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Thomas Bjorn lifts the Ryder Cup Trophy aloft after Europe secure victory after the singles matches of the 2018 Ryder Cup at Le Golf National on September 30.
Today’s Ryder Cup is a polished spectacle–grandstands, broadcast contracts, and social-media-ready moments. But in the mid-20th century, it was something very different: raw, unpredictable, and fueled by characters who brought as much grit as they did skill. Back then, golf wasn’t immune to fistfights, fiery personalities, or even life-threatening tragedies that shaped the players and the matches.
This was an era defined not just by fairway heroics but by survival stories and volcanic tempers. It’s the backdrop that produced some of the most unforgettable Ryder Cup figures–men who put their mark on the event in ways far beyond scorecards.
Among those figures was Skip Alexander, a quiet American who became a symbol of resilience.
Alexander’s Early Life and Rise
Long before his improbable comeback, Alexander’s foundation was laid on hard work and regional pride. Born Stewart Murray Alexander Jr. on August 6, 1918 in Philadelphia, he was raised in Durham, North Carolina. At Duke University, he became a standout–leading the golf team to multiple Southern Conference championships, claiming the individual title twice, and establishing himself as one of the top amateurs in the South.
Turning professional in 1941 and joining the PGA Tour by 1946, Alexander found success. He captured his first professional win at the 1948 Tucson Open and added others, including the Empire State Open in 1950. He was a fixture among the traveling pros–gritty, determined, and riding the wave of post-war golf enthusiasm with peers like Ben Hogan and Sam Snead.
“In ’49 I restructured my life and it was kind of tough traveling,” Alexander said. “We traveled with the baby in ’50. We had a suitcase that made into a bed, so we did all right. But it was a whole new life.
“We had several long hops (by car), for instance, from Tucson to San Antonio, Texas. That was one of the big ones. And from Houston to Philadelphia, that was another one. The tour didn’t have much money at that time. I hate to say this, but I was fifth-leading money winner one year and made $18,000 or a little more. And the leading-money winner made $27,000 or $32,000. So we had to make the cut and finish in the top 10 to even stay out on the tour.”
A Near-Death Crash
On September 24, 1950, after placing sixth at the Kansas City Open, Alexander wanted a break to see his family in North Carolina before embarking on an exhibition trip in South America. According to a Pinehurst article, “The Civil Air Patrol, with three officers ready to take off from Kansas City to Louisville, offered Alexander a lift. It was the kind of break only a star would get.”
The plane went down due to the “reserve fuel tank malfunctioning.” As Alexander recounted, “Since we were near the Evansville airport, we banked in to land and almost made it, crashing on the edge of the field. The next thing I remember was trying to force my way out of the cabin door and meeting a wall of flames. I quickly shut the door and opened it again, running out of the wreck on my broken left ankle. I guess I got about 50 yards before I collapsed and the fuel tank exploded.”
While Alexander miraculously survived with third-degree burns covering 70% of his body, the three other men on board were killed. The crash not only scarred him physically but also emotionally, as he carried the burden of being the lone survivor. If he wasn’t able to punch out the door in order to disperse from the plane when he did (hair and clothes on fire), he most likely wouldn’t have made it.
Amid excruciating pain, his first words to doctors were remarkably focused: “What I would like to do is to freeze my hands in a grip-like position. My sponsor, Wilson, sent me a gift with flowers of a short club with a grip on it. I would like for you to take that club into the operating room so you can understand how my hands need to clamp down on the club. Make it so I can grip a club again.”
According to Sports Illustrated, “[Dr. Leonard] Goldner informed his surgery team to sterilize the club for the first procedure and four total major surgeries which took place on each hand over the next few months that permanently shaped them like a cupped ‘C.’”
“The doctors opened them up. They took a knuckle out and fused the (remaining) two knuckles together so they would fit a golf club,” Alexander explained, years after the surgery.
A Champion’s Will
Over the following months, Alexander endured no fewer than 17 surgeries to save not just his life, but the hands that had delivered so much promise. McKinley-like grit carried him back; he literally got back in the saddle, pushing for rehabilitation not just to survive but to compete. “I was a little fire running away from a big fire,” he reflected later, encapsulating his survival and determination.
A Sports Illustarated article mentions, “The medical records contain a dozen fuzzy, black-and-white photos of Alexander grasping golf clubs as if it’s a Golf Digest gripping lesson. Wooden blocks, rubber balls, a spring hand grasper and even knitting potholders–of which the Alexander family still has a few–were suggested rehabilitation tools.”
By 1951, Alexander had defied the odds. Despite lingering disability, he returned to competitive play and earned a spot on the U.S. Ryder Cup team at Pinehurst; all while still wearing bandaged, scarred hands. Captain Snead placed him in the singles matches against Scotland’s John Panton—expecting perhaps a quiet performance, but Alexander delivered nothing of the sort.
With bloody gloves and sheer willpower, he won 8&7, one of the most decisive singles victories in Ryder Cup history to that point. The moment became symbolically powerful: a testament to patriotism and the unpredictability of Ryder Cup lore.
“I was all bandaged up; my hands were bleeding,” Alexander said. “I played John Panton, the Vardon Trophy winner, Order of Merit winner, leading money winner and everything. I’d never walked 36 holes before that, and it was a 36-hole match.
“So I took off, and every time I played a hole, I wondered if I could play the next. But it worked out all right (chuckling). I beat him 8&7, which as I heard, was the biggest margin that anybody had won by. … I three-putted No. 10 though, in that afternoon round, or I might have won 9 & 8. I remember wondering if that was the beginning of the end and I wouldn’t win another hole.”
The 1951 Ryder Cup at Pinehurst
Alexander’s story was the emotional centerpiece of the 1951 Ryder Cup, but the event itself was historic in its own right. Played at Pinehurst No. 2 in North Carolina from September 28-29, it was the 9th Ryder Cup and the first held after World War II on American soil. Captain Snead led the U.S. team, while the Great Britain side was captained by Arthur Lacey.
The matches were contested over two days, with four foursomes on Friday and eight singles matches on Saturday. The Americans proved dominant from the start. They swept all four foursomes on the opening day, seizing a commanding lead that set the tone for the entire competition. On the second day, the U.S. closed out the victory with seven wins in the eight singles matches, punctuating one of the most lopsided results in Ryder Cup history. The final score was 9 1/2–2 1/2 in favor of the United States.
“It was undoubtedly my sporting instinct, that natural effort to win against all odds, that helped carry me through my recent trying days,” Alexander said. “My faith in the doctors and the unflinching encouragement of my wife, plus the thought of our 2-year-old daughter, carried me past many discouraging moments.”
Life After the Ryder Cup
Although his Ryder Cup heroics cemented Alexander’s place in golf history, his injuries never fully healed. The burns left him with permanent scarring and limited use of his hands, making it impossible to sustain a long-term PGA Tour career. Still, he remained deeply connected to the game. He served over three decades as the head professional at St. Petersburg Country Club (formerly Lakewood Country Club) in Florida, mentoring young golfers and building a reputation as both a teacher and a local ambassador for the sport.
Alexander’s courage and determination continued to resonate long after his playing days ended. He was inducted into the Carolinas Golf Hall of Fame (1986) and the North Carolina Sports Hall of Fame (1987), a recognition not only of his competitive achievements but of the indomitable spirit that carried him from tragedy back to triumph. He passed away in 1997 at the age of 79, and was survived by his wife, Kitty, his children, and several grandchildren.
