Very carefully?
Without Arnold Palmer, I would have never been a golf professional, plain and simple. When I was a kid, before I ever hit a golf ball, I knew who he was. Everyone did. I grew up in the sixties and in my opinion it was the golden age of iconic sport stars. I certainly mean no disrespect to the number or talent of todays stars, but sport stars were one or two per sport that stood head and shoulders above the rest. Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays in baseball, Bill Russell, Oscar Robertson, Wilt Chamberlain in basketball. Jim Brown, Joe Namath, Johnny Unitas in football, Mahammad Ali, Joe Frazier in boxing, Gordie Howe, Bobby Orr and Bobby Hull in hockey, Arnold and Jack in Golf. Maybe it’s just because it was my childhood and these are some of the people that influenced my view of the world. But these men, were spokespeople before it became fashionable, the spoke to the media with poise, calm and respect.
Anyone who has been around golf as long as I, has an Arnold Palmer story. I have two that stand out in my mind, neither are very dramatic, but exemplary of his aura and his nature. The last time I saw Mr. Palmer, I was in Las Vegas on a golf trip with 60 or so other club guys from Dallas. We did our league championship worth double points on the road and Primm Valley Resort was our host. After golf, we drove into Vegas to see the sights and happened into the old Desert Inn. As a few guys sat around playing blackjack or something, I stood over to the side of the table just checking things out. It was a slow night and not a lot of traffic and at that time DI was on it’s slow, downward spiral to eventual closing and demolition. But, out of nowhere, as if to create a buzz, Arnold Palmer walks up to the table and says hello! To total strangers! He shook everyone’s hand, wished them luck and asked us how WE were! He had a few older guys with him that we could hear were trying to encourage him to move along and get going to the festivities…It was his birthday! One of his guys must have been pushing a little to hard for Arnie’s taste and he wheels around in a playful, stern voice “—-,(guy’s name), It’s MY birthday and I’ll do as I damn well please!”. Like he was having fun just shooting the breeze with these golf moops and was not going to be rushed! Cool encounter.
I am a Pennsylvania native where Arnie is a god and it was a thrill just to see him on the course. The 1983 U.S. Open was being held at Oakmont Country Club near Pittsburgh and I was a college student living about 2 hours away. On that Friday, I thought it would be a good idea to wake up at 6 am, make the drive, pay to get in and watch the open. Twenty dollars got me in! And with the other twenty I bought lunch, an Open tee shirt for me and Cap for my Dad. Not knowing where to go to get the best vantage point to see the best players in the world, I made a b-line for the first tee. The second round was incomplete because of Friday afternoon rain, so for an hour or so I watched the leader board to see who would make the cut, then stood at the first tee and waited. On the way, I passed what I took for the hospitality tent city and saw Terry Bradshaw putting on a practice green. Terry would later be a member at Las Colinas in Dallas where I began my pro career. I got to see every player tee off for round three including some of my favorites: Jack, Kite, Watson, Norman, Bob Murphy, but nothing could prepare for the entrance that Arnie would make.
As I stood right behind the tee, the players had to walk right up and past: Jack nodded hello and looked me right in the eye, he was a lot shorter that I thought he would be; Norman was my size, hmmm, my arms are bigger than his; Murph could sweat like no other, I felt bad for the big guys because it was a typical Pittsburgh day, hot and humid; Kite and Crenshaw were midgets!; Roland was the guy who wore the rainbow wig with the bible verse sign…he introduced himself and tried to sell me aluminum siding. It was surreal seeing these guys hit their first shots of the day, the calm and quiet heightened the tension that is evident on the first tee of a major championship. The crowd was thick making it difficult to move and as one of the people on the rope, I felt the push of the people behind me. Suddenly, a huge roar went up from an adjacent green, but what I couldn’t figure out was which one? The ninth green was the closest, but no one had reached that point yet? The question circulated about the crowd in my area, who Was that? Birdie on 9? I could see, because of my height, that a large group of spectators was making their way to the first tee, like the way a Tiger crowds engulfs and overruns a location…totally and completely. Those of us near the near really started to feel the crush. I question had been answered by one of these invaders: Arnie had made a putt…on the practice green! Which by the way is located on the back half of the ninth green. And the like the Red Sea parting, so did this massive throng, as Arnie, with two massive PA state troopers at each elbow, strutted to the tee! It was so cool to see this in person. Arnie was not a tall man, but he had that chin high, a serious look as though he was heading into the ring to take on the champ. He looked like Popeye, forearms and hands way bigger than you would have imagined, and a purposeful step of someone with something to prove. It was a scene that I’ll never forget. This man had a presence!
Arnie didn’t win the open that year, I suspect that may have been the last year that he made the cut. But, he still had the aura of a champion and he would, even in the 1990’s, when I saw him at the Reunion Pro-Am in Dallas, a senior tour event. It didn’t matter to anyone that Arnie wasn’t winning anymore, he made everyone around him on the course feel that they were charging too! We all moaned as putts slipped by the hole and cheered wildly when one went in. He took us with him on the emotional rollercoaster ride of his round. And this week, I think we all want to thank him one last time. RIP The King.
