A SEARCH WAS ON FOR ANCIENT REDLANDS GOLFER PHILLIPS FINLAY

A Redlands Connection is a concoction of sports memories emanating from a city that once numbered less than 20,000 people. From the Super Bowl to the World Series, from the World Cup to golf’s U.S. Open and the Olympics, plus NCAA Final Four connections, NASCAR, the Kentucky Derby and Indianapolis 500, Tour de France cycling, major tennis, NBA and a little NHL, aquatics and quite a bit more, the sparkling little city that sits between Los Angeles and Palm Springs on Interstate 10 has an impressive share of sports connections. There was a golfer from Redlands who jumped into the nation’s highest efforts. – Obrey Brown

The 2024 U.S. Amateur Golf Championship, now 108 years old this year, was held at Hazeltine Golf Club in Chaska, Minn. beginning in August. Ninety-four earlier, a Redlands golfer took on a legend in the same event.

It’s not really known when Phillips Finlay learned how to play golf – or from whom.

Phillips Finlay, 1929
Phillips Finlay, whose golfer career started in Redlands, made a name for himself, both at Harvard University and in major amateur championships while playing against the likes of Bobby Jones and Francis Ouimet. He’s shown here at the Chevy Chase Club in 1929 (photo credit, Shorpy Historic Picture Archive).

It was George Lawson, who served as Redlands Country Club’s head professional from 1901-1937, that originally taught him. That Finlay, from Redlands, was a student at famed Harvard University was one thing. That he was highly contestant in golf’s grandest prizes is yet another.

Finlay eventually disappeared after showing up prominently, not only on Harvard’s golf team, but also as a stalwart challenger to some of golf’s major tournaments. After a stretch from 1927 through 1930, the older brother of Redlands’ Madison Finlay was seemingly nowhere to be found.

A motivated sports writer from the Redlands area was searching.

Following the 1930 U.S. Amateur, Finlay couldn’t be spotted, at least in major tournaments. Only adding to the curiosity is that Finlay had become a prominent golfer. Then disappeared. Keep reading, especially with the U.S.’s connection in World War II upcoming. Finlay was never again viewed in golf.

Meanwhile, amateur golf raged atop professional play during the 1920s. Professional golf had yet to catch on. There was no Masters tournament, not yet anyway. The PGA Championship, which would eventually become one of golf’s greatest prizes, was a tournament without yet much tradition.

Legendary Bobby Jones won the 1927 United States Amateur, which was played at the Minikahda Club of Minneapolis. Finlay, who made his presence felt, traveled from Harvard University, engaging in medal play for the qualifying round of that year’s Amateur Championship.

A New Jersey golfer, Eugene V. Romans shot 71, made headlines as the low medalist. Youthful Finlay, who had just passed his Harvard entrance examinations, trailed Romans by a single shot.

It’s eerie to think how close Finlay, who lived on Long Island in New York at the time, reached such prominence. Jones, top amateurs Francis Oiumet and Chick Evans, a U.S. Open champ – were three of the 1927 U.S. Amateur semifinalists. All three shot opening rounds of 75.

On the second day, Jones got rolling, shooting a course record 67, winning the medalist (that’s low stroke score) trophy for the tournament with 142. George Von Elm, who beat Jones in 1926, barely qualified with 79-75-154.

Onetime champions who qualified included Evans, Ouimet, plus Max R. Marston. A Minneapolis insurance man, Harry G. Legg, a Minneapolis resident that graduated from Yale, knocked off Von Elm, 1-up, on his home course.

Third day: Jones, trailing Maurice McCarthy, Jr. of Long Island, by a hole at the turn, had three holes remaining. McCarthy missed a short putt, squaring the match; overshot the 17th green, losing the lead; overshot the 18th green, losing the match two down.

Ouimet beat Max R. Marston, 3 & 2.

These were all legendary golfers — Ouimet, Jones, Evans, Romans, you name it — that Finlay took on. He kept battling, perhaps in the manner that Ouimet had done, depicted years later in the motion picture, “The Greatest Game Ever Played.”

But Finlay was cut down by Ouimet, who went on to write a favorable article about the Redlands product, even displaying some of the matches between the two in a book called “A Game of Golf,” which was published in 1932.

IVY LEAGUE ATHLETES WERE PROMINENT

Was this truly A Redlands Connection? Jones and Ouimet were each impressed with the youthful Finlay, whose long driving skills were attributed to the unusual length of his swing.

In 1928, Finlay would rise again at the U.S. Amateur, played at Brae Burn Country Club in West Newton, Mass, not far from his Harvard digs.

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Legendary amateur golf champion Bobby Jones had his hands full with Harvard’s Phillips Finlay during the Roaring 20s when the Redlands golfer squared off against some of golf’s greatest players (photo by Wikipedia Commons).

Jones came up against Finlay in that year’s semifinals. Jones knocked off J.W. Brown, 4 & 3 in the opening round. Ray Gorton took Jones to the 19th hole in the second round before tumbling. Jones had his way with John B. Beck, 14 & 13, before coming up against Finlay in the semifinals.

Finlay, that long-driving Harvard sophomore originally from Redlands, got quite a whipping. He lost decisively to Jones, 13 & 12.

On the other hand, A Redlands Connection had struck early. An 18-year-old from Redlands had played the legendary Bobby Jones in the 1928 U.S. Amateur semifinals?

This was news! This is brilliant golfing history, especially from Redlands.

Jones claimed his fourth U.S. Amateur title, 10 & 9, over reigning British Amateur champion T. Philip Perkins. By this time, Jones, had been national champion – winning either the U.S. Open or Amateur championships – for six straight years. During that span, Jones won four U.S. Amateurs, two U.S. Opens, plus a pair of British Opens.

Finlay was chasing a legend.

JONES WRITES OF FINLAY IN HIS BOOK

There were 162 entries in the 1929 U.S. Amateur field. Finlay, for his part, tried the event at Pebble Beach. It was the first time this tournament had been played west of the Mississippi.

In a major upset, Jones fell to John Goodman, an unbelievable caddy from Omaha, Neb., in the first round.

A documented quote, however, was lifted from “Pebble Beach: The Official Golf History.” That still youthful Finlay went up to Jones with an apology. “I’m so very sorry you lost this morning, Mr. Jones. I was looking forward to beating you this afternoon.”

Finlay lost to 18-year-old Lawson Little, a Northern Californian who later won the U.S. Amateur in 1933 and 1934. It was Little who eliminated Jones-killer, Goodman. That 1929 winner turned out to be Harrison R. “Jimmy” Johnston — his final ever tournament triumph.

Prior to that event taking place, Jones spoke of playing a practice round with Finlay at Pebble Beach in his book, “Bobby Jones on Golf.”

“There had been so much talk about Phil’s long driving ability,” Jones wrote, “that the publicity given that part of his game must have affected the boy’s play.”

Critics may have affected Finlay’s approach, wrote Jones.

“Whether Phil was aware of it or not,” Jones continued to write, “this sort of thing had an effect upon his game … so that he immediately eased up on his stroke in an effort to hit the ball straight.”

Jones, in his book, had referred to Finlay in Chapter 8, “Hitting Hard.” Jones held up Finlay’s style of long driving.

“On this day we played,” wrote Jones, “he had quite a bit of trouble on the front nine, getting a little farther from his normal stride at each tee shot as he held himself back more and more.”

After losing his ball on a duck-hook on the ninth hole, Finlay sought Jones’ advice. The four-time U.S. Open champion told him straight out that he thought he was holding back, “that I thought he would do better if he would take a good healthy wallop instead.”

On the tenth hole, Finlay blasted a drive, losing it into the Monterey Bay. After that, said Jones, “He drove very well, indeed.”

Check out this Pebble Beach foursome:

Jones, plus British Amateur Champion Cyril Tolley and Francis Brown of Honolulu. Jones shot two-under par, 70, while Tolley, Finlay and Brown shot rounds of 79, 80 and 82.

JONES, OUIMET: LONG DRIVING WAS KEY TO SUCCESS

Then there was Ouimet, the upset U.S. Open champion of 1913 that inspired the 2005 Disney movie, “The Greatest Game Ever Played,” portrayed by actor Shia LeBeouf, and after regaining his amateur status removed controversially from him by the USGA, he won two U.S. Amateur titles.

Ouimet knew of Finlay, having authored an article, “The Art of Long Driving.”

FrancisOuimet1913
Frances Ouimet, the unexpected winner of the 1913 U.S. Open, was one of golf’s top players in the late 1920s when a youthful Redlands-based golfer, Phillips Finlay, was bursting onto the amateur golf scene. Ouimet even wrote about Finlay in his book (photo by Wikipedia Commons).

First words in that piece were right to the point: “One cannot watch Phillips Finlay hit a tee shot without becoming just a bit envious, for this capable young man makes the game seem simple.”

It seemed a far cry from the troubles Finlay, whose photograph featured a knickers-clad youth, hair combed neatly, while following through on a tee shot. Ah, that Pebble Beach round, 80, came with Jones.

Wrote Ouimet: “Finlay is not yet 20 years of age, and when he reaches his full growth there is no telling how far he will drive a ball.” Long hitting, concluded Ouimet, was an advantage.

“I am wondering what will happen if a standardized ball is introduced. Perhaps it will bring these boys back on earth, for I must confess on some holes Finlay can miss a shot and arrive on the green as quickly as I do.”

At a match played at Wollaston Country Club in Milton, Mass., Ouimet caught a prime example of Finlay’s lengthy drives. “I was driving well for me, but (I was) yards and yards in back of my young friend, who was having a field day.”

At Wollaston’s 17th hole, a 500-yard hole against the wind, “my tee shot was a good one, but at least 60 yards in back of his prodigious knock. A perfectly hit brassie (No. 2 wood) gave me a look at the green.”

Finlay smashed a two-iron, his shot carrying a big sand bunker guarding the green.

Wrote Ouimet: “It seemed a bit too much to expect of his number two iron, but that is the club he used and his ball landed on the green. I threw up my hands. He could have missed that shot and gotten to the green in the same number of shots I required.”

Ouimet, noting a round played by Finlay at North Carolina’s famed Pinehurst Country Club, felt there was no limit for the Harvard golfer. He had read an account of Finlay’s 290-yard average drives on 14 of the 18 holes.

“When he was attending Exeter (Academy in New Hampshire, Finlay’s college prep school), one of his professors wrote a friend of mine saying Phillips Finlay was the longest driver in the game.

“Apart from Finlay’s long driving ability, he has other excellent qualifications to make him a leading golfer.”

Ouimet had predicted quite a future for Finlay, a huge part of A Redlands Connection.

FINLAY’S CRIMSON CAREER WAS TOPS

A Harvard golfer, as Finlay was at the time, meant he was among the nation’s collegiate elite — that’s both student and golfer. If there was ever a pre-eminent sport on that Cambridge-based campus, it was golf. He was a three-time Harvard letter winner (1929-31).

In case it’s escaped anyone’s attention, consider that Finlay was battling the likes of Jones, Quimet & Co. before he became a Crimson letterman.

Finlay would captain the Crimson’s team in 1930 and 1931. During his junior season (1930), Harvard won 11 of its 13 medal play matches convincingly, losing only to Princeton, 8-1, on May 10, then a season-ending loss to Yale, 5-4, at Myopia Hunt Club.

By 1931, Finlay’s senior year, Harvard had returned to beat Yale, 6 ½ to 2 ½. The Crimson split back-to-back matches against Princeton, losing 6-3 and trouncing the Tigers, 9-0. There was a 5-4 loss to Dartmouth at Belmont Springs Country Club on May 9, 1930.

Finlay, a 1931 Harvard graduate, kept charging. The long-driving hitter, the captain of Harvard’s golf team, was beaten in the opening round of the 1930 U.S. Amateur at historic Merion (Pa.) Golf Club. A narrow 2 & 1 loss to 1926 British Amateur champion Jess Sweetser didn’t quite reflect Finlay’s early round lead. Sweetser birdied the 16th and 17th holes to take control.

After that, not much showed up in the golf world on Finlay. His family continued on. His brother, Madison, in 2007, was “still riding around on his cart every night with his dog,” said C.L. Simmons, the longtime Redlands Country Club golf professional.

Madison died later that year at age 94, long having long outlived his older brother.

The Finlays’ family, led by their dad James Ralph Finlay, originally came to Redlands in 1918, purchasing a home at the corner of South and Fountain.

When it came time for high school, Finlay took off back east to the private academy for both of them – fairly young Phillips was five years older than Madison, who wound up at USC. Neither brother showed up at Redlands High School, which was about a quarter-century old during their high school days.

FINALLY LOCATING PHILLIPS FINLAY

Phillips Finlay was a Navy man, eventually serving in the South Pacific. In fact, that had been an educated guess as to his disappearance from prominent golf results. The military. Killed in the war? Would’ve been a sad fact. Imagine a budding golf career coming to an end like that. But it was not true.

“He gave up playing serious golf,” said his niece, Joanne Craig, of Redlands, “after he got back from the war.”

Settling in Pasadena with his Phillips’ wife, Elizabeth, Craig described that Phillips just occasionally played golf. That niece had one settling recollection about golf. That length off the tee never failed. By the way, in 1939, Phillips and his wife, Elizabeth, lived in Pasadena over 20 years before moving to golf-radiant Pebble Beach in 1960.

“The 17th tee is not at the same place it is now,” Craig said, referring to Redlands Country Club, “but my uncle drove the green. That was almost unbelievable to me at the time.”

Joanne and her cousin, Fredrica, Phillips’ and Elizabeth’s daughter, both attended Stanford. Eventually, her cousin’s family left Southern California. It was Pasadena to California’s golf paradise.

“They moved,” recalled Craig, “to 17 Mile Drive” — a famed street in the Monterey, Calif. region. That’s up by Spyglass Hill Golf Club – near Pebble Beach, where Finlay died in 1972. He was 62.

 

JIM SLOAN ‘SHOT’ BEN HOGAN

Redlands Connection is a concoction of sports memories emanating from a city that once numbered less than 20,000 people. From the Super Bowl to the World Series, from the World Cup to golf’s U.S. Open, plus NCAA Final Four connections, Tour de France cycling, major tennis, NBA and a little NHL, aquatics and quite a bit more, the sparkling little city that sits around halfway between Los Angeles and Palm Springs on Interstate 10 has its share of sports connections. – Obrey Brown

Jim Sloan never really pushed his photos on anyone. In the media business, whether it’s on large metropolitan dailies or a mid-size, there are also small town dailies that attract a group of contributors ranging from writing correspondents to photographers. Sloan was a true professional.

The guy hustled, figured the angles, brandished his gear, fed film into the canisters, throwing his heart in the art long before modern technology – aka digital – was available.

Sloan, who specialized in Boy Scout photography throughout the years, had presented the local newspaper with a lengthy list of photos throughout the years. On the back of those mostly black-and-white glossies was the familiar hand stamp – “Photo by James Sloan.”

There were photos of President Eisenhower, especially during that time when the World War II general was living out his final years in the Coachella Valley. Sloan caught the ex-president in a variety of poses, mostly on the golf course.

Fellow photographer Ansel Adams, musician Stan Kenton and politician Ted Kennedy were among the celebrity shots. Plenty of stories could be written about his photography connections with those famous faces. In his own way, Sloan, himself, was a celebrity photographer.

One of his photos, however, stood out. I remember when he brought it into my office. “I got this,” he said, pulling the 2 x 4 black-and-white out a small white envelope, “when I was down in Texas. I got him to pose for this.”

I looked at the mug shot. Smiling, handsome, almost stylishly posing, was the familiar face of golf legend Ben Hogan.

459px-Ben_Hogan_Walking
This isn’t the photo that Jim Sloan provided to me during my days as a sports editor in Redlands. That photo, if it even still exists, is in possession of the newspaper. The Ice Man? This wasn’t the shot of golfing legend Ben Hogan that Redlands photographer Jim Sloan presented me with, but it will have to do (photo by Wikipedia Commons).

I glanced slyly at Sloan’s face. Hogan was a well-known recluse, a superstar who rarely claimed the spotlight. Players from Hogan’s era had often commented on Hogan’s arms-length distance, a coldness, a reluctance to seek the spotlight – but a legendary golfer.

Sloan’s photo was apparently opposite of such a philosophy. Was it a lie? Did Hogan occasionally shed that image? Was Sloan a personal friend? No, way. Couldn’t be. Ben Hogan, who had captured every major championship – four U.S. Opens, a British Open (in his only attempt), two Masters and two PGA titles – while overcoming that infamous 1949 car collision with a bus that nearly killed him.

All of which is a well-known story by now, part of history – along with that picturesque swing, the calmness, ice water in his veins, the famous comeback, the movie that depicted his life around the crash, Follow the Sun: The Ben Hogan Story. No sense in reciting all that here. This story is A Redlands Connection between a local photographer and a golfing icon that breathed immortality.

It was hard to trust Jim; I didn’t know him all that well, but I had to trust him. In a way, Jim Sloan was far more worthy than I was on a local front. A trick? A way to claim some kind of connection to a legend? A little self-indulgence? Redlands was a golf community, its country club often playing host to a variety of legendary connections. Wouldn’t it be great to fabricate a story with those golf partisans? A story connecting Jim Sloan to Ben Hogan would be a good one.

Golf had plenty of prominent connections to Redlands.

Club manufacturer Mario Cesario, whose son Greg was an All-American golfer at Arizona State, made golf clubs for Tom Watson, Nancy Lopez, Gene Littler and others – in Redlands. Watson himself even journeyed to Mario’s local shop for consultation.

Tiger Woods came to Redlands as a well-known five-year-old.

Phillips Finlay, younger brother of Madison Finlay, once took on Bobby Jones in the Roaring 20s. Or was twice? Or three times?

Dave Stockton, who famously outdueled Arnold Palmer at the 1970 PGA Championship, hailed from San Bernardino – but moved to Redlands.

On the other hand, here was a photo print of the Ice Man, Hogan’s historical nickname, that bore all of Sloan’s photographic trademarks. Remember my cynicism. That started melting away. I believed Jim Sloan was telling me the truth.

I asked the first question that came into my head.

“Did you shoot this photo in Redlands?”

Excuse my excitement. Jim, of course, had already told me that he was in Texas when he took the photo. Texas was Hogan’s home, somewhere near the Dallas area. I was excited to think that, somehow, Hogan might’ve traveled to Redlands.

All of which would have begged several questions: Why was he here? Who does he know from Redlands? Will he be returning here sometime? But, no, Hogan was never on local turf.

I wish I could re-create the conversation I had with Jim Sloan about his Hogan photo – but he was always in a hurry. There was no real conversation. Any time he showed up, it was always a quick-hitting visit. Sloan, in my memory, only showed up a few times for talk, presenting photos, or discussing some sports-related shot he’d taken. Something about the guy, always on the move, seemingly like he was late for something.

“I’ll give you this,” he said, “to use when he dies. Keep it in your obit file.”

And Jim Sloan disappeared. A few years later, Jim Sloan died. He was an heir to the R.J. Reynolds tobacco dynasty. Hogan outlived him by a few years.