The Unknown Soldier

As he threaded through the crowds on his way to the 18th tee at the Champions Golf Club in Houston last week, a drowsy-looking man in a tangerine shirt was halted by a marshal and sternly told: "Get behind the ropes, fella." No, no, another marshal whispered. "Let him through. He's one of the players." Minutes later Orville Moody became the player. He skied an 8-iron shot onto the green, tapped to within 14 in. of the cup and, without bothering to line up the ball, sank his putt to win the 69th United States Open.

It was understandable that the paunchy 35-year-old Moody was mistaken for one of the spectators lining the fairways. In 1968, his first season on the pro circuit, he finished 103rd in the money rankings; this year, in each of his two qualifying rounds for the Open, he survived the cut by a single stroke. No matter. In a season when the likes of Jack Nicklaus, Gary Player, Arnold Palmer and Billy Casper were bested by such unknowns as Ken Still, Jim Colbert, Tom Shaw and Larry Hinson, Moody figured to have as good a chance as anyone in the wide Open. By copping the $30,000 first prize, he became the ninth player this season to win his first Professional Golfers' Association tournament.

Too Loosey-Goosey. Son of a Chickasha, Okla., greenskeeper, Moody enlisted in the Army in 1954, spent the next 14 years in charge of various Army golf courses and teaching generals to lock their elbows on the backswing. "I played a lot of golf, of course," says the ex-staff sergeant, "but lots of times I couldn't, because some colonel might see me and say 'What the hell is this?' " Pro Golfer Mason Rudolph had a similar reaction when, as an Army private in 1958, he lost the All-Army tournament to Moody by one stroke. Stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, in 1967, Moody trounced three businessmen from nearby Killeen so regularly in high-stakes matches that they decided it might be cheaper to sponsor him on the pro circuit with a first-year guarantee of $20,000 in expenses against 50% of his winnings. At first, it looked like a bad investment. After quitting the Army, Moody won only $12,950 in his rookie season. Despondent, he went for advice to Jim Hiskey, a former tour golfer now assigned to the President's leadership and prayer breakfast program. "He directed me to the Bible," says Moody, a Baptist who never smokes, "and taught me to say things to myself so I won't get nervous."

Order from the Chief. Thus, says Moody, as he trudged through the final round last week, he kept repeating a verse from Philippians: "I can do all things through Christ." Other contenders muttered less inspiring words. Al Geiberger rallied with a string of birdies but failed to sustain his charge. Bob Rosburg lost the lead on the 18th green when he blew a 4-ft. putt. Deane Beman, the leader after 36 holes, faded with rounds he described as "medium lousy."

Moody, on the other hand, played a steady, straight game that was perfectly attuned to the long, narrow fairways of the Champions course. He is long off the tee, and he uses an unorthodox, cross-handed style for putts because "I'm too loosey-goosey doing it the regular way." He was in trouble only once in the final round. On the 12th hole, his tee shot sailed into the pine trees and dropped in a sandy lie. He followed with his best stroke of the tournament, a lofting wedge shot that carried over a gaping bunker and rolled dead 3 ft. from the pin for an easy par. He finished with a 281 total, one stroke ahead of Geiberger, Rosburg and Beman.

Afterward, Hiskey telephoned and, says Moody, "spoke a prayer for me in hopes that my success wouldn't change me or spoil my outlook." The new Open winner also received a call from President Richard Nixon. "He said my winning was a great thing for this country," Moody recalls. "Not for the elite, but for the middle and lower classes. I don't know what he meant by that exactly." But he did understand the President's advice that he should remain a civilian rather than re-enlist in the Army, because "you are doing better where you are." That was one order from the Commander in Chief that the old sarge, who stands to make several hundred thousand dollars in endorsements over the next year, was certain to carry out.

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