Tales from the Ranks
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My Meeting with 'Uncle' Arnie
Larry Bohannan
The Desert Sun
Arnold Palmer opens the door of his home and is kind of surprised to see a visitor standing there.
"Most people just walk in," Palmer said, completely serious but with a twinkle in his eye that lets you know you really are supposed to just walk into the Palmer household at Tradition Golf Club in La Quinta. You find yourself hoping you haven't insulted him by knocking on his door before entering.
It's that kind of familiarity that has made Palmer more than just a successful golfer for a couple of generations of golf fans. Palmer is your favorite uncle, the one you actually want to come over for Thanksgiving dinner. He's your next-door neighbor, the one you invite over for barbecues and who lends you his lawn mower.
Sitting in the main room of Palmer's modest home at Tradition, just a short walk from the main clubhouse of the project, it's impossible to know that you're in the home of one of the sport's most successful and recognizable players. The room has no visible signs that Palmer won four majors, 62 PGA Tour events or five Bob Hope Chrysler Classics. On a hutch just behind the dining table is the only real acknowledgement of Palmer's profession. It's a frame containing separate pictures of Palmer, Jack Nicklaus and Gray Player with an engraved plate proclaiming "The Big Three."
Besides those pictures, it could be anyone's house.
Palmer is dressed in a pink golf sweater featuring a small logo of Tradition Golf Club on the front. That logo is a silhouette of Palmer in his characteristic high follow through, and you can't help but think this is one of the few men in the world who can wear clothing with his own likeness on it. Seriously, who else can get away with that? Rappers? Ralph Lauren?
As Palmer talks freely about his time as the game's most popular and in-demand player, he constantly squeezes rubber doughnuts designed to strengthen his famously strong hands and forearms. Occasionally he'll run a hand through his silver hair, one of the signs that Palmer truly is 77 and that his playing days, at least in official tour events, really is over.
Palmer offers you a beer, water, anything you need. He weaves the offer effortlessly between stories of the road, of driving from tournament to tournament, of looking puzzled as he recalls having never played in the South African Open.
He talks of how this is his last full day in the desert for the season. He'll be off to his home at Bay Hill, outside of Orlando, Fla., where in a few weeks the PGA Tour event he has shepherded through the last two decades will debut with a new name - the Arnold Palmer Invitational.
As you leave, Palmer shakes your hand, because part of Palmer's very being is shaking your hand, looking you in the eye and calling you by your name. He tells you to come to the Orlando tournament sometime.
And you hope you aren't insulting him by not booking a flight for Orlando right away.
Posted by scurry at February 18, 2007 05:25 PM