For the past year he’d clearly been fragile … his skin was translucent and the ever-present sparkle in his eyes had been dulled a little. Most of us knew it was just a matter of time, but we didn’t want to vocalize it. We didn’t want to say aloud that Arnold Palmer was dying.
When he slipped away yesterday, the inevitable happened. Tributes, warm words of gratitude, pictures and stories began to flood the public consciousness. Everyone loved him. What was not to love?
I honestly never heard one person say, “Arnold was a jerk to me.” Instead, it was universally memories about how nice he’d been to people. How he remembered people. How he treated everyone around him – from bellboys to bartenders to CEOs to guys driving mowers around golf courses – with courtesy and sincere goodwill. I often described him as the nicest man I’d ever met and no one ever challenged that. Instead, they would chime in with their story about how thrilled they were to meet him one time and then how they were even more thrilled when he remembered them 15 years later. One of Mr. Palmer’s great gifts was that his ability to remember people (and make them feel good) was as perfect as his well-practiced autograph.
The late Ed Seay told me to call him Arnold, never Arnie (because that’s what Winnie had preferred), but I could never bring myself to say it. He was always Mr. Palmer. I met him or spoke with him on the phone a dozen times. The first and most memorable was in 1987 when he called me from the cockpit of his jet to ask for a copy of an article I’d written as a cub reporter for GCSAA. I was shocked that anyone had read my long boring piece in GCM on cart path construction. Finding out that Mr. Palmer had not only read that article but thought it had value just blew my mind. I’ve always remembered that every time I was tempted to do a half-assed job on anything.
The stories circulating in the golf media today and probably for the next month will recount what Mr. Palmer did for golf, how many tournaments he won and how many courses he helped to design and build. Greatest ever? Let’s just all agree he should unquestionably be on the Mount Rushmore of golf.
I think the more important stories are about the lives he touched. About the children who were helped by his hospital donations. About being the gracious host at Bay Hill and Latrobe and all of the hospitality he extended to complete strangers. About never being too tired or too busy to spend time with people. That was the greatest gift he gave all of us. His time and attention. He made you feel special and that’s the best thing ever.
So, if you want to know about Mr. Palmer, forget about his giant bear-claw hands and massive Popeye forearms. Ignore the legendary victories and competitive drive. Pay no attention to the massive contributions he made to the golf business on the retail and design side. Disregard the endorsements he did and the celebrity he achieved.
Just know this about Arnold Palmer: He was kind to everyone.
That’s how I’ll remember him.
Pat Jones is editorial director and publisher of Golf Course Industry. He can be reached at pjones@gie.net or 216-393-0253.
No more results found. When he slipped away yesterday, the inevitable happened. Tributes, warm words of gratitude, pictures and stories began to flood the public consciousness. Everyone loved him. What was not to love?
I honestly never heard one person say, “Arnold was a jerk to me.” Instead, it was universally memories about how nice he’d been to people. How he remembered people. How he treated everyone around him – from bellboys to bartenders to CEOs to guys driving mowers around golf courses – with courtesy and sincere goodwill. I often described him as the nicest man I’d ever met and no one ever challenged that. Instead, they would chime in with their story about how thrilled they were to meet him one time and then how they were even more thrilled when he remembered them 15 years later. One of Mr. Palmer’s great gifts was that his ability to remember people (and make them feel good) was as perfect as his well-practiced autograph.
The late Ed Seay told me to call him Arnold, never Arnie (because that’s what Winnie had preferred), but I could never bring myself to say it. He was always Mr. Palmer. I met him or spoke with him on the phone a dozen times. The first and most memorable was in 1987 when he called me from the cockpit of his jet to ask for a copy of an article I’d written as a cub reporter for GCSAA. I was shocked that anyone had read my long boring piece in GCM on cart path construction. Finding out that Mr. Palmer had not only read that article but thought it had value just blew my mind. I’ve always remembered that every time I was tempted to do a half-assed job on anything.
The stories circulating in the golf media today and probably for the next month will recount what Mr. Palmer did for golf, how many tournaments he won and how many courses he helped to design and build. Greatest ever? Let’s just all agree he should unquestionably be on the Mount Rushmore of golf.
I think the more important stories are about the lives he touched. About the children who were helped by his hospital donations. About being the gracious host at Bay Hill and Latrobe and all of the hospitality he extended to complete strangers. About never being too tired or too busy to spend time with people. That was the greatest gift he gave all of us. His time and attention. He made you feel special and that’s the best thing ever.
So, if you want to know about Mr. Palmer, forget about his giant bear-claw hands and massive Popeye forearms. Ignore the legendary victories and competitive drive. Pay no attention to the massive contributions he made to the golf business on the retail and design side. Disregard the endorsements he did and the celebrity he achieved.
Just know this about Arnold Palmer: He was kind to everyone.
That’s how I’ll remember him.
Pat Jones is editorial director and publisher of Golf Course Industry. He can be reached at pjones@gie.net or 216-393-0253.