We asked for a meeting with Wilson, and Bill Holmes, who had succeeded Fred Bowman as president, agreed to see us the week after the 1960 Tournament of Champions. Bill told us all about the great things Wilson was going to do on my behalf, and after about two hours, Mark piped up and asked a crucial question. “Mr. Holmes,” he said, “let me ask you a question. If Arnold requested a release from his Wilson contract based on his assurances given to him by Mr. Bowman and others some time back, would you grant him that release?”
After three or four seconds that seemed like minutes, Holmes finally said, “No, we would not.”
Well, there it was. I could not have been more disappointed. Our good working relationship with Wilson ended that day, though we did try to work out several other deals that either would have allowed me to buy out my contract at considerable financial cost or come up with a more equitable deal. Nothing could be done, even though Mark worked long and hard to find some common ground.
In fact, Mark had worked with Wilson executives on an innovative set of solutions including deferred compensation and more commercial endorsement freedom. Just about all parties were in agreement, but the deal still had to be approved by Judge James Cooney, Wilson’s legendary chairman. He took one look at it and tossed it aside and began to lecture Mark and me, and asked who was Arnold Palmer to try to dictate terms to him and Wilson when he already had Patty Berg and Sam Snead under contract.
I ended up riding out the string honorably until November of 1963. Then, as Mark had wanted to do anyway, I started Arnold Palmer Golf Company and never looked back. I also wasn’t allowed many more handshake agreements, as per instructions from Mark. However, Ed Seay, my longtime golf course design associate, was one wonderful exception, and he renewed my faith in what I call honorable business practices.
HANDS-ON
ALTHOUGH I HAVE NEVER neglected my golf game, even during my busiest times—as anyone who has seen me hitting balls into a net behind my office in Latrobe or practicing at Bay Hill can attest—I have always tried to be a hands-on person in regards to all my businesses. A good, strong grip works well in business as well as golf. That doesn’t mean I haven’t had capable people oversee certain aspects of each enterprise; that’s a necessity. But there hasn’t been a significant decision made where I wasn’t directly involved.
I think the source of this, again, is my father and the way he went about doing his job at Latrobe Country Club.
Sometimes my natural instincts to be on top of things might have been construed as putting business before golf. One person who thought that this might be true, ironically, was Pap.
My father didn’t often speak to the press, but in the middle of a somewhat lackluster 1963 season, he spoke via telephone to the Associated Press about my many outside interests. “There’s nothing wrong with Arnie’s golf. He’s just got too many darned irons in the fire,” Pap was quoted as saying. His comments came on the heels of losing the Masters to Jack Nicklaus and then watching Jack best me again in the Tournament of Champions.
Pap’s main message was that in the past I could get away with attending to my many business pursuits and still win tournaments, but not with someone now coming along as talented and as ambitious as Jack was. Now, my “lackluster” year wasn’t too shabby. I won six times on the tour, another event in Australia, and added a victory in the Canada Cup, teaming with that guy Nicklaus in representing the United States.
But Pap understood that I was simply acting as I was taught—by him—and in a manner that satisfied my natural desire to succeed and be in control. It’s why I learned how to fly my own plane. And growing up, Pap made sure I saw the sunrise plenty of times, and I saw how his attention to myriad details was the only way to do things properly. Plus, I have always been a restless sort who has to remain busy, so a full day was never a day I dreaded.
There were other forces at work. Growing up in the Depression, I learned the value of a dollar, and I was never very comfortable not having a good grasp of my affairs. Then there was my sense of responsibility. I couldn’t in good conscience enter into any business arrangement and not give my all. If someone wanted to do business with Arnold Palmer, well, they were going to get Arnold Palmer. Finally, I’ll admit that I’m a bit of a perfectionist who simply wanted a decision-making role in my enterprise. There was only one way to accomplish all that I wanted to do, and that was to be personally engaged.
But there’s another tale I have to tell that illustrates perfectly why it’s necessary to make sure you have your finger on the pulse of your entire enterprise. It’s just smart business.
HANDS-OFF
I ONCE LOST $14 MILLION on a Ford Taurus. The good news is that I wasn’t alone; Mark McCormack also lost $14 million on the same deal. That’s oversimplifying things, but that was more or less the upshot of one of the more painful experiences for me under the Arnold Palmer Enterprises umbrella.
In 1990, Arnold Palmer Automotive Group generated revenues of $491 million, and it was ranked 388th by Forbes among top 400 companies in U.S. It was the first time the company had made the list.
The man who ran the company was a trusted friend named Jim O’Neal, whom I had known since 1976. Jim was a bit eccentric, to say the least. When he traveled around the U.S. on business, he would have six or more cases with him. In essence, he carried around the entire company with him in trunks. Obviously, things were going well with Jim at the helm as he oversaw my chain of six automobile dealerships.
But our success wasn’t all that it seemed. As widely reported, O’Neal had leveraged my business relationship with Hertz, in which I was its leading spokesman, to sell automobiles to the rental car company through my dealerships in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Not only did I have my Cadillac, Pontiac, Buick, and Oldsmobile dealership in Latrobe, but also a Cadillac dealership in Charlotte, a Chevrolet dealership in Kentucky, a Lincoln-Mercury dealership in Hilton Head, and a Ford dealership in California. I won’t get into the full ins and outs of the deals, but the dealerships eventually had to buy back the cars, and in the case of the Ford Taurus, there was a very small margin of profit in the sale to Hertz. But the depreciation of those cars made them worth much less than the agreed-to buyback price.
We’re talking here about a lot of cars. Which is why, when the deal unraveled, as it had to do, McCormack and I were on the hook for a huge loss. O’Neal’s overreach and unchecked ambition made for a shockingly poor arrangement, and we paid dearly.
At the end of it all, I learned the hard way that there are times when you really shouldn’t mix business and friendship, and this episode was a tough reminder about keeping tabs on things religiously. My not being hands-on in this situation, as I had in so many other aspects of my business, was very costly, and it saddened me in that it ended a longtime friendship. That was even more painful, and that’s why it troubles me even to this day.
LISTENING
MY FATHER GAVE ME so many great pieces of advice. He wasn’t an educated man, but he was intelligent and filled with simple common sense that proved so much more valuable than a formal education.
He drilled one thing into my head when it came to dealing with people in a working environment and that was the importance of being a good listener. He figured that he would just as soon let the other guy talk as much as he wants. Chances are he was going to tell you everything he knew and somewhere in there he was going to tell you everything you wanted to know about him and about the subject at hand.
I took that advice to heart more than just about anything else he taught me. Why? I didn’t feel particularly intelligent about the many aspects of business that I encountered. Well, I can say it more forcefully than that; I felt stupid. But that was okay, because I was smart enough to know that the best thing I could do is keep my mouth shut and learn from those around me.
It’s not an easy thing to do. We all want to participate in a meeting or a conversation and maybe show a little bit of just how much we know or how smart we are. The tempt
ation is great. But you have to fight it. There will come a time to speak your mind. That might take a few minutes or much longer.
I remember being summoned into a meeting in California with President Nixon to discuss the Vietnam War. I was playing in Bob Hope’s tournament, and Bob and I both were invited to Nixon’s home in San Clemente. I had no idea at the time why he was inviting me to a presidential meeting, but I was interested to find out.
When Bob and I got off the U.S. Marine helicopter that had taken us to Nixon’s residence, we found Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, Vice President Gerald Ford, and other members of the president’s national security team gathered in the living room. It soon was impressed upon me that the president wanted my thoughts—a working-class kid from Pennsylvania—on how best to end the conflict over there. Like many Americans, I was becoming more distraught over the fighting in Southeast Asia and wondered what our objective was supposed to be.
I knew enough about the war to have an opinion. I always paid attention to world events. But when we sat down with the president, the last thing I was going to do was speak my mind as the group discussed various strategic options and their respective consequences.
My thought was that we should get the fighting over as soon as possible. When the president looked in my direction and asked what I thought, I was still reluctant to offer an opinion. But everyone was looking at me. Finally, I said we should “go for the green” and end the war quickly. Everyone laughed at my golf analogy, but I wasn’t really trying to be funny. That was my opinion.
I sure learned a heck of a lot about geopolitics that day, among other things. But you can only learn from listening, and I have applied that rule of thumb to situations big and small.
Usually, the rewards were just big.
PEBBLE BEACH
YOU CAN PROBABLY GUESS the golf courses that are near and dear to my heart. Bay Hill Club & Lodge and Latrobe Country Club are obviously at the top of my list, with Augusta National Golf Club following very close behind. I’ve already mentioned Pine Valley and The Greenbrier as places that hold some significance to me personally. Cherry Hills Country Club, where I won my U.S. Open, is very special. I didn’t win at St. Andrews, but that is where my long relationship with the Open Championship and the good folks of the R&A began, and receiving my honorary degree from the University of St. Andrews in 2011 adds to that deep affection.
You can put Pebble Beach Golf Links into the same category as St. Andrews—another gorgeous seaside golf course for which I hold great affection despite never having won a tournament there. Of course, the fact that I am one of the principal owners of Pebble Beach has something to do with this, but my appreciation for Pebble Beach long preceded my decision to invest in the iconic layout that remains a daily fee golf course, and, thus, is available to the public golfer. That makes it quite special.
The whole area of Pebble Beach is conducive to good golf and enjoying golf. That’s what draws golfers there and the nongolfers who just want to experience a true natural wonder. It’s safe to say that Pebble Beach Golf Links is on every golfer’s bucket list.
I always considered it special, though it was an unrequited love. I competed in the Bing Crosby Clambake—now the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am—for more than twenty years starting in 1958, and although I played well in it and had a few great chances to win, I never quite got over the hump. I also had a chance to win the 1972 U.S. Open at Pebble Beach, but an opening 77 and a closing 76 did me in, and I finished third while Jack Nicklaus went on to victory. But to illustrate just how painfully close I was to winning, there was a particular juncture in the final round that appeared on split-screen on television. I was putting for birdie on 14 and Jack had a par putt on No. 12. If I made mine and Jack missed, I’d have taken the lead. The opposite occurred, however, and I had to settle for merely another good finish in the Open.
But if there was one incident in particular that stands out for me at Pebble Beach above all others, it’s what happened in the 1967 Crosby. I came to the par-5 14th hole trailing Nicklaus by a stroke, and I was in my usual aggressive mind-set, going for the green in two shots. Instead, however, I pushed my approach to the right, and the ball hit a tree and caromed out of bounds. I dropped and tried again and hit the same tree with that shot, and it went out of bounds again. Eventually, I took a nine on the hole and finished third behind Jack and Bill Casper.
A storm blew through the course that night and uprooted the tree. Some say nature tried to make it up to me. I say too late.
The group that completed the deal for Pebble Beach in 1999—after it had changed hands a couple of times already in the previous ten years—included actor Clint Eastwood, former baseball commissioner Peter Ueberroth, and airline executive Dick Ferris. The purchase also included Spyglass Hill Golf Course, The Links at Spanish Bay, and Del Monte Golf Course, plus the Lodge at Pebble Beach, the Inn at Spanish Bay, and 17-Mile Drive, which winds through Pebble Beach and nearby Del Monte Forest. I derive great enjoyment from the partnership with people I consider great friends, and it’s turned out to be a good deal. In fact, I consider it one of the greatest business decisions I’ve ever made. It’s more about the prestige of association with Pebble Beach than any capital concerns, though we still make a little money on it.
We all have our jobs when it comes to the property. Mine is making sure the golf course is up to date and up to snuff. We’ve already begun making preparations for the 2019 U.S. Open, which will be held during Pebble’s centennial year. A major renovation of the 17th hole already is receiving many compliments. We’ve done a few things with the 14th green, and we’ve undertaken a few other tweaks here and there. To clarify: we didn’t change things so much as we updated them, like giving the sand traps a more modern look and in some cases relocating them to have an impact on how the top professional golfers play the game.
I’ve told some people that my involvement in the acquisition of Pebble Beach was purely a business opportunity with the right people. It was a project that we had been looking at and studying for many years, so when the time was right, we were ready. The decision was a no-brainer as far as I was concerned. But there was much more to it than just business. Pebble Beach hasn’t been a special place just for me. The place is full of history and tradition. We wanted to preserve these traditions and continue to enhance one of the finest golf experiences in the world.
You know, it was probably going for broke a little bit, I must say, but it was something that I felt would be a very good thing, and it has worked out wonderfully.
QUALITY
I FIRST DROVE A CADILLAC while I was still attending college at Wake Forest. My best friend Bud Worsham and I had gone to Latrobe to visit my parents for the weekend. We did this often, either going to Latrobe or to his folks’ home in Maryland.
One pleasant Sunday afternoon while we were hitchhiking back to Winston-Salem, we accepted a ride south of Washington on U.S. Route 1 from a gentleman who just so happened to be a golfer. This was obviously in the day when you didn’t worry about hitching a ride, and neither did good folks worry about picking up two college-aged kids. Of course, we were carrying our golf clubs, so we didn’t exactly look too threatening.
Seeing our clubs probably was the reason this kind gentleman stopped. He happened to be tour golfer George Fazio, who later in his career went on to become a respected golf course architect while teaming with his nephew Tom. I recognized him instantly. And he knew Bud’s older brother, Lew. So we formed an instant bond.
He asked Bud and me if one of us was old enough to drive, and I quickly piped up. Fazio eased into the backseat and took a nap, asking us to wake him when we reached North Carolina while I got behind the wheel and Bud got in the passenger seat. I’ll never forget the smooth ride of that car and the way it looked and felt with its refined interior—a true symbol of American success.
I have been an avid fan of the Cadillac brand ever since, and I still drive one to this day, a nice, big SUV model that sort of fits
my personality and image as a driver. I get a new one every season from the Cadillac dealer around the corner a few miles from my house in Latrobe. I trust that dealer—and I had better. It’s called Arnold Palmer Motors!
I feel about a Cadillac the same way I feel about Rolex, with whom I’ve had a fifty-year relationship. It isn’t about being showy or about owning something expensive. Certainly growing up not having a lot of money, owning something like a Rolex watch was a dream. And it was a dream I never thought I’d realize. It was about aspiring to success, which a brand like Cadillac or Rolex symbolized. It was about living the American Dream, if you will, something all of us hope to realize. So I am grateful for the association with such a fine company like Rolex, a partnership that actually started in Japan when I became friends with André Heiniger, who was the second CEO of Rolex after the founder Hans Wilsdorf.
I also felt like there was a psychological benefit to these associations. Being around successful people or being associated with successful enterprises puts you in a proper frame of mind about the things you want to do with your life and career. Their attitude tends to rub off on you. Winning does breed winning, on and off the course—and in my mind I think they tend to have a reciprocal application.
A Life Well Played Page 15