The four guys on the 17th tee at Olde Stonewall Golf Club are in enemy territory.
They're wearing Cleveland Browns golf shirts, here in Ellwood City, PA, a good dozen or so miles inside Steelers Country. Even though the Turnpike rivalry isn't what it used to be before Art Modell moved the Browns to Baltimore, it's still not advisable to be caught in western Pennsylvania wearing Browns insignia.
Fortunately for them, Arnold Palmer is on hand. Palmer turned 75-years-old this month, but he still knows his way around a golf course, with or without his clubs.
When Palmer, a western Pennsylvania native and Steelers' fan, jokes about not wanting to pose with the Browns foursome, one of them, straining to make a connection with a golf icon, reminds Palmer that former Steelers' coach Chuck Noll played for the Browns.
"He's history," says Palmer. "He's a nice guy, but he's history."
If there's anyone who knows about history, it's Arnold Palmer.
Palmer is golf's greatest legend, not because of his tour victories -- Jack Nicklaus had more -- or his major wins -- both Nicklaus and Woods are ahead of him on that list. It's because he single-handedly made golf a mass-market sport.
Willie Mays once said that, every time he opened his wallet, he sees Jackie Robinson's face on all the bills. Using that logic, Tiger Woods should see Arnold Palmer's face on every bank statement.
When Palmer was tearing up the PGA circuit, he took home about $400,000 in winnings during a three-year span from 1960 to 1962 in which he won the Masters twice, the British Open twice, and the U.S. Open once.
Admittedly, those were some pretty fair paydays in an era in which the average American earned less than $5,000 a year, but Stuart Appleby took home $1.06 million for winning the season-opening 2004 Mercedes Championship.
As golf's first mass-market superstar, Palmer set the stage for golf tour in which an Appleby can make twice as much in one weekend as Palmer himself did in one of the most dominant three-year stretches by any professional in golf history.
Part of the reason for that was Palmer's talent, which has been diminished by age -- even though he has shot his age 10 times. Part of the reason was Palmer's ability to connect with fans, which is as evident as ever.
On this particular day, Palmer is making his first trip ever to Olde Stonewall, regarded as one of the best public golf courses in the United States, for a charity golf outing, sponsored by an auto-parts retailer, to benefit the Juvenile Diabetes Association.
And even 40 years after his last major tournament victory, Arnie's Army is still meeting recruiting quotas. As with the Cleveland foursome, people who meet Palmer feel the need to make a connection with him.
As one golfer mentions a friend who is a member at a club in New York state where Palmer is an associate member, he smiles and sincerely chats with the guy about a third guy Palmer probably barely knows as if the two men have a mutual friend.
As I introduce myself to him, I mention that I grew up about 20 miles -- and 35 years -- from Palmer's hometown of Latrobe, PA.
"That's a good place to be from," he says.
Palmer isn't supposed to be golfing on this day, but one of his companions pulls a bag of Callaway clubs off the helicopter.
"I just brought these to horse around with," he said.
That's a little like Monet horsing around with a bundle of brushes and a pallet.
Palmer manages to be self-effacing, even with mock braggadocio. Standing at Olde Stonewall's driving range, he pulls out an oversized driver and cracks, "This range might not be long enough."
Forty years ago, it might not have been. He drills a couple of balls right down the middle just short of the range's deepest green.
"The West Penn amateurs are in trouble," said one observer, referring to an upcoming team event pitting regional amateurs and PGA pros, as the first of Palmer's driver shots rises toward the range's outer limits.
"Not from me they're not," quipped Palmer, as the ball dropped into a bunker in front of the range green.
A few minutes later, he's in a cart, doing what he Olde Stonewall for -- meeting and greeting golfers who paid a lot of money (greens fees at the course are $135 in-season) to benefit the Juvenile Diabetes Association.
In a variation on Rudyard Kipling's standard for manhood -- to walk with kings, yet never lose the common touch -- from the poem "If," Palmer appears to be as much at ease with a succession of auto parts store managers as he probably was with any of the nine U.S. Presidents, starting with Eisenhower, that he has golfed with.
"It's a combination of a lot of things," he says about his ability to connect with people. "Enjoying it, for one thing. It's something I've done all my life and I like being with people."
And even though Palmer is at a point in his life where he sees a lot more in his rear-view mirror than he does out his front windshield, people -- even those who weren't even born during his glory years -- still like being with him.
Eric Poole interviewed Arnold Palmer while on assignment for the Ellwood City Ledger.
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