A Life Well Played

by Arnold Palmer

  From all this, you might get the impression that I’m a pretty strong-minded person and maybe a bit stodgy. I am, and I don’t think there is a thing wrong with that. I get it from Pap. But I got something else from Pap, too: to do things well for their own sake and never compromise on that.

  MOM

  I HAVE WRITTEN QUITE a bit about my father and the impact he had on my life, but I’d be remiss in not pointing out how much my mother influenced me.

  I owe my first playing experiences on a golf course entirely to Mom, and I probably owe my personality to Doris Palmer, too. One of five daughters, my mother was a classic “people person” interested in just about everyone and what they had going on in their lives. She took a genuine interest in friends and neighbors and even people she had just met. She was magnetic and charming, and nobody ever had a bad word to say about her. People were drawn to her, perhaps because she was consistently upbeat and filled with generosity.

  She was encouraging and nurturing, and she certainly knew how to be welcoming to people of all walks of life. Our house near where the old sixth hole used to be located seemed to be a gathering spot, particularly in the winter when folks would be out sledding down the hill from the seventh hole. I think these kinds of experiences were critical to the formation of my attitudes about life and meeting people. In some ways, she was a complete contrast to my father.

  But Mom, just like Pap, had a lot of common sense, and she always was there for me with a lot of good advice. One piece of advice that still resonates with me has to do with walking, which was great because it fit well into my life as a golfer. If you played golf, you walked, and even when Pap, grudgingly, started offering carts at Latrobe Country Club, my attitude was pretty well fixed because of Mom, who encouraged me to walk just about everywhere that I could. She maintained that walking every day was about the most important thing someone could do.

  I was conditioned to walk my whole life not because of golf but because of school. When I was six years old, I started going to elementary school in Youngstown. That was the fall of 1935. It was a mile one way, and I walked to school and back every day by myself until my sister started going, and then I walked with her.

  I was honored to serve for twenty years as honorary national chairman of the March of Dimes and its work with dealing with birth defects and its battle against polio, and because of what my father went through with polio as an infant, that was something that really touched a nerve in me, and I wanted to help. It felt like the appropriate thing to do, considering we raised millions annually with walkathons and that I participated in several Walk America events in Washington, D.C., that helped further raise awareness and money.

  A good, long walk is good for the body and it really clears the mind. You can do a lot of good thinking on a long walk. I can remember many wonderful walks I had out on the golf course. I know that sounds a little out of character for me, but many mornings I started my day by going on the golf course without my clubs and stretching my legs.

  The habit of walking has stayed with me my whole life, and I would venture it is one reason for my generally good health throughout my career and my longevity.

  OAKMONT

  THE REPUTATION OF Oakmont Country Club, near Pittsburgh, was something I was aware of at a fairly young age. It was the gold standard of private golf clubs and the course was known as one of the most difficult in the world.

  The club came to mean a great deal in my life. I played my first U.S. Open there in 1953 and my last in 1994. In between, I had two very realistic chances to win the national championship there, in 1962, of course, and again in 1973 when Johnny Miller shot that brilliant final-round 63 that stunned us all.

  But there actually was a time when the club had the potential to play an even larger role in my life. I remember Pap coming to me while I was working on the tractor, and my first thought was, “Oh, no, what have I done wrong now?” I was still just a kid. But when I stopped the tractor, Pap came around the side and said, “Arn, you’ll never guess what just happened.” He went on to tell me that he had an opportunity to take the job as head greenskeeper at Oakmont. Well, that got my attention. My eyes got real big. I was thinking, “Wow, wouldn’t it be something to get to play golf at Oakmont Country Club all the time?”

  Pap had to tell me to slow down, that he didn’t know what he was going to do, and anyway, there wasn’t a guarantee that I was going to be playing Oakmont all the time. He could say that, but I knew better, because I knew me.

  He thought about it for three or four days and then he came back to me and told me that he had decided that he couldn’t take the job at Oakmont and he was going to stay at Latrobe Country Club. There were several reasons, but none more important than the small-town life we were living. We had family and friends around and it was really a perfect situation from about every angle. Then there was the fact that Oakmont hosted major tournaments. While hard work never bothered Pap, he didn’t want to be working more than the fourteen to fifteen hours he already was working at Latrobe, and missing even more time away from his wife and children.

  He asked me if I was disappointed, and I tried to hide the fact that I was a little disappointed. But there were sound reasons for his decision, and I agreed with all of them.

  I have never really given that episode much thought since. I wouldn’t trade anything for my life experiences at Latrobe. And who’s to say that my game and my life would have developed the way it did? Things do happen for a reason and work out for the best. You might not see it right away, but they become clearer in time.

  PRIORITIES

  KNOW YOUR PRIORITIES. Know them and live them and you’ll be surprised how much you can accomplish, how much time you have for things you don’t think you have time for, and how fulfilling your life can be.

  I always knew what was most important to me. When I was growing up, nothing was more important than golf, but that’s the attitude of a young person who hasn’t a care in the world. Later on I figured it out. Family was first. Always. Then golf and business come after. We all get put to the test on this, and occasionally we have to make allowances here and there, but I can tell you, that’s not something you want to make a habit.

  Milton Richman, the great UPI wire service sportswriter, wrote a story about me that illustrates what I’m talking about. I had no idea he was writing the story, and I was a little embarrassed when I read it recently. It was 1971, and I had just won the Westchester Classic in Rye, New York, by an easy five shots in wire-to-wire fashion. I was pretty excited about the victory. So was Winnie, and she couldn’t wait to talk to me, so she called the pressroom at Westchester Country Club. She mostly talked and I mostly listened, having no idea that anyone was paying attention to a forty-one-year-old man talking to his wife on the telephone. That’s not exactly breaking news.

  But then things got a little more hectic for me. There was another call that had come in, and the locker room attendant had picked it up. The man on the other end of the phone said he wanted to talk to me and that he was the President of the United States. At first the club employee didn’t believe him, but eventually he recognized the voice of Richard Nixon.

  Nixon was an avid golfer, but he hadn’t played much while in office. He was calling to congratulate me on my third win of the year, and he also hoped to learn to one day hit a bunker shot like the one I hit on 16 in the final round that turned out to be one of the keys to my win. It was a nice phone call. I didn’t find all this out, however, until I was finished talking to Winnie. The locker room man tried to get my attention, and after a few more minutes, one of the reporters slipped a note in front of me that read, “President Nixon is on the phone.” I nodded, but Winnie had a few more things to tell me, so I stayed with her. It was more important to make sure things were right in my house before the White House.

  When she finished and said her piece, I told her I had to go take another call, not letting on until later when I got home who the other person calling was at that t
ime.

  I had no idea Milton was observing these goings-on, but there it was in his “Sports Parade” column the next day. It was a very nice story and quite flattering, but, like I said, I was a bit embarrassed reading about what a swell guy I was. I only tell this story now to make a point, not to tell you what a swell guy I am.

  I enjoyed the victory that day, but it was special because I still had a chance to share it with Winnie, even if it was on the telephone. Look, even the President of the United States has to wait when something more important is going on in your life.

  STAYING GROUNDED

  MY DAD NEVER STOPPED giving me guidance about how I should look at my life and career. By 1961 I had already established myself as a perennial winner and a major champion with two Masters titles and the 1960 U.S. Open.

  But my father was determined that no matter how much I won, how successful I became or how much I earned, he wanted me to remain humble. He wanted me to stay grounded and to focus on my work and not get too caught up with all of the accomplishments.

  One of the best lessons he ever gave me came after I had won the 1961 British Open at Royal Birkdale. I had been dining with dukes and princes over the course of an entire week and came back to the United States the conquering hero. Naturally, I was feeling pretty good about myself.

  When I got back to Latrobe, I was very excited about my victory and the chance to share it with my family. My dad greeted me with open arms. I could see how happy he was for me. But in his second breath he said, “Now, why don’t you put down that Claret Jug. I need your help mowing the back nine.”

  Looking back, this was a very important marker to me. It reminded me that if I’m going to be successful, I must continue to grow with a balance of confidence and humble appreciation for all the people involved in making it possible. If I didn’t understand where I had come from and how I had gotten there, then the chances were I was not going to be as successful going forward. And I would certainly not have the proper attitude about how to live my life and do the right things.

  Did I mow the back nine for him? You bet I did. And do you know what? There was a certain peace and serenity in doing such a familiar, simple task. It was satisfying in its own way. Looking back, it was a rather appropriate way for me to celebrate winning the Open Championship.

  THE INTERVIEW

  MY LONGTIME EXECUTIVE assistant Doc Giffin likes to tell a flattering story about me that occurred long ago at the Western Open in Chicago. I hope today’s professional golfers might take away something from this anecdote, which is the reason I want to share it with you and why I think Doc enjoys it so much.

  I was in the tournament pressroom at Medinah Country Club conducting a post-round interview with a group of reporters. At the time Doc was working for the PGA of America as the tour media official, and when I finished up with the press, Doc asked me if I had time for a radio interview.

  I said, sure, and soon up steps this young college kid who was working as an intern at one of the local radio stations. He looked very nervous, but we got through the interview, which lasted nearly ten minutes, just fine. At least I thought we had. I started to get up, and I noticed that the young man’s face was beet red. He had forgotten to turn on the recorder. Well, I couldn’t just leave him there without the interview, so I said “It’s okay, son. Let’s do it again,” and sat back down and did the interview for the second time.

  Doc tells the story because he has spent a great deal of time around professional golfers, first in his duties with the tour and later as my right-hand man, and he wonders how many other players, past or present, would be as understanding about the young man’s plight.

  In my mind, I don’t think what I did was particularly special.

  Bobby Jones once said about being complimented for calling a penalty on himself that, “you might as well praise a man for not robbing a bank.” In other words, Jones didn’t think he should get credit for doing the right thing. By the same token, I don’t deserve any special commendations for simply helping someone, or in this case, doing a little extra for someone who made a simple mistake. I never gave it a second thought. But that’s how I was raised—you put yourself in the shoes of the other person.

  You might think that there’s nothing in it for me to have such an attitude. Since when does there have to be something in it for you to treat people with the same respect you would want bestowed on you? But having said that, I felt that I did get something in return. I got peace of mind. That’s a pretty valuable commodity.

  HEEEERE’S … ARNIE

  I HAVE NEVER FORGIVEN Spiro Agnew for stealing my thunder on national television. Especially when television had been so good to me over the years.

  On Friday, July 17, 1970, I sat in for Johnny Carson as host of NBC’s Tonight Show, and in addition to tennis great Rod Laver, the Vice President of the United States joined Johnny’s regular sidekick, Ed McMahon, and me on the popular television talk show. We taped the program in the afternoon in New York, and it aired that evening. Boy, was I nervous, much more nervous than on the first tee of any golf tournament I had ever played.

  My anxiety level, I suppose, was quite understandable. If you are put into a situation that is foreign to you, then of course you’re going to be anxious. I’d played golf in front of thousands of people and millions at home watching on television, but that was totally different. Golf is something I’ve been prepared to do since I was a kid. And I’d joined Bob Hope on some of his TV specials, but my lines were scripted, and I also knew I could rely on Bob if there were any glitches.

  In addition, under terms of a deal with NBC that was finalized in 1967, I also was contracted to provide television analysis of various golf broadcasts. Again, that was an arena in which I was comfortable. I knew a little about golf. I made my debut that September for NBC’s coverage of the World Series of Golf in Akron, Ohio, joining Jim Simpson. I wish I had been playing, but some guy named Jack Nicklaus edged me in the U.S. Open at Baltusrol, so, even though I was the No. 2 money leader behind Nicklaus that season, I didn’t qualify for the sixth edition of the event that featured the four major winners playing for $50,000. As an aside, Jack was asked on the eve of the tournament what he thought of my moving into the broadcast booth. My good friend replied, grinning, “I think that ought to be a permanent job for him.”

  The Tonight Show, on the other hand, was real pressure, because it was all on me as the host. But not too long into the show it became all about Vice President Agnew, who was quite funny. He had come prepared, too, carrying two golf clubs and a tennis racquet with him onto the set. Earlier in the year, playing in the Bob Hope Classic Pro-Am, Agnew had hit Doug Sanders in the neck with a stray shot. As for the tennis racquet, Agnew recently had made more news for hitting a playing partner with a serve in doubles. “I brought my weapons with me,” he said immediately, making fun of himself.

  “I like to get out and play golf and tennis,” he said. “It gives me a chance to apologize.”

  And he continued with this during our time together, telling the audience that President Richard Nixon doesn’t make fun of Agnew’s golf, “he just keeps a respectful distance.”

  I got in on the act, showing photos of the vice president and me playing golf in Florida. “Here we are teeing it up,” I said, “and watching the Secret Service run for cover.”

  The various reviews of the program the next day were very complimentary … toward Agnew. I guess that’s what a good host is supposed to do—facilitate great answers from his guests. I don’t understand why I was never asked back to do it again.

  BE YOURSELF

  I MADE MY FIRST of many visits to the White House in early 1969. The date was February 13, a Thursday. President Richard Nixon hosted Green Bay Packers quarterback Bart Starr, Detroit Tigers slugger Al Kaline, and me as we visited the nation’s capital for a dinner for the National Press Club’s Sports Night. The three of us were on a national tour as part of what was called the Lincoln-Mercury Sports Team.
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  To say that I was more than a little nervous is an understatement. The thought of a small-town boy from humble beginnings going to the White House generated a feeling of excitement mixed with awe. How do you even prepare yourself for something like that? In my case, I went back to the fundamentals. Just like I did on a golf course, I had fundamentals off the course, too. Just try to be as natural as possible, be polite, mind your manners.

  Of course, that’s all I ever tried to do is just be myself in every situation. That usually worked—most of the time, anyway.

  I found President Nixon to be a congenial guy, who really enjoyed sports. During that visit we “swapped yarns” as they say, and when we posed for a photo on a sofa in his office, he said, “I always like to sit with a bunch of champions.” He and Starr were particularly friendly, since it was the Packers QB who helped Nixon win the Wisconsin presidential primary.

  I had my moment when I was asked to hit a few golf shots into a net. Kaline, who was a good friend, asked me for a golf tip. Al wasn’t a particularly good golfer, and he wondered how he could improve. I couldn’t resist a smart-aleck response. “Stay off the golf course,” I advised him. He laughed, accepting the dig in the spirit it was intended.

  Later in the year, on December 20, I attended my first gala dinner at the White House, this one a Christmas celebration. The president called on me to make some extemporaneous remarks. Suddenly, the steak on my plate looked like a cold plate of beans. I took the opportunity to needle Nixon about inserting himself into the debate over who ought to be the No. 1 college team in the nation. The president had asserted it ought to be the Texas Longhorns, while Pennsylvania partisans, including me, thought unbeaten Penn State ought to be ranked first. “I’m honored to be among such a great football expert,” I began.