Recalling a 'helluva cat'

Ed (Porky) Oliver was the real deal

Last month in Wilmington, Del., where Patrick Cantlay earned a lucrative—$2.7 million out of a $15 million purse—victory in the BMW Championship, the second leg of the FedEx Cup Playoffs, I found myself thinking a lot about another man and another time in the sport.

That man—born, raised and buried in Wilmington—competed on what is now the PGA Tour from 1936 through 1960. He teed it up in 328 tournaments, winning eight titles with 21 second-place finishes, three times in major championships. You could find him in the top 10 in 40 percent of his starts and on three United States Ryder Cup teams. Over that quarter century span of excellence, Ed (Porky) Oliver, the best golfer in the history of The First State, made a total of $156,042.

Oliver’s meager career winnings suggests Johnny Unitas biographer Tom Callahan’s wonderful line in Johnny U: The Life and Times of John Unitas about the NFL of the mid-20th century, “when men played football for something less than a living and something more than money.”

Wilmington author John Riley starts off his 2021 book How He Played the Game: Ed “Porky” Oliver and Golf’s Greatest Generation with how his subject, popular with peers and fans alike, looked at life. “Money is important,” Oliver said, “but without the laughs, life wouldn’t be worth the battle.”

During a year when the pro game has been practically gagging over dollars, Oliver and his creed seem particularly relevant. The man who learned the game as a caddie in his hometown impressed in equal measure through how he played and how he treated people.

“Sure, he was a great player, but a greater person he was because of his considerable quality as a human being,” Bob Toski, who played the tour in the 1950s before becoming a well-known instructor, once wrote of Oliver. “Ed was a Santa Claus without the reindeer and the suits because he brought Christmas to everyone who loved golf.”

Oliver answered to a handful of nicknames “Porky” (most of all), “Snowball” (as a kid, because of his skill at throwing one), “Chops” and “Porkchop.” The best moniker coined by a Wilmington scribe had to be “Boy Bunyan of the Brandywine.”

Ed Oliver had many nicknames. One writer dubbed him “Boy Bunyan of the Brandywine.”

Riley wrote: “Whenever sportswriters mentioned his name it was almost always preceded by adjectives such as ‘rotund,’ ‘husky,’ ‘robust,’ etc. He never seemed bothered by the less than flattering descriptions, indicating he was perhaps a proponent of the philosophy, ‘There is no such thing as bad publicity.’”

Oliver was a contemporary of Ben Hogan, Byron Nelson and Sam Snead, a man hardened by the Great Depression and cheated from a bit of his prime by service during World War II. The ex-caddie isn’t the equal of that legendary threesome when it comes to the record book, but it wasn’t a stop-the-presses occasion when he got the best of them. Even when he wasn’t winning, galleries loved Porky for his genial disposition; he always had time for the fans during an era when many pros were of the head-down, all-business variety as they tried to scratch out an existence.   

Standing 5 feet 9 and weighing from 220 to another-belt hole-required pounds, Oliver had power and touch that brought him within a whisker of major glory.

Oliver’s U.S. Army service during World War II cost him several years of opportunity. After winning three titles in 1940, highlighted by the Western Open, Oliver didn’t play any events from 1942 through 1944 and made only a handful of starts in 1945.

But at the 1946 PGA Championship, he ousted Nelson, the defending champion coming off his 18-win season, in the quarterfinals of the PGA Championship at Portland Golf Club, then beat Jug McSpaden in the semifinals, setting up a 36-hole final against Hogan. Oliver ruled the first 18, building a 3-up lead, but Hogan came out hot after lunch, going eight under through 14 holes to defeat Oliver 6 and 4.

Oliver was paired with Hogan for the final 36 holes of the 1952 U.S. Open at Northwood in Dallas and got the better of the Hawk, who was bidding to become the first to win the championship three consecutive years since Willie Anderson from 1903-05. But while Oliver’s 70-72 conclusion allowed him to make up a five-stroke deficit to Hogan, who shot a pair of 74s, Julius Boros relied on a magical short game to beat them both.

Oliver’s third major runner-up came at the 1953 Masters, to Hogan, who routed the field with a record 274 total—that would stand for a dozen years until Jack Nicklaus shot 271 in 1965—in winning the first big one in his Triple Crown season. Interestingly, Oliver did slip into a green jacket featuring the famous emblem at the prize ceremony, posing outside the Augusta National ceremony with the champion and tournament co-founder Bobby Jones.

In addition to the three close calls in majors, Oliver might well have won the 1940 U.S. Open at Canterbury if he—and the others in his grouping, Johnny Bulla and E.J. (Dutch) Harrison—hadn’t been disqualified for teeing off minutes ahead of a fourth-round starting time as a storm approached. Had Oliver’s final-round 71 counted, he would have made the playoff with Gene Sarazen and Lawson Little won by Little.

That DQ wasn’t Oliver’s unusual chapter on the circuit. Playing the 222-yard par-3 16th hole at Cypress Point during a gale at the 1954 Crosby, he made a 16 after his tee shot missed the ocean-guarded green and he hacked his way onto the putting surface in way average golfers could relate to. “I’ve never been so glad to get out of a place in my life,” Oliver told The Miami Herald. “I was down on the beach for 33 minutes with the sea lions barking and the seals flapping. I tell you it was an eerie experience.”

Oliver won his last PGA Tour event in 1958, the Houston Open, charging from five back of Jimmy Demaret with a closing 67. He began to feel bad in 1960 and got bad news. Although he had a cancerous lung removed, the disease spread to his liver. He and wife and children were living in Colorado, but they moved back to Wilmington to be near family when he was told of a terminal diagnosis. “I’ve come back to the roost,” Oliver told The New York Daily News. “Isn’t that what they all do.”

Before Oliver passed away on Sept. 21, 1961, at age 46, fellow pros and celebrities rallied to support him and raise funds for cancer research, presidents Eisenhower and Kennedy and entertainer Ed Sullivan among those joining the cause for a person admired by many.

In 1983, the golfer with many nicknames was honored by having his given name put on a course in his hometown. The Greenhill course on the site of the original Wilmington Country Club—where Oliver caddied after looping at DuPont Country Club—was renamed The Ed Oliver Golf Club.

Charlie Sifford and Tommy Bolt were among those who traveled to Wilmington for the occasion. “Chops and I used to hustle around Cobbs Creek in Philadelphia all the time,” Sifford told The Morning News. “I’m talking about 1939 or so. He was a helluva cat, a real man.”

The Oliver course is the kind of place where golfers of all abilities can have a good time. As the pros played for big bucks at the BMW just down the road, the tee sheet was full. There are pictures of Porky on the clubhouse walls, some with trophies, some with smiles, all of them letting you know that Sifford summed up his friend just right.