Lloyd Mangrum’s scoring record at Masters mostly forgotten

Grantland Rice’s morning column made its rounds after the opening day of the 1940 Masters Tournament. Its headline read, “It was Texas Day in Augusta.”

Jimmy Demaret fired a second-nine 30 that rain-soaked morning 80 years ago, the lowest in the brief seven-year history of the tournament. Then came Lloyd Mangrum, who, sporting a pencil-thin mustache and jet-black hair, posted a score never before equaled in a major championship.

“A pair of Texas tornadoes, striking with cyclonic force, practically wrecked the wistaria, the camellias, the pink and white dogwood of this rainbow-colored course,” Rice wrote.

- Exchange with Bobby Jones explains expectations, absence of three-time champion Jimmy Demaret from Masters

Rice used a paragraph to commend Demaret before focusing his typewriter on Mangrum. The 25-year-old, who the press described as being “as thin as a one-iron,” had never competed in the Masters and was without an invite three weeks before April.

In the early years of the Masters, club president Bobby Jones made the decision to prioritize the quality of his field, and not necessarily depth. He deemed those deserving as golfers who had won a major championship, or at least contended in one. Both of those obstacles previously had eluded Mangrum, but by early March, Jones’ desired number of participants was two short.

The first man Jones selected was Willie Goggin, who finished runner-up at the 1933 PGA Championship. Then, after noticing Mangrum had won Georgia’s Thomasville Open on March 11, Jones delivered his final invitation.

Mangrum carded 32 on each nine and birdied five of his final seven holes, including Nos. 17 and 18. He struck every green in regulation, with his lone miscue being a three-putt at the 10th. His 64 bested the previous course record of 66 held jointly by Byron Nelson and Gene Sarazen.

“The Texas gale failed to reach its wrecking proportions until Lloyd Mangrum, a Dallas boy, broke every known record on this testing, difficult layout, first drenched by rain and then made even more difficult by a roistering April wind,” Rice wrote.

Mangrum followed with a Friday 75 and the 25-year-old eventually placed second, four shots behind Demaret. Mangrum’s record-setting 64 stood for 46 years until Nick Price shot 63 in the third round in 1986.

Mangrum, who began playing golf as a caddie in Dallas, returned from World War II with four battle stars and a pair of Purple Hearts after serving in George Patton's Third Army. Mangrum’s golf career was placed in jeopardy when he suffered a compound arm fracture in Normandy; he later experienced sniper wounds in both legs during the Battle of the Bulge and spent six months in a field hospital.

“I don’t suppose that any of the pro and amateur golfers who were combat soldiers, Marines or sailors will soon be able to think of a three-putt green as a bad trouble in life,” Mangrum said.

Mangrum was short with words, and was hardly a sought-after interview. The press had Demaret and Sam Snead for color, and former greats Walter Hagen and Tommy Armour for reflection.

- Masters win meant so much to 1970 champ Billy Casper he took his green jacket to his grave

At the 1949 Masters, however, the press corralled Mangrum to gain insight on Ben Hogan. Hogan remained in an El Paso hospital after his near-fatal car accident in February, and reporters wanted Mangrum to reflect on his own hardships. Mangrum’s physicians had predicted he would never play golf again, yet in the first post-war U.S. Open, he defeated Byron Nelson and Vic Ghezzi in 36 playoff holes.

Mangrum predicted that Hogan would prove the doctors wrong, too. He told the press to expect Hogan to return to golf by summer 1950, a mark the Hawk eclipsed by six months.

When Mangrum returned from the war in 1945, he became a perennial contender in major championships. He placed in the top-eight at the Masters Tournament each year from 1947 to 1956. Mangrum led alone after the first round in 1940 and 1948, and capped both performances with an afternoon range session. In 1949, he carded an opening 69 for his third solo lead in nine years.

Mangrum ballooned to a 74 on Friday, yet maintained a five-shot cushion on Snead. His demise, however, came from the 5-iron, his most trusted club. On Saturday, Mangrum selected the stick on the newly redesigned No. 16 and found water. A day later, after watching playing partner Byron Nelson hit a 4-iron, Mangrum gave his 5-iron a shot at redemption.

More water.

Fielding Wallace, a founding member of the National and president of the United States Golf Association, was asked for a ruling and permitted Mangrum to drop his ball from the other side of the hazard instead of returning to the tee box. Lloyd saved bogey, but the three dropped shots on the 16th were the eventual difference in 1949 between him and Snead.

By 1960, Mangrum’s health had begun to fade. He suffered 12 heart attacks — the first in 1962 and his final on Nov. 17, 1973. More than two decades after his death, Byron Nelson was on the driving range at the 1996 Masters and asked three young professionals if they had ever heard of Lloyd Mangrum. One after another, their answer was no.

"Lloyd's the best player,” Byron told the press, “who's been forgotten since I've been playing golf.”