Tortured Yet Brilliant, Tom Weiskopf Found Peace in the Second Act of His Life
His impeccable appearance belied a disheveled psyche, that of an embattled soul who spent decades just trying to get comfortable in his own skin. He swung a golf club with majestic grace but succumbed to mood swings and doubt on the course, walked with a stride reserved for royalty but stumbled like a casualty of alcohol off it.
Tom Weiskopf’s greatest triumph came not at the 1973 British Open, the 1995 U.S. Senior Open or from any of his 16 PGA Tour titles, but on New Year’s Day 2000, when he committed to a life of sobriety. It was a pledge he honored up to his death last Saturday at age 79, the one handshake Weiskopf made with himself that never betrayed him, nor did it alter his self-portrayal as one of the game’s most notable underachievers or insufferable public figures.
“If liquor wasn’t involved, as good as my game was, I had 10 more good years left, my best years without question,” Weiskopf told longtime golf writer Jeff Rude about quitting the Tour in his early 40s. “I lost a lot by drinking,” he would add. “Every bad mistake I made related to alcohol.”
A brilliant man, a tortured myth, a would-be legend. If Weiskopf’s career represents a felonious cautionary tale, it wasn’t without considerable achievement. He finished second four times at the Masters, most famously in 1975, and was a runner-up at the 1976 U.S. Open. He won seven tournaments worldwide in 1973, including five Tour events in a two-and-a-half-month stretch from mid-May to the end of July. As was frequently the case, however, Weiskopf’s superb ‘73 was overshadowed by Jack Nicklaus, who claimed the money title and Player of the Year honors with seven wins of his own, all in the United States.
For everything his battle with the bottle did to prevent Weiskopf from reaching his potential, his competitive legacy might best be defined by his role as Wile E. Coyote to Nicklaus in golf’s version of “The Road Runner.” Although he never seemed to derive any particular pleasure from dropping the anvil on the head of his fellow Ohio State alum, the slimmed-down Jack of the ‘70s bulked up his victory total by consistently outperforming Weiskopf on Sundays when performance mattered most.
When Nicklaus holed a 40-footer for birdie on Augusta National’s 16th green in the final round of the ‘75 Masters, a definitive answer to birdies by Weiskopf and Johnny Miller moments earlier at the 15th, perhaps the greatest three-man duel in major-championship history all but surrendered to a fait accompli. And when Nicklaus topped those heroics nine years later by charging to his sixth and final Masters crown at age 46, Weiskopf grabbed a small part of the postscript while calling the action for CBS.
“What is going through Jack’s mind right now? He has not experienced this kind of streak in a long time,” rookie announcer Jim Nantz asked with a touch of innocence from the 16th tower.
“If I knew the way he thought,” Weiskopf replied, “I would’ve won this tournament.”
It was a classic response with deep undertones. Weiskopf’s broadcasting career was basically limited to the two events for which he was best known: the Masters (1985-95) and British Open with ABC/ESPN. His love-hate relationship with the game surely curbed his interest in working for a network on a regular basis, as did his second career as a course architect—more on that shortly—but when he did take a seat behind a microphone, Weiskopf’s simple explanations and keen observations added significant value to any telecast.
“[Former CBS producer Frank] Chirkinian liked to move the ball around—he didn’t let him pontificate as much,” says veteran writer Jaime Diaz, now a Golf Channel analyst. “He was more effective and you learned more about him in a conversational mode.” Nicknamed the “Towering Inferno” during his playing days for his 6-foot-3 frame and robust temper, Weiskopf was conspicuously sedate and unfailingly concise as a commentator. Perhaps the restrictions of doing live television at big events made the job more trouble than he thought it was worth.
Designing courses was an entirely different story. It was an occupation at which Weiskopf was widely considered better than Nicklaus: more creative, less predictable and in better touch with what worked for recreational golfers and tour pros alike. Among those who played the game at the highest level for a living, only Ben Crenshaw has displayed the imagination and architectural knack that characterizes a majority of Weiskopf’s layouts.
He is the godfather of the short par 4, at least in its modern context, with the 17th at TPC Scottsdale still presiding as the industry’s driveable, risk/reward template. Weiskopf’s partnership with Jay Moorish produced a diverse array of acclaimed gems: Scotland’s Loch Lomond, Mexico’s Vista Vallarta and Puerto Cancun, Michigan’s Forest Dunes, Wyoming’s Snake River and both the Monument and Pinnacle at Arizona’s Troon North.
For a tormented victim of expectations who had walked away from tournaments in the middle of a round because he was too hungover to try—an ailment dubbed “the Weiskopf Flu” by his fellow tour pros—something about molding the earth into an 18-hole playground ignited an artistic spark within the Towering Inferno. He found peace and earned authentic praise from the skill, which is why he was working on a replication of his 10 favorite par 3s right up until his two-year brawl with pancreatic cancer came to an end.
More than a hothead, hard-luck loser or half-hearted competitor, he was a human being with enormous natural talent who spent most of his life figuring out how to deal with it and not enough time taking advantage of it. Now that he’s gone, there’s only one thing left to do.
“Hey Jeff, thanks for calling,” Weiskopf said to Rude at the end of their 2014 phone interview. “Thanks for remembering me.”
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