A Life Well Played

by Arnold Palmer

  Today, the Arnold Palmer Medical Center that incorporates the two hospitals is the largest facility in the U.S. dedicated to children and women. Naturally, I am very proud of my career record as a golfer, to have realized the kind of success that I dreamed of when I was just a child. But a legacy of helping children means so much more to me.

  IKE

  ON MARCH 8, 1990, I received a letter from U.S. senator Bob Dole formally requesting that I make a speech before a joint session of Congress. The occasion was the 100th birthday of the late Dwight D. Eisenhower on October 14. I’ve delivered a lot of speeches in my life, but none on so momentous an occasion or so special to me. There was pressure like I had never felt before. It was an important speech, and I couldn’t take my usual approach of simply jotting down a few reminder notes and then speaking to a crowd like I would to guys in my foursome.

  I couldn’t do that this time. I knew that my remarks would be aired on C-SPAN and preserved forever in the Congressional Record. Doc Giffin, Winnie, and I spent hours putting together a compilation of stories and memories I had of President Eisenhower. There were so many.

  I enjoyed great relationships with a number of U.S. presidents and played golf with many of them, but none of them compared to Ike, who was kind, charismatic, and unpretentious while possessing a strong presence. Before I ever met him, I had been fascinated by President Eisenhower and his distinguished military career prior to his becoming the thirty-fourth President of the United States.

  I met President Eisenhower a few months after my first Masters win in 1958 at Laurel Valley Golf Club in Ligonier, Pennsylvania, a club that I helped start and which I represented on the tour. A mutual friend, Ben Fairless, the former chairman of U.S. Steel, introduced us, and we shook hands and spoke briefly. I wouldn’t learn until a bit later that Ike was an avid golfer and was responsible for a putting green being installed on the White House grounds not far from the Oval Office.

  Some months after that meeting I received a letter from the president on his own personal stationery that really floored me. The letter read, in part, “Because of the general confusion the other day, I failed to realize when Ben Fairless introduced us that you were Arnold Palmer of 1958 Masters fame. I hope you will forgive my lack of reaction and accept, even this belatedly, my warm congratulations on your splendid victory.”

  The president, a member of Augusta National Golf Club, suggested we might try to play together there in the future, but the occasion wouldn’t materialize until after my second Masters win in 1960. A deep and meaningful friendship was born, one that I cherished increasingly in the passing years. Though I never felt more comfortable around anyone of that stature than I did around Ike, I have to admit I was still in awe of him.

  We played plenty of golf together, including his only public outing at Merion Golf Club in 1964 for the Heart Association of Southeastern Pennsylvania, and I enjoyed those times immensely, but I savored more our private conversations when we would talk about the tour or I would pepper him with questions about his military service or current events.

  Our most memorable conversations were the private ones we shared in 1966 at my home in Latrobe when he surprised me for my thirty-seventh birthday. After Winnie had kept me busy most of the morning with piddling chores, a family friend dropped by, and as we started talking about my plane, a Jet Commander, the first jet I ever owned, I noticed a plane overhead that looked a lot like mine. Turned out that it was mine, with the president inside. A few minutes later there came a knock on the front door. President Eisenhower stood in the doorway with a small overnight bag in his hand. “You wouldn’t have room to put up an old man for the night, would you?”

  I had planned to play golf that day, but this was a much more appealing option, spending the weekend with Ike. Mamie Eisenhower came in by car a little later (she had a fear of flying), and the four of us enjoyed a wonderful time together. Ike presented me with an oil painting he had done of a field and barn on his farm in Gettysburg. I still have the picture hanging in my house and consider it my most prized possession. It was a terrific present, but even more special to me was simply sitting and talking with him on a range of topics. During our talks, he ended up sharing some very private concerns he had on some weighty matters. I haven’t forgotten what he told me, but I’ve never repeated our conversation to anyone.

  I was more than happy, however—deeply honored, really—to share many other stories about President Eisenhower during my speech to Congress. I was as nervous as I had ever been when the sergeant-at-arms recognized me and I made my way to the podium. Ike had stood there many times to give his State of the Union address. It was an intimidating environment, but thinking of my friend helped me relax. I was able to get through the speech without referring to my prepared notes very often. I merely told as best I could the stories of my friendship with the president and what kind of a man he was. He truly was a great man and a great American, and I was blessed to have known him.

  I think he knew that I felt that way. I believe that that is one of the great gifts we can give to our friends—letting them know how special they are.

  GOLF AND MY GIRLS

  I ALWAYS WANTED my two daughters, Peggy and Amy, to play golf, but I never wanted to push them into it. I didn’t feel that was a healthy or helpful thing to do; Winnie and I felt they should take a natural interest in it. And they did, which pleased me tremendously. Peg was about seven and Amy five when they really started to play a little, and truth is they benefited as much or more from lessons Pap taught them than anything I tried to teach them.

  My desire for them to play golf was not so they could follow in my footsteps or their grandfather’s. I just felt it was important for them to be introduced to a game they could enjoy their whole lives and be active in a pursuit that is healthful and teaches a young person poise and confidence and patience. Golf is a clean game that can give a youngster an opportunity to discover that work and determination will produce improvement and success. You don’t need anyone else around to “compete” at it. You’re playing against yourself, really, as well as the golf course, and that also allows a youngster time to figure things out for himself or herself, to experiment, and to feel the fulfillment of hitting a few good shots all on their own ability.

  Plus, it’s a game that the whole family can enjoy together. I thought that was very important.

  The best thing a parent can do is not force their children into golf. This just hurts them and hurts whatever curiosity they might have in the game. But if they show some interest, try to provide them some opportunities for exposure, even if it’s a few holes here and there. And a few lessons would be crucial.

  But don’t coddle children and try to help them too much. Winnie and I bought the girls their own sets of clubs, but we insisted that they carry their own bags, to walk the course, and to keep their own scores accurately and honestly.

  It’s important, however, to hold off on any expectations for your children. I didn’t with mine. Winnie and Pap and I all took a reserved approach to what the girls were doing. They received a golf lesson only when they asked to have one. And they could stop when they wanted. When we were out on the course, they didn’t have to finish a hole. They could stop whenever they got tired or their hands got sore. Pushing a child to keep playing when they are tired can lead to poor swing habits, frustration, and resentment of the game.

  Over time the girls learned to play a little and developed a healthy interest in the game by following along in my gallery. And some of their children play the game, too. That’s been another source of pride. Most notably, Amy’s son, Sam, won the club championship at Bay Hill and has gone on to become a solid professional golfer on the PGA Tour, and Peggy’s son, Will, also has a lot of talent, winning the club championship at Latrobe, and plays golf at Loyola, Maryland.

  I think our whole family has had a lot of fun in the game. And I have had a wonderful time watching my family enjoy it.

  KIT

  BETTER LU
CKY THAN GOOD. So goes the saying about golfers. Well, I would have to agree, because I have been about the luckiest man who ever lived, at least when it comes to my personal life and finding not one, but two of the most wonderful women with which to share my life.

  Winnie Walzer was the absolute love of my life, and our nearly forty-five years together were nothing short of magical, starting with the first time we met. If I can claim to be smart about anything, it’s that it took me less than a week to ask Winnie to marry me, and losing her in 1999 still is a painful thought. Of course I still miss her, and I always will.

  But I thank God that in my later years I have had another terrific lady by my side. Kathleen (Kit) Gawthrop did me the honor of marrying me on January 26, 2005, at a private ceremony at Turtle Bay Resort in Kahuku, Oahu, Hawaii, where I was to play in a Champions Tour event later that week. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and there were no witnesses beyond Pastor Ron Valenciana and a cat that wandered onto our porch. My chief pilot, Pete Luster, and Cori Britt, my VP of Arnold Palmer Enterprises, who was serving as my caddie that week, joined us later for a small celebration.

  I had known Kit for decades, having met her socially when her father-in-law was part of the ownership group at Pebble Beach early in my career. Several years after I lost Winnie, Kit and I became reacquainted, and it was a very important thing for me to be able to spend time with someone close to my own age who likes the things that I like. A California native, Kit had been divorced for twenty years when we started “dating.” Once again I was smart enough to realize that she is the kind of person who is thoughtful and giving. And fun. In short, she’s a gem.

  It’s nice to be able to pick up the phone several times a day to call her and share some news with her, good or bad, and later at home to enjoy dinner or watching sports on television or just talking. Her companionship is a soothing blanket of comfort as I have slowed down—although I haven’t slowed down too much. Another great thing about Kit is her patience, as I have stayed pretty busy.

  And there is one more thing about Kit that is truly endearing, and that is her absolute acceptance of everything that already was in place in my life, including the fact that I will always miss Winnie and hold her in my heart. But I hold Kit close in my heart, too. How can you not love a woman who says that she in no way feels she lives in Winnie’s shadow, as she told one reporter not long ago. “I think it’s nice to see how Winnie is still ever-present in Arnold’s life, where she lived and the influence she had.”

  Kit has three terrific children and eight grandchildren to blend with my two daughters and six grandchildren, and we enjoy that part of our lives as well, having a big family to look after. As I write this, Kit and I are going on our eleventh year together, and it’s been a blessing having her in my life. You bet I’m lucky, and I wish for that kind of luck for everybody.

  LATROBE

  I HAVE GOTTEN THE QUESTION a lot over the years: why I choose to come back to Latrobe in the spring and stay into October, and the answer is actually quite simple. It is my home, and by that I mean that it isn’t just where I came from and where I grew up, but it’s the home that’s in my heart. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all these years, it’s this: your hometown is not where you’re from, but it’s who you are.

  You tell me a place that is nicer than Latrobe. You can’t. There isn’t another place like it. It’s perfect. That’s how I see it. Now, of course, I have my home in Florida. I love being at Bay Hill, enjoy Orlando, and during the heart of my competitive career there were practical reasons to have a place in the southern U.S. where I could work on my game and prepare for the next season. I have a lot of special associations there that are very important to me at Bay Hill, including the PGA Tour event that I host and the hospital, to which I have devoted a lot of time and energy.

  But I’ll always have Latrobe. I’ll always be from Latrobe. I look out from my home now and I can see the house I grew up in. It’s gone, but I can see it in my mind’s eye and feel the love of my mother and father and smell the air of the golf course, and that takes me back to my youth. You can’t replace that. You can’t replicate it.

  The idea of “home” for me isn’t just a single structure where I eat and sleep. It’s a total environment. It doesn’t have much in the way of luxury, but it does have what I want most: convenience. For instance, from the front door of our house, it is 100 steps to the front door of my office, just one minute down the road from Pap’s old house, two minutes to the first tee of Latrobe Country Club, and just four minutes from the airport. Literally everything I need to fill my life—golf, family, friends, and flying—is only a matter of seconds from my front door.

  Furthermore, the place is history in itself as I see it. My history. When I learned to shoot a shotgun, my father and I walked that hillside right there and shot pheasants and rabbits and squirrels, and took them down and cleaned them in the stream right over here about 200 yards away. And my mother would put them in salt water overnight, and we’d have them the next day.

  When I was about seven or eight years old, an old oak tree toppled over on the course. The trunk had rotted and honeybees had moved in. The trunk was full of honey. It was something seeing those honeycombs. Pap said to me, “Now, Arnie, we’re going to take this honey home, and give it to your mother, and we’re going to eat it. But before we do, we’ve got to get two five-pound bags of sugar. When we take the honey out, we’re going to put those two bags of sugar right there, so the bees can have their food.” So that’s what we did. My father was wise in so many ways.

  I’ve had contracts slid under my nose that were quite lucrative. Country clubs came calling, asking me to be their touring professional, but the stipulation many times was that I had to set up some kind of residence near the club. They couldn’t pay enough, and I turned them down without a moment’s hesitation or regret.

  What’s home? Home is the place you return to after losing the 1966 U.S. Open in devastating fashion and feel the love of your friends and neighbors. I attended a country club dance the week after losing that playoff to Bill Casper, and the members treated me as if I had won. Home is where I can go play eighteen holes of golf, and the only attention I’ll receive for most of that round is a wave from a friend or acquaintance.

  There’s another old tree on the golf course, just off the left side of the 18th fairway, that was turned into a sculpture of my father, an idea my brother Jerry conceived and implemented. More poignantly, when my father and mother passed away, we had their ashes spread near the 18th green. And when Winnie died in 1999, her ashes were spread on another part of the old course. You can probably guess where I will end up someday. (I once joked that I didn’t want to be buried in a cemetery because I had no interest in hanging around a bunch of dead people.)

  We all have to recognize where we are from. It’s a big part of who we are. Wherever that is, it’s important to embrace it. That’s not to say every person has to go back and live in his or her hometown. That’s not the point. The point is to take that place and the best memories of it and go forward with your life recognizing that it’s been integral to who you have become. It should be a great source of happiness. I know it is for me. And I know it’s one reason, probably the biggest, in fact, why I have always lived quite happily.

  MANNERS

  I’VE HEARD IT said by several people over the years, and PGA Tour commissioner Tim Finchem has been one of them, that my rudder is pretty well fixed and steady, and that you won’t find me deviating from some established norms and traditions that I believe in. I find this one of the nicest compliments that I could receive, because I believe it’s good to respect traditions, manners, and the finer points of social grace, because it simply makes life more pleasant for everyone.

  I believe that you really show respect for others by adhering to certain proprieties.

  As an example, I don’t find it polite for men to wear hats indoors. My father was a stickler on this, among many things he thought were importan
t, including little details like how to hold your fork or knife properly. And God forbid if you dared enter a dwelling or be in the presence of a woman and forget to remove your cap. Pap would snatch it off and take part of your scalp with it for such a transgression. You learn pretty quickly right and wrong when you have a strong figure teaching you the ropes as forcefully as Pap did. Obviously, many of those lessons stuck, because I think that’s disrespectful to wear hats indoors, and I make it a hard and fast rule that hats will be removed once a gentleman enters the clubhouse at Latrobe Country Club or at Bay Hill Club & Lodge.

  I have other expectations of my fellow man that I myself practice. I can recall meeting a young and upcoming player at my tournament at Bay Hill Club a few years ago. Tim Finchem introduced us. The young golfer was sporting a scruff of hair on his face, which I realize is considered stylish today though it’s not for me. I found him a pleasant young man, but I thought his appearance was not very professional.

  After a few minutes of light conversation, we shook hands and parted company. I made sure to tell him as he left that I expected him to be clean-shaven when I saw him out on the golf course for the first round of the tournament.

  The next day, as I was out cruising around in my golf cart watching the golf, I came across that young man. As I got a bit closer, I noticed that he was clean-shaven. It brought a smile to my face.

  On a more recent note, my business advisor, Alastair Johnston, pointed out how times change. Just last year at the British Open at the Old Course at St. Andrews, I was lingering with Alastair in the R&A clubhouse commenting on the beard David Duval was sporting and that I thought it was not becoming of an Open champion to have facial hair. Alastair wheeled his gaze around the room at the portraits of past champions like Old Tom Morris, Willie Park, and others. Of course, they had healthy facial hair. I had to laugh at the irony. But let me point out that shaving wasn’t exactly as easy or convenient then as it is today. That was the style of the day.