The Golfer Who Forced Golf To Change Its Rules Worldwide
Discover the untold story of Lawson Little, the golfer whose dominance and unique approach forced the game to change forever. From his unmatched “Little Slam” to his dramatic U.S. Open triumph, Lawson Little reshaped golf history. This is how Lawson Little became the man behind the 14-club rule.
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It begins in an unlikely place on the other side of the world. Lawson Little was the son of a soldier and as a boy in Tianin, China, he learned the game of golf not on lush fairways, but on a course laid out across an old Chinese cemetery. Players joke that a ball resting on an open coffin could be lifted without penalty. For a young boy swinging clubs in this strange and almost surreal setting, golf was less a pastime than a test of resilience. Out of that soil of discipline and oddity grew a competitor who would one day stand among the most feared match play golfers the game has ever known. From those early mornings of running miles before breakfast to his years as a towering student at Stanford, Little cultivated a body like a stone fortress and a mind sharpened to a single edge. He was built for endurance, for the long battles of golf, where patience wore down the careless. When he arrived in Britain to play against their finest amateurs, he carried more than just his clubs. He carried an aura of inevitability. Yet the story of Lawson Little is not just about victories. It is about how one man’s habits and methods shook the foundations of the sport itself. He would dominate championships so completely that golf’s governing bodies had no choice but to rewrite the rules for everyone. This is the story of the golfer who forced golf to change its rules worldwide. Lawson Little’s path was marked from the beginning by the shadow of discipline. Born into a military family, he grew up with the structure of drills and the constant relocation that came with a soldier’s life. That environment instilled in him a quiet toughness, the kind that does not demand attention, but becomes unshakable when pressure arrives. The same boy who once struck golf balls across a cemetery in China learned early that repetition and routine could forge strength. As he matured, that discipline transformed into ritual. Before the Walker Cup, when others were still in their beds, little was out on the roads running three miles before breakfast. To him, stamina was as essential as talent. This preparation gave him the confidence to face matches that stretched across days where only the resilient survived. His physical presence reflected this inner regimen. At Stanford University, he was known as the broad-shouldered student whose frame seemed more suited to the grid iron. Yet he carried a golfer’s precision within that mass of power. There was also a surprising contrast in his character. For all his bulk and the canon-like force of his drives, Little carried himself with calm. He was courteous, deliberate, and spoke with the measured tone of a man who thought deeply before each word. Beneath the armor of muscle and discipline was a sharp sense of humor that would occasionally surface, reminding those around him that golf was both battle and art. It was this balance of rigor and humanity that made him unforgettable. When Lawson Little stepped onto the ancient links of Preswick in 1934, the golfing world had little idea of the storm that was about to unfold. Preswick was already legendary, a cradle of the open championship where winds swept in from the fth of Clyde and bunkers swallowed careless shots whole. Against this backdrop, a broad-shouldered American stood tall, carrying with him not only the hopes of his country, but also a new way of playing matchplay golf. His opponent in the British amateur final, James Wallace, was novice. Yet, from the opening holes, it became clear that Little was operating on another plane. He struck with relentless rhythm, crafting birdies and pars as if guided by an unseen hand. By the middle of the second round of the 36-hole final, Wallace was not merely losing, he was being overwhelmed. The final margin, 14-13, remains one of the most lopsided in championship history. For those who watched, it was less a contest than an exhibition of dominance. The drama carried an unusual subtext. Because the American team needed to catch a nightboat after the championship, officials started the final early. Spectators whispered that little played as if to guarantee no one would miss the ship. He produced run after run of threes, compact and clinical, forcing Wallace to concede hole after hole in rapid succession. The match was finished long before dusk, leaving Little’s countrymen free to sail and leaving the golf world astonished. Preswick 1934 was more than a victory. It was a statement. On Scottish soil before the Guardians of the game, an American had announced himself not with words, but with an avalanche of precise shots. Lawson Little had arrived and golf would not be the same again. The year after Preswick, Lawson Little proved that his triumph was no accident. He entered the 1934 US amateur at the Country Club in Brooklyn, a site rich with golfing history, and delivered another performance of crushing authority. In the final, he dismantled David Goldman by a margin of 8-7. The crowd saw a man who seemed impervious to nerves, whose matchplay skills were so refined that opponents appeared helpless before him. His blend of raw strength and short game touch made each hole a test that few could survive. But it was the following season, 1935, that elevated Little into a category of his own. Returning to Britain, this time to Royal Litham, he faced Dr. William Twedle in the final. It was not the landslide of Preswick, but a tense duel that stretched to the very last green. Little’s ability to withstand the pressure, to summon composure when the match was balanced on a knife’s edge, revealed that he was not just a destroyer, but also a master of endurance. He won by one hole, defending his British title. Only weeks later in Cleveland, he walked onto the fairways of the country club once more, this time in the US amateur of 1935. In the final, he defeated Walter Emory by four and two. Among the spectators was Bobby Jones, the revered champion who had defined golf’s golden era. Jones himself declared that what he had witnessed was the finest amateur performance he had ever seen. That endorsement carried the weight of history. With those back-to-back sweeps of both the British amateur and the US amateur, Lawson Little accomplished what came to be known as the Little Slam. No player before him had managed to capture both titles in consecutive years, and none has done so since. It remains one of the most extraordinary achievements in amateur golf, a testament to a man who seemed untouchable in head-to-head combat. Lawson Little’s reputation was not built on victories alone. It was also shaped by the way he carried himself onto the course. His body was built like a fortress, compact and powerful, and his drives exploded from the tea with a force that earned him the nickname cannonball. Yet strength was only one part of his arsenal. What made him unique and eventually controversial was the sheer number of clubs he brought to competition. While most players relied on a standard set, little appeared with a bag so crowded it resembled an armory. Reports at the time spoke of him carrying anywhere between 26 and 31 clubs. He believed in precision above convention, and his philosophy was simple. Every the distance, every lie, every nuance of the course deserved a perfectly fitted tool. He carried multiple wedges, each one designed to handle a specific angle or distance. Where others adjusted their swings to match the shot, Little adjusted his club. This approach gave him a tactical edge in match play. When confronted with a tricky approach, he had exactly the right weapon. When the wind shifted, there was always a club tuned to meet the challenge. To his opponents, it felt as though they were not just playing against a man, but against a man armed with an entire workshop of instruments. Spectators often marveled at the sight of his caddy lugging the oversized load across the fairways. Some admired the ingenuity, others frowned at the perceived excess. But whether praised or criticized, the message was clear. Lawson Little would go to any length to maximize his performance. His bag of many clubs became his trademark, a symbol of innovation that would force the Guardians of the game to make a decision no one had anticipated. By the late 1930s, Whispers had become a chorus. The sight of Lawson Little stepping onto the tea with a bag bursting at the seams, unsettled opponents, and challenge tradition. Golf had long prided itself on the balance between skill and equipment. But Little’s approach pushed that balance to its limit. With more than two dozen clubs at his disposal, he seemed to bend the game into a contest of resources as much as talent. The governing bodies of the sport could not ignore the implications. In 1938, the United States Golf Association and the Royal and Ancient Club acted decisively. They imposed a new rule. No golfer would be allowed to carry more than 14 clubs in competition. It was a turning point in the history of the sport, a moment when officials drew a firm line to protect fairness and preserve the spirit of the game. Though not the only player to experiment with oversized sets, Little became the emblem of the change. His name was repeatedly invoked as the example of why the rule was necessary. To some, it felt as though the rule was aimed directly at him, stripping away a key advantage he had engineered for himself. For golf as a whole, the decision reshaped strategy. Players now had to think carefully about which clubs to include, weighing the risk of leaving a gap against the burden of carrying redundancy. It placed greater emphasis on versatility, creativity, and adaptability. Every golfer who has since stood on the first tea with precisely 14 clubs owes that reality to the era when Lawson Little forced golf to reconsider its boundaries. He had not only won championships, he had reshaped the rules by which all would play. After conquering the amateur ranks, Lawson Little turned professional in 1936. The transition was never simple for any golfer of his era. Yet little brought with him the aura of a champion already tested on the grandest stages. His early years as a professional were filled not only with tournaments but also with exhibitions designed to popularize the game. He joined forces with Bobby Jones and other prominent names in a series known as the keystones of golf. Together, they toured across the United States, drawing large crowds who wanted to witness the skills of men who had become symbols of golf’s golden period. These exhibitions allowed Little to share the artistry of the game with audiences who might otherwise never see it firsthand. They also kept his competitive edge sharp as he faced strong opponents in settings that, while informal, demanded excellence. Beyond entertainment, these tours were instrumental in expanding the reach of golf in America, helping to bridge the gap between the old world traditions of Britain and the growing enthusiasm of a new American audience. As his professional career unfolded, Little collected victories on the PGA Tour and began to chase the most coveted prizes of all, the major championships. His presence was respected, his power unddeinished. Yet the question remained whether he could capture a professional title that matched the glory of his amateur feats. That question would find its answer in the summer of 1940 at a championship that combined triumph with controversy, cementing his place in the chronicles of the sport. The United States Open of 1940 at Canterbury Golf Club in Ohio remains one of the most dramatic moments in Lawson Little’s career. After four rounds, he stood tied with Jean Sarasen, a legend of the game, and Ed Oliver, a rising star whose powerful swing made him a favorite among the galleries. On the surface, it appeared the championship would be settled in a three-man playoff. Yet, fate and circumstance intervened in a way that still sparks debate. Oliver had teed off earlier than his assigned time during the opening round, a decision made in confusion about scheduling. The rules officials declared his score invalid, disqualifying him despite his tie at the end of 72 holes. Both Sarzen and Little appealed for him to be allowed into the playoff, arguing that his performance deserved the chance to be tested in the arena of sudden death competition. The request was denied. The championship was reduced to a duel between Sarzen and Little. The playoff itself became a clash of eros. Sarzen, already etched into golf’s history books, faced the younger, stronger Cannonball, whose reputation for dominance preceded him. The 18-hole contest was tense but clear. Little’s steady rhythm, measured drives, and controlled putting delivered a score of 70 against Sarah 73. With that, Lawson Little claimed his first and only major championship as a professional. The moment was immortalized not only by the scorecard, but by the scene that followed. As he hauled the winning putt, the crowd surged forward, flooding the 18th green in a wave of excitement. Some scrambled to snatch the ball he had struck for victory, turning the conclusion into a near chaos of celebration. It was a fitting climax to a career that had always lived on the border of spectacle and substance. Triumph, controversy, and the roar of the crowd converged to give Lawson Little his place in the pantheon of the United States Open Champions. After the Thunder of Canterbury, Lawson Little’s career entered a quieter phase. He continued to compete on the PGA Tour and collected a total of eight victories, but the dominance that had once defined him was no longer present. The new 14 club rule had taken away the oversized arsenal that had been his signature, and the playing field felt more level. He remained a formidable opponent. Yet, he never again recaptured the aura of inevitability that had carried him through the mid 1930s. As years passed, the memory of his unmatched little slam and his powerful presence on the amateur stage began to overshadow his professional record. Some critics wondered whether he had peaked too soon, while others pointed to the natural evolution of the game as equipment and competitors adapted to the new restrictions. Whatever the reason, his name gradually slipped from the headlines, even as he continued to tee it up with determination. Outside the spotlight, Little found ways to give back to the sport that had defined his life. Living near Pebble Beach, he became a fixture at clinics during the Masters and the Crosby tournaments. Sharing insights with younger players and fans, eager to learn from a man who had once stood at the summit of amateur golf. His humor, his sense of courtesy, and his love for the game endured even as the trophy slowed. The fade after glory did not diminish his contribution. Instead, it revealed another dimension of his character, a champion willing to pass on knowledge, to remain part of the game’s living heartbeat long after the roars of the galleries had grown silent. Lawson Little’s story closes not with scandal or collapse, but with an enduring legacy. In 1935, he was awarded the James E. Sullivan Award as the nation’s outstanding amateur athlete, a rare honor for a golfer. In 1980, long after his passing, he was inducted into the World Golf Hall of Fame. These milestones remind us that his influence stretch far beyond a single era. Yet, perhaps his greatest mark is felt in something every golfer experiences today. The rule that limits a player to 14 clubs was born in part from his approach to the game. Each time a competitor stands on the first tee and considers the composition of the bag, they are echoing the impact of a man who once carried too many. His determination to maximize precision forced the Guardians of Golf to redefine the boundaries of fairness. What remains remarkable is how his story combines triumph, controversy, and generosity. He won championships that placed him among the finest amateurs in history. He claimed the United States Open with grit and composure. He accepted the fading of his dominance with dignity, choosing instead to share his knowledge and humor with those who came after him. Lawson Little began his journey on an improvised course in a foreign land and ended it as a figure who altered the very structure of the sport. His life is proof that one individual can shape the rules for generations. If you enjoyed the story, don’t forget to subscribe and check out other similar videos on the channel. Your support means a lot to our team. Thank you.
3 Comments
Loved this, never heard of Lawson or his impact on the rules of golf. Well done.
I can't tell you the amount of times I've wished I could carry more than 14 clubs.
His CADDY should be in the Hall of Fame ☝🏻
… lugging two dozen golf clubs in one of those old leather golf bags 😂