#MIDDLEBURY
By Mark Vasto
The 1960s era loved majesty. The Kennedy White House was dubbed “Camelot” by the press, Johnny Carson had started his 30-year reign on late-night television, and golf had its very own “king,” Arnold Palmer.
Palmer came from humble beginnings. After his birth in the steel town of Youngstown, Ohio, his family migrated to Latrobe, Pa. It was there, at the Latrobe Country Club, that he began his apprenticeship under the watchful guidance of his father, the club’s groundskeeper turned club pro. He did not immediately seize the crown, opting instead for a college golf scholarship at Wake Forest.
And he didn’t have to seize the crown; the advent of sports television programming coronated him right from the start. He was a lock for the role. Palmer was handsome, well-dressed, athletic, humble yet friendly, instantly personable and giving of his time and attention with just about anyone he held court with.
And he was golf’s first true modern-day type of superstar. He was the first golfer to sign with an international agent, the game’s first millionaire, the game’s most familiar face. In 1962, the year he won his third of four Masters, he graced more front-page magazine covers than Jim Beatty and Wilt Chamberlain, the guys who broke the four-minute mile and scored 100 points in a basketball game, respectively. James Bond even name checks him in “Goldfinger.”
Palmer’s reign was undisputed between the years of 1960-63, when he won 29 tournaments. Though guys like Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player soon would take over the trophy cases, they never took away his mantle as the game’s most popular player, which lasted well into the next century.
He was a king who had many clubs. He was a Freemason. He owned 10,000 golf clubs, but was known best for the Dyna-powered Fluid Field Wilson one-iron that he famously wielded, a club that most people leave out of their bags and their lives, for that matter. He bought his father’s club in Latrobe and designed 200 other golf courses of his own.
He was a king who had his own army. Throngs of fans, “Arnie’s Army,” traipsed after their hero, hole after hole. He was a man of the people. It has been said that he lost more than a few championships on the last hole by losing concentration after saying hello to an old friend in the gallery. And he was a benevolent king, signing his full name on autographs, lending his name to charities and benefits the world over. He has a delicious beverage named after him. No other golfer, no other athlete (unless you count Shirley Temple’s tap dancing as a sport), has that honor. You go into a bar and try to order a Sam Snead or Ben Hogan, and see what you get in return.
Louis L’amour once said, “Because a man plays a king superbly well does not mean that he would make a good king.” Well, Arnold Palmer wasn’t a good king – he was a great king, and it’s very sad to see him go. Long live the king.
Mark Vasto is a veteran sportswriter who lives in New Jersey.
(c) 2016 King Features Synd., Inc.
