For Old Tom’s Sake

ST. ANDREWS, Scotland —  Tiger Woods, meet your fellow history-maker.

Woods’ 15-stroke romp at the U.S. Open last month prompted a search of the record book for such a wide margin of victory at a major championship.

The quest led here, to the home of golf, to the home of Old Tom Morris.

Morris was the previous record-holder, winning the British Open by 13 strokes in 1862. He also happens to be the oldest player to win the British Open; he was 46 years and 99 days when he took the championship for the fourth time in 1867. That’s not why he’s called Old Tom, however. That’s to differentiate between him and his son, Young Tom.

You don’t have to dig through the small type to find Old Tom Morris. Not here.

Morris’ name and imprint are all over St. Andrews.

Cars pass Tom Morris Drive on the way into town.

An inscription on the house at 121 North Street announces that Old Tom Morris was “Born on a house which stood on this site . . . 16th June 1821.”

In a cemetery behind the remains of a 14th-century cathedral, Morris’ grave is covered by a six-foot gray slab of concrete. On this particular day two pots are atop the slab. The first contains a plant. The second is filled with dirt and contains a scorer’s pencil and nine tees, one of which has a golf ball on top.

Young Tom’s grave is right next to him.

Old Tom actually outlived Young Tom.

On Sept. 6, 1875, Young Tom’s wife died during a difficult childbirth. The baby died as well. In November of that year, the Morrises played several matches in bitterly cold weather and Young Tom developed pneumonia. He died on Christmas day, and the autopsy said he had burst an artery in his lung. The common belief around St. Andrews was that he died of a broken heart.

Old Tom Morris lived until 1908, but the story of his demise was less romantic. The tale has it that, after having a wee bit too much to drink, he got up during the night to use the toilet, but went through the wrong door and tumbled into the cellar.

The Tom Morris Golf Shop--established in 1848--sits among the cluster of buildings near the first tee and 18th hole. It was originally a place where Morris made balls and clubs. Today it’s a retail outlet, selling golf shirts, visors and windbreakers.

Shop manager Kevin MacKay stands in the back office, where a computer occupies most of a desk. Halogen lights shine down to the carpeted floors, but back at the dawn of the 1900s, “Tom would be making his clubs here,” MacKay says, gesturing toward the other room.

It’s things like that that make Morris such a vivid part of this landscape. It’s so easy to imagine him teeing off on the first hole, or crossing the Swilken Bridge on his way up the 18th.

We can’t interview him, but we’ve got the closest thing: local resident David Joy, author of “St. Andrews & The Open Championships” and an actor who frequently portrays Old Tom Morris.

Joy feels a special link to the Morris family. His great-grandfather once was a caddie for Old Tom. And when Joy dug up the floor to remodel his cottage he found a copy of a 1925 newspaper article about the 50th anniversary of Young Tom’s death.

So stand alongside Joy near the 16th hole of the Old Course, listen to his Scottish accent grow even deeper and gruffer, and imagine the words coming out of Old Tom Morris’ mouth as he reacts to the report of Tiger breaking his record for margin of victory.

“Well, of course it wasn’t here in The Open,” Old Tom says. “Thirteen shots, I won the Open in 1862. Of course, that’s never been beaten. There’s never been a better aggregate. The fact there was only four professionals playing that day was a minor detail, from my point of view.”

Are there any dangers lurking on the Old Course that could trip up Tiger?

“Of course, there’s a lot of daft pot bunkers,” Morris says. “When you think of the course the way it was originally played, of course it’s the reverse of how you see it now. When I retired in Nineteen-two, they put some pot bunkers. Of course they were frightened again. Of course it was the [new] ball, it was the big threat, the bounding ball. Of course that was puttin’ another 50, 60 yards. Of course we were ‘fraid. We were trying to protect the course. Of course we put some pot bunkers here, there.

“Now as I come back, I see they’ve lengthened five extra holes here--not by a lot, but psychologically it does make a big difference to this course.”

Ironically, the man so closely associated with this course, who figured prominently in its reshaping that led the way to its current form, never won the British Open here. His four championships came at Prestwick.

“My golf was in my prime in the late 1840s and ‘50s,” Morris says. “I was the oldest winner of the Open. Of course, I was 46 by that time. By the time it arrived at St. Andrews in 1873, I was still a contender, but of course [Young] Tommy was the local hero. I mean, imagine--he’d won four in a row. He’d won it by 12 shots, the championship belt. It was a bit like Tiger Woods arriving here: who’s going to come second? Of course, it was played at the end of October at that time, see?

“Of course, there would be puddles out on that course. You just had to play it where you lie, more or less.”

It’s not quite the same conditions these days. Different balls, different clubs, different course layout.

But those same winds blow in from St. Andrews Bay, and at some point, just possibly, Woods might find himself retracing Morris’ same footsteps.

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J.A. Adande can be reached at his e-mail address: j.a.adande@latimes.com.