A Kid's View of Arnie and Jack
Thursday September 13, 2012 2:25pm

I grew up in Louisiana, and my dad got me started playing golf when I was 12 or 13 years old.  We would watch golf on TV, and I was a big Arnold Palmer fan – a dyed-in-the-wool member of Arnie’s Army.  I didn’t like Jack Nicklaus because he threatened Arnie’s top billing.  Gary Player was OK because he was small (like me), and I thought his Black Knight persona was pretty cool.  Plus he had that funny accent.

Back then, the PGA Tour played an event called the Louisiana Open in Lake Charles.  My dad and I would get up at 4am to make the 3-hour drive from Baton Rouge to watch the pros.  Even though the tournament was held in November, which could be very cold in the mornings, it always attracted a pretty good field – Palmer, Nicklaus, Billy Casper, Julius Boros, Mike Souchak, Charlie Sifford, Cary Middlecoff, Doug Sanders (with the colored shoes!), Tommy Bolt, Gene “The Machine” Littler – guys who were big names back then but probably unknown to a lot of you today.

The second time we went, Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer were paired together with a very early tee time.  It was bitter cold.  Arnie was wearing one of those funny fur caps with flaps over the ears and winter gloves.  I remember him asking Jack, as they walked down the first fairway, “Jeez, Jack, don’t you have any gloves? It’s cold out here.”  Jack laughed and said both of them should be used to cold weather golf since they grew up in Pennsylvania and Ohio.  Despite the rumor of bad blood between them over the years, they seemed to enjoy each other’s company that morning, chatting throughout the round.

In those days, the crowds were small, no ropes and very few officials, so you could literally walk along right beside the players.  They would make eye contact, say hello and even chat briefly with the fans while waiting to hit.  As a new golfer and timid 14-year-old kid, I was pretty much in awe of all these famous guys who were literally standing right next to me.

On a par 4 late in the front nine, Jack hit a huge drive.  Even Arnie commented on it.  I asked my dad how far he thought it went, and dad suggested I ask Jack.  Terrified, I eased over to Jack while we were walking down the fairway and asked, “Mr. Nicklaus, can I ask you a question?”  “Sure,” he answered.  Emboldened, I pressed on, “How far do you think you hit that drive?”  He looked at me with a little smile and said, “About 300 yards, fella. Walk with me and I’ll give you the exact number when we get to the ball.”  Could you believe it?  Walking and talking with Jack Nicklaus, even though I was a card-carrying member of Arnie’s Army.

When we got to the ball, he conferred with his caddy and turned to me, “We make it 310 yards off the tee. I’ve got around 125 to the pin.”  I thanked him and scurried back to the less nerve-racking world next to dad.  Not helping at all, dad teased me by reminding me that I was supposed to be an Arnie fan.  What was I supposed to do?

On the back nine, I finally got enough courage to get near Arnie.  He smiled at me a couple of times, supplying just enough fortitude for me to edge a little closer and smile back.  Out of nowhere, he asked, “You here with your dad?”  “Yes,” I answered.  “That him over there?”  “Yes,” again.  “Weren’t you two here when we teed off this morning?”  “Yes,” a third time.  “Do you play golf?”  “Yes,” (by now, he must think I’m a total moron who can’t even make a sentence).  Finally, the volcano erupted, “Mr. Palmer, you’re my favorite golfer and I’m in Arnie’s Army and I wanted you to know that you’re my favorite even though I was talking to Mr. Nicklaus.”

Little did I know that Jack was only a few steps behind me.  He burst out laughing and Arnie, with that famous twinkle in his eye, chuckled and looked at Jack.  “You see, Jack, I’ve still got all the fans on my side.”  Jack put his arm on Arnie’s shoulder while they were walking, and Arnie looked at me and said, “Keep playing golf, kid, and keep playing with your dad. There’ll come a time when he won’t be around, and you’ll treasure every round you ever played with him.”

How true he was.  My dad and I played golf together regularly for decades until he had a debilitating stroke around 12 years ago.  He died 5 years later.  Every time I play, I think about all those wonderful rounds when we smoked cigars, cussed and traded mountains of trash talk.  When I see young people playing with their parents, I always tell them what Arnie told me.  And even though I’m not Arnold Palmer, maybe a couple of them will remember.

Flint the GM