September 10, 1966 was an unremarkable date in the history of the world, in the overall scheme of things that is, but at least it happened to be Arnold Palmer’s 37th birthday.

Despite the occasion, though, the seven-time major winner found himself getting madder and madder as the morning wore on. His wife Winnie [the first Mrs. Palmer] was overburdening him with errands and seemingly trivial tasks just as he was trying to get away to the club at Latrobe for a low-key game of golf, or perhaps some light duties in his workshop or on the range. Nothing had been fixed, admittedly, but the morning of a man’s birthday is surely sacrosanct, is it not?

Then a family friend from California—the other side of the country for goodness’ sake—popped by unannounced. While walking her out of the front door to say goodbye, a Jet Commander flew overhead. "My plane is exactly like that one," Palmer told his friend with pride. Little did he know it was his aircraft—his first jet, of which had only recently taken delivery.

A few minutes later he was ready once again to leave for the club when Winnie dragged him in for "one more thing". Boiling point was uncomfortably close when a knock sounded at the door. He decided to investigate this latest disruption to the equilibrium of his special day himself, personally.

On the porch stood one of the most famous men in the world, clutching a small overnight bag. "Say, you wouldn’t have room to put up an old man for the night, would you?" he asked plaintively, flashing a smile the width of the Grand Canyon.

The request was instantly answered in the affirmative, and into the Palmer residence strode the 34th President of the United States and former Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe.

Both Eisenhower and Palmer came from blue-collar backgrounds

What transpired thereafter was, in Palmer’s own words, "one of the nicest weekends of my life. For my birthday, he presented me with a small oil painting he’d done of a barn on his farm in Gettysburg. We hung it on the wall of our dining room and it’s there to this day."

At the time, Dwight D. Eisenhower was a month shy of his 76th birthday and more than twice as old as Palmer. But age was no barrier in what had already developed into one of the firmest friendships ever forged between giants of the sporting and political arenas. Indeed, he had long been the unofficial commander-in-chief of Arnie’s Army.

Both Eisenhower and Palmer hailed from ‘blue collar’ backgrounds—Eisenhower as the progeny of Mid-west farming ‘stock’ from Kansas and Palmer as the son of Latrobe’s professional and course superintendent—which perhaps explains the affinity they clearly felt for each other.

That birthday celebration is Palmer’s stand-out memory of President Eisenhower, not least because of the logistical improbability of it all. The President’s wife, Mamie, had to be driven up to Pennsylvania from the family farm in Gettysburg by the Secret Service because she had a fear of flying. Darrell Brown, the pilot of Palmer’s plane, was seconded to fetch the President—"the only time one of my planes went anywhere without my knowledge"—while Doc Giffin, Palmer’s right-hand man, helped the Secret Service secure the property for the presidential visit without attracting the slightest attention of its principal resident.

"We snuck President Eisenhower into Latrobe. It was Winnie’s idea of a birthday present for the man who had everything," said Giffin. "She talked to the Eisenhowers, and they agreed to do it. Winnie dispatched Arnie’s airplane to York, Pennsylvania, the closest airport to the Eisenhower farm in Gettysburg. The Secret Service was in on it, but the only others who knew about it were me, Winnie, Arnie’s personal physician and the pilot.

"It was a great day, a very exciting experience. I’ve never seen Arnie thrown by anything, so he handled it in great stead, but he was clearly very surprised."

Dinner that night at the Rolling Rock club in Ligonier was followed by some TV viewing and a long conversation over breakfast the next morning. "I can’t tell you what we talked about, but in my memory it was a little bit of everything—presidents and history, the new space program and old military campaigns, lots of family tales and laughter," wrote Palmer in his autobiography A Golfer’s Life (co-written with James Dodson). "The conversation went on a long time and we never even moved from the table, I recall that we managed to even talk a little bit about golf, though we somehow never got round to swinging a club that weekend.

"Quite frankly, I don’t know when I’ve had a better time."

The ‘King’ and the President met each other originally some eight years earlier, while Eisenhower was serving his second term in the White House and Palmer was fresh off the first of his four Masters triumphs in 1958. Introduced by a mutual friend Ben Fairless at Laurel Valley Golf Club in Ligonier, Pa.—where Palmer captained the U.S. team in the 1975 Ryder Cup matches—it seems that Eisenhower did not realise who the young man before him was. When realisation dawned later, he swiftly penned a note of apology which Palmer duly framed and counts among his most prized possessions to this day.

"Ben suggests that sometime we might have an opportunity to play at Augusta," the President wrote. "This I should like very much, though, judging from the brand of golf I have recently been displaying, I would be more than embarrassed."

Several games of golf ensued over the years, many of them at Augusta National where Clifford Roberts, in effect the President’s personal counselor throughout his political career, ruled the roost. [As an aside, it is worth noting that Palmer when he formed his association with lawyer Mark McCormack who negotiated all his business deals up until his death a few years ago.]

Only one of the many games of golf played by president Eisenhower and Palmer together took place in public

Only one of those games took place in public—shortly after Palmer’s final Masters victory in 1964—when they teamed up with Jimmy Demaret and entertainer Ray Bolger to play an exhibition match at Merion for the Heart Association of Southeastern Pennsylvania. "It remains memorable to me for the sudden horror I felt when I looked over and saw blood all over the President’s golf shirt," says Palmer. "Prior to the match, I’d noticed how his right elbow flew away from his body on his swing, a common habit of high handicappers attempting to generate clubhead speed, so I counseled him to try to keep his right elbow tucked as close to his body as possible to generate more power and hit the ball straighter.

"Even playing golf, the President preferred to wear a rough, military-style belt with metal buckles and adjustments. In his determination to keep that right wing tucked in as ordered, he’d actually rubbed the skin off his arm and was bleeding. When I pointed it out to him he acted as if it were nothing but a scratch and completely dismissed my concern."

Their private games were generally less dramatic and formed the basis of a firm friendship that, in Palmer’s own words, "eclipsed any relationship I’d ever had with an older man besides my father". The President liked to listen to Palmer’s tales of life on Tour and Palmer in turn thrilled to hear Eisenhower’s wartime reminiscences and reflections on contemporary political events.

"I had to pinch myself sometimes as a reminder that I was interacting with not only a beloved figure in American history, a man who had been leader of the free world and a critical part of so much human drama, but someone virtually every American admired," Palmer wrote in A Golfer’s Life.

"We became very close friends, and we spent a lot of time just talking as well as playing golf. As the years went by, we did various things—from entertainment, to a lot of charity work."

There was certainly a father-son complexion to their relationship—notably surfacing when the President nagged Palmer to give up smoking. "President Eisenhower believed fervently in the power of heroes to transform lives—and he spared no opportunity to remind me that I had the rare opportunity to be such a hero," said Palmer.

Certainly Eisenhower exercised a considerable influence over Palmer’s political views, so much so that he happily cast aside his Democratic origins to embrace the Republican philosophy, much to his father Deacon’s chagrin.

"I suppose in my heart I always knew I was a middle-of-the-road Republican," said Palmer. "What I mean by that is that the ideals of President Eisenhower, Lincoln and other leaders of the Republican party seemed to represent—a passionate belief in the limitless benefits of personal freedom, governed by an equally strong sense of personal responsibility—were part of a belief system with which I was more comfortable."

A sense of responsibility is an important part of this equation, and it is fitting that the names of Palmer and Eisenhower will forever be entwined due to their collaboration on the medical front.

Eisenhower and Palmer remain united through charity

The Arnold Palmer Prostate Center is part of the Eisenhower Lucy Curci Cancer Center, a state-of-the-art hospital designed for comfort, privacy and tranquillity in Rancho Mirage just outside Palm Springs in the heart of California’s Coachella Valley.

Overall, the Eisenhower Medical Center occupies a 120-acre campus and is a dynamic, progressive health care complex that also comprises the Annenberg Center for Health Sciences, the Barbara Sinatra Children’s Center and the Betty Ford Center. Dedicated in 1971, the Medical Center was named in honor of Eisenhower because he had a retirement home in the Coachella Valley during his latter years.

Two years earlier, in March 1969, Eisenhower passed away, aged 78, after a lengthy illness which Palmer witnessed with an increasing sense of helplessness.

"He got sick and he couldn’t play anymore, so we used to just visit. We’d spend hours talking personally, about things that were happening, about things that I wouldn’t reveal even today, likes and dislikes, and little things that were not a big deal but important to both of us.

"That cemented our relationship. Then he passed away. He was at Walter Reed [Hospital] in Washington, and Winnie and I went to see him [on Valentine’s Day]. He was the same—the same spirit and laugh and smile—as he was all the time ‘Gosh, it’s great to see you kids,’ he said. ‘Sit down and talk to me.’

"Far too soon, a nurse appeared and politely informed us it was time to leave. The President had pills to take and needed time to rest. We stood. He kissed Winnie again and we once more clasped hands. Beaming at us as always, he assured us that the next time we saw him it would be back home at his farm in Gettysburg.

"With tears welling in my eyes, I told Winnie on the way out that I hoped he was right. But it was the last time we saw D.D.E." The postscript to this touching tale of a friendship that straddled the generations, came on 14 October 1990—the centenary of Eisenhower’s birth—when Palmer was invited to address a joint session of Congress.

"Winnie and Doc fretted for days about what I should say in my speech," Palmer recalls. "Doc even worked up a beautiful tribute speech for me to read. However, I hated reading from prepared texts and in the end I took Doc’s notes and added some of my own.

"Before I was called to the podium, I was asked by aides for my speech so Congress could read along with copies given to the press.

"I don’t know if that rattled them or not, but it proves I would ultimately have been a terrible politician. At any rate I gave the speech, spoke from the heart about a man I loved like a second father, and Congress gave me—or should I say President Eisenhower—a standing ovation. I must say I had to wipe away a few tears."

Palmer never did address the President as Ike, despite being invited to do so. "To me, regardless of how close we grew over time, he was either Mr. President or President Eisenhower."

Even when ambushed at his front door on that birthday morning in September 1966.