicklaus acted as if he had cotton in his ears. He had played with Palmer during the first two rounds of the tournament, and he was used to Arnie's Army. As a matter of fact, the bigger Palmer's gallery, the better stolid Jack Nicklaus liked it. "Arnie always draws the big gallery wherever he goes," he said. "And a big gallery around the green is the biggest advantage a player can have. If you miss the green, you know the ball isn't going very far. The people just can't step out of the way fast enough. I don't mind a carom shot."