Johnny on the Mountain

Once upon a time in the city of San Francisco, a five-year-old boy named Johnny Miller was given a sawed-off golf club that became a kind of magic wand. His father Larry was a first-rate amateur player who could have been a teaching pro. Instead, he made his career with RCA as a cable traffic supervisor and concentrated his tutorial talents on his children. He showed Johnny how to hold the club, then sent him to the basement to hit ball after ball into a canvas backdrop. After two years, Johnny began to take lessons from another determined man, John Geertsen, the pro at the San Francisco Country Club. At the end of each lesson, the pro would play "let's pretend." "Johnny," he would say, "you have just one shot left to win the U.S. Open and this is it." Johnny would bear down and hit a good shot almost every time.

There were other games. At the top of his backswing, Johnny was told to aim the brass rivet on the left rear pocket of his Levi's at the ball. That helped him develop a smooth, rhythmic swing, which the pro said was "as natural as walking down the street." So that he would learn to perform under pressure, Johnny took on all comers on the putting green for up to 25-c- per hole. Slim as a seven iron, he also had to learn to make up in accuracy what he lacked in power. The tighter the fairways and the smaller the greens, the better little Johnny would do against bigger boys.

Positive Thought. Still, Larry Miller was not satisfied. He installed a blackboard at home and wrote out a daily training program for the boy. Each evening Johnny dutifully checked the blackboard and then performed the prescribed number of barbell exercises, push-ups and basement practice shots before going to bed. To strengthen his wrists, he was given a small rubber ball to squeeze and carry with him at all times. At 15, Johnny was a wispy 5 ft. 2 in., 110 lbs., and needed all the muscle he could get. Two years later he was 10 in. taller--strong and proficient enough to win the U.S.G.A. Junior Championship. His goal, he said, was to play "as boldly as Arnold Palmer," his hero.

Johnny's father, a devout Mormon, was very proud of his son's zeal. He always told Johnny that playing winning golf was like climbing a mountain. "It's easy to climb halfway," the father said, "but that is just the beginning. You must learn to never think negative. You can become a professional, but if you want to become a champion, you are going to have to do more." Johnny did. In 1966, when he was 19, Johnny signed up as a caddie for the U.S. Open. Then, thinking positively, he entered the tournament as an amateur and not only qualified but finished in a tie for eighth place. Two years later Johnny dropped out of Brigham Young University to turn professional. "A college degree," Johnny said, "is not going to help you sink those two-footers."

Then Johnny began his long climb up the rest of the mountain. He almost reached the summit in the 1971 Masters when he came from behind to take a two-stroke lead, with only three holes remaining. Then he choked up thinking about how pleased his father would be if he won; he bogeyed the last two holes to lose by two strokes. In 1972, Johnny had enough close finishes to win $99,348 and a reputation as the brightest of the ascending golf stars. Johnny looked the role, a lean (6 ft. 2 1/2 in., 170 lbs.) golden boy with long corn-silk locks. He had a pretty wife and two handsome children. He sported a flashy wardrobe, drove a Ford Thunderbird and started golf camps in Utah and Scotland. His golf swing was solid--"the best on the tour," said Jack Nicklaus.

Father's Faith. Johnny was, in fact, a straight shooter in every way. An elder in the Mormon Church, he did not smoke, drink, overeat or stay up late (and still doesn't today). His lone passion besides golf was fishing and his idea of a hot time was shooting pool with Spiro Agnew at Frank Sinatra's place in Palm Springs. "There's really nothing wrong with messing around," Johnny said, "if that's what you like. But if you don't do it, you certainly have the advantage." He insisted that his attitude was as positive as ever and that he never felt pushed. "Dad really drove me," he said. "He was determined to make me a pro golfer. But I didn't mind. In fact, I loved every minute of it."

But Johnny was still a comer who seemed never quite to arrive. He needed a tough major tournament to test his deadly accurate game--and prove his father's faith. Johnny, 26, got his chance in 1973 at the U.S. Open in Oakmont, Pa. In a game that demands machine-like consistency, Johnny's performance was as offbeat as it was unbeatable. After carding respectable scores of 71 and 69, he skied to a horrendous 76 in the third round. Upset but not shattered, Johnny decided to "shoot the works, go for the flag, think birdie."

Normally, the Oakmont Country Club, a 6,921-yd. ogre of a course with slick greens, deep rough, and fairways as narrow as a bowling alley, lays low such high intentions. But Johnny played exceptionally well, putting like a pool shark and hitting his lofty drives as straight as the stretch of Pennsylvania Turnpike that bisects the course. Starting six strokes off the pace, Johnny overtook a dozen of the world's top golfers with one of the most spectacular come-from-nowhere charges in the annals of golf. Scoring an incredible nine birdies in the first 15 holes, he won a one-stroke victory with a 63, the lowest single round ever recorded in the 78-year history of the Open. "It was the nicest Father's Day gift any man could ever receive," Johnny's father said.

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