Arnold Palmer: The Life Story Behind Golf's King

Arnold Palmer was the golfer who made ordinary people fall in love with golf. Before him, the game had a reputation for being quiet, slow, and closed off, a pastime for rich men in private clubs who spoke in low voices and dressed in a certain way. Palmer changed all of that without ever setting out to change anything. He simply played the game the way he had learned it in a small town in Pennsylvania, with a hard swing, a brave heart, and a smile for the people watching, and the people watching saw themselves in him. He was not a perfect golfer. He missed shots that a careful player would never have tried. But he tried them anyway, and when they came off, the crowd roared, and when they did not, the crowd loved him even more for trying.

He was born in Latrobe, a steel town in western Pennsylvania, and he grew up on a golf course in the most literal sense. His father worked at Latrobe Country Club, and young Arnold spent his childhood there, watching, learning, and hitting balls until his hands were sore. He did not come from money, and he did not come from a famous family. He came from work, and from a father who believed that a golf course should be kept well and played honestly. That beginning stayed with him for his whole life, and it is the reason so many people felt that he was one of them, even after he became rich and famous.

What Palmer gave to golf was not only his wins, although there were many of them, including seven major championships and four Masters titles. What he gave was an audience. When television came to golf in the late 1950s, Palmer was the player the cameras loved, because he played with feeling, and feeling is what television shows best. The crowds that followed him became known as Arnie’s Army, and they were the first great fan army in golf. They did not just watch him. They walked with him, they cheered him, and they made the game feel like a living thing rather than a quiet ceremony.

A Steel Town Boy Raised on a Golf Course

Arnold Daniel Palmer was born on 10 September 1929 in Latrobe, Pennsylvania. His father, Milfred Palmer, known to everyone as Deacon, was the head professional and greenskeeper at Latrobe Country Club, and his mother, Doris, kept the family home. The family did not have much money, and Arnold grew up understanding the value of work. He watched his father tend the course in the early morning, cutting grass, repairing greens, and making sure the place was ready for the members, and he learned that a golf course is not a natural thing. It is a place that someone has built and cared for, day after day, and a golfer owes it respect.

He started playing golf almost as soon as he could walk, and his father taught him the game in a simple and direct way. Deacon Palmer did not fill his son’s head with complicated theories. He taught him to grip the club, to swing hard, and to think about the shot in front of him. Arnold took to the game at once, and by the time he was a teenager he was already the best young player in the area. He won the Pennsylvania State Amateur title, and he won it again, and people in Latrobe began to say that the Palmer boy might go further than anyone from their town had ever gone.

School was never his great love, and golf was always pulling him away from his books, but he went on to Wake Forest College in North Carolina on a golf scholarship. He played well there, and he made friends who would stay with him for life, but his time at college was cut short by sadness. His best friend, Bud Worsham, was killed in a car accident, and Palmer was shaken by the loss. He left college, and for a time he did not know what his life would be. He joined the United States Coast Guard, and he served for three years, and it was during that time that he began to think seriously about golf again, not as a hobby, but as a life.

The Coast Guard years gave him something he needed. They gave him time, and they gave him discipline, and they gave him a chance to grow up away from the course where he had spent his childhood. When he came back, he was a young man with a clearer mind and a stronger will, and he decided to try to make a living as a professional golfer. It was a brave decision, because professional golf in the early 1950s did not pay well, and most players lived a hard life on the road, driving from town to town and sleeping in cheap rooms. Palmer did not mind the hard life. He had grown up in a working town, and hard work did not frighten him.

The 1958 Masters and the Birth of Arnie’s Army

Palmer turned professional in 1954, and he won his first tournament, the Canadian Open, in 1955. It was a good start, but it was not yet greatness. Greatness came in April 1958, at the Masters in Augusta, Georgia, in a final round that is still talked about today. Palmer was in a close fight with the field, and on the twelfth hole he hit his ball into a difficult spot, and there was an argument about the rules and whether his ball was buried in its own mark. He played two balls, one under each reading of the rules, and he made a par with one of them, and the ruling went his way, and he went on to win by one shot.

It was a strange and dramatic way to win a first major, and it suited Palmer perfectly, because his career would be full of drama. He won the Masters again in 1960, in a finish that showed his courage at its best. He birdied the last two holes to beat Ken Venturi by one shot, and the crowd at Augusta, which had already taken him to its heart, roared as if they had won the tournament themselves. He won the Masters again in 1962 and in 1964, and by then he was the most popular golfer in the world, and Augusta was his second home.

The crowds that followed him were unlike anything golf had seen. They were large, they were loud, and they were loyal, and they came from all walks of life. Working men loved him because he had come from a working town. Young people loved him because he played with spirit. Women loved him because he was handsome and warm and polite. The press gave the crowd a name, Arnie’s Army, and the name stuck, and it became a badge of honour for the people who walked the fairways behind him. Palmer never took that love for granted. He signed autographs for hours, he shook hands, he looked people in the eye, and he remembered names. It was not an act. It was who he was.

Television helped, and Palmer helped television. In the late 1950s, golf was still new on television, and many people thought it would be boring to watch. Palmer proved them wrong, because his golf was never boring. He hit the ball hard, he went for shots other men would not try, and his face showed everything he felt. When he was happy, you saw it. When he was angry, you saw it. When he was nervous, you saw it. Viewers at home felt as if they knew him, and they did know him, in the way that you know a person you have watched for years. He was the first golfer to become a television star, and he opened the door for every golfer who came after him.

The 1960 Open and a Comeback for the Ages

In 1960, Palmer won the United States Open at Cherry Hills in Colorado in one of the greatest final rounds ever played. He began the last day seven shots behind the leader, Mike Souchak, and most people thought the tournament was over. Palmer thought otherwise. He drove to the first tee and told the writers that he might shoot a 65, and then he went out and did almost exactly that, making birdies and eagles and charging through the field. He finished with a score of 65, and he won the title by two shots, and the comeback became part of golf legend.

The 1960 season was the best of his life. He won the Masters in April, he won the United States Open in June, and he went to St Andrews in Scotland for the Open Championship in July with a chance to win a third major in one year. He did not win at St Andrews. He finished second to Kel Nagle, an Australian golfer, by one shot, and the disappointment was real. But something else happened that week that mattered more than the result. Palmer fell in love with the Open Championship, and with the old courses of Scotland, and he told the world that he would be back. His words brought new life to the Open, and American golfers began to travel to Britain again in larger numbers, because Palmer had shown them that the old championship was worth the journey.

He won the Open Championship the next year, in 1961 at Royal Birkdale, and he won it again in 1962 at Royal Troon. Those wins made him a hero in Britain as well as in America, and they showed that his game could travel. The links courses of Scotland and England are very different from the parkland courses of America. They are windy, they are firm, they are full of strange bounces, and they demand imagination. Palmer had imagination, and he had courage, and he won on them because he was willing to play the shots the course demanded, even when they looked strange.

By the middle of the 1960s, Palmer had won seven major championships, and he had won more than sixty tournaments in total on the PGA Tour. He was rich, he was famous, and he was the face of golf. But the game was changing, and a new generation was coming. Jack Nicklaus, the young man from Ohio, was winning majors, and Gary Player, the small, tough South African, was winning them too. Palmer was still a great player, but he was no longer the best player, and that was a hard thing for a man who loved to win.

The Drink, the Businessman, and the Later Wins

Palmer was also a businessman, and he was one of the first golfers to understand that a famous name could be a business in itself. He signed deals with companies, he lent his name to products, and he built a business empire that included golf courses, clothing, and equipment. He was not a man who sat back and let other people run his affairs. He took an interest, he asked questions, and he made decisions, and he did well out of it. He was also the co-founder of the Golf Channel, a television channel devoted entirely to golf, which began broadcasting in 1995 and changed the way fans watched the game.

One small part of his business life became famous in a different way. Palmer liked to drink a mix of iced tea and lemonade, and he ordered it so often that bartenders and waiters began to call it an Arnold Palmer. The name stuck, and the drink became popular all over America, and then all over the world. It is a strange kind of fame, to have a drink named after you, but it suits Palmer, because the drink is simple, honest, and refreshing, and so was the man. He never seemed to mind sharing his name with a glass of iced tea and lemonade. He seemed rather pleased by it.

On the course, his wins became less frequent in the late 1960s and 1970s, but he kept playing, and he kept competing, and he won his last PGA Tour event in 1973 at the Bob Hope Desert Classic. He was forty-three years old, and it was a win that meant a great deal to him, because it proved he could still beat the young men. He went on to play on the senior tour, where he won a number of events, and he remained a beloved figure at every tournament he entered. People did not come to see him because they thought he would win. They came to see him because he was Arnold Palmer, and that was reason enough.

He also kept his ties to Latrobe, and to the course where he had grown up. He bought Latrobe Country Club, and he kept it as a place for his family and his friends, and he never forgot where he had come from. He was a rich man, but he did not act like a rich man in the cold sense. He acted like a man from a small town who had done well and wanted to share what he had. That is why people loved him, and why they still love him now.

Bay Hill, Augusta, and the King in Old Age

In 1974, Palmer bought Bay Hill Club and Lodge in Orlando, Florida, and it became his winter home and his base. The Bay Hill tournament, which he hosted, became one of the most popular events on the tour, and it still bears his name today. Players loved to go to Bay Hill, because Palmer was there, and because he treated them well, and because the course was a fair test. Fans loved it too, because they could see the King in his own kingdom, walking the fairways he knew so well.

At Augusta, he remained a beloved figure for the rest of his life. He played in the Masters for fifty years, from his first appearance in 1955 to his last in 2004, and he was the honorary starter at the tournament for many years after that, hitting the first tee shot on Thursday morning alongside Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player. The three men, who had once been rivals, stood together as old friends, and the sight of them moved everyone who saw it. It was the end of an era, and everyone knew it, but it was a happy ending, not a sad one, because the three men were still there, still smiling, still part of the game.

Palmer’s first wife, Winnie, whom he married in 1954, died in 1999, and her death was a great sadness for him. They had been married for forty-five years, and they had two daughters, Peggy and Amy, and they had built a life together that was the foundation of everything he did. He married again, in 2005, to Kathleen Gawthrop, known as Kit, and he found happiness again in his later years. He spoke about Winnie with love for the rest of his life, and he never pretended that her loss was easy. It was a part of his story that showed his human side, the side that had nothing to do with golf.

He also built a hospital for children in Orlando, the Arnold Palmer Hospital for Children, which opened in 1989 and has helped a great many families. It was a project that mattered deeply to him, and he gave it his name, his time, and his money. He believed that a person who had been given much should give much back, and he lived by that belief in a practical way, not just in words. The hospital is still there, still helping children, and it is one of the finest things he ever did.

Death in 2016 and a Game That Stopped to Remember

Arnold Palmer died on 25 September 2016 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, at the age of eighty-seven. He had been in hospital for heart tests, and his death was not a shock in the medical sense, but it was a shock to the world of golf, because he had seemed like a permanent part of the game, a man who would always be there. The news spread quickly, and the tributes came from everywhere, from golfers, from fans, from people who had never played golf but knew his name.

The Ryder Cup was played the week after his death, and the American team honoured him in many ways, wearing his logo, carrying his memory, and playing with a spirit that Palmer would have loved. The United States team won the Ryder Cup that year, and many of the players said afterwards that they had played for Palmer, and that his memory had inspired them. It was a fitting tribute, because the Ryder Cup is a team event, and Palmer had always believed in the power of a team and a crowd.

At the Masters the following April, the tournament honoured him with a ceremony, and the golf world stood still for a moment to remember the man who had made the game what it is. His chair at Augusta was left empty in a way that everyone understood. The King was gone, but the kingdom he had built was still there, and it was full of people who loved the game because he had loved it first.

His legacy is not only in the record books, although the record books are impressive. Seven majors, sixty-two PGA Tour wins, and a place in the World Golf Hall of Fame are fine achievements, but they are not the whole story. His real legacy is the crowd, the television audience, the young people who took up golf because they saw a man from a small town play with joy and courage. He made golf a game for everyone, and that is a greater achievement than any trophy.

What Palmer Gave to Golf That No One Else Could

Palmer gave golf its heart. Other players gave it records, and other players gave it skill, but Palmer gave it a human face. He showed that a golfer could be warm, open, and honest, and that the crowd could be part of the game rather than a silent witness to it. He signed autographs until his hand ached, he spoke to fans as if they mattered, and he never forgot that the people who paid to watch him were the reason he could make a living from the game.

He also gave golf its modern business. He was the first golfer to build a real business around his name, and he showed other players that they did not have to be poor after they stopped playing. He invested, he planned, and he built things that lasted, from golf courses to a television channel to a children’s hospital. He was a working man who became a businessman without losing his working man’s values, and that is a rare thing.

Above all, he gave golf its popularity. When he started, golf was a minority sport in America. When he finished, it was a major sport, watched by millions, played by millions, and loved by millions. That change did not happen by accident. It happened because a man from Latrobe, Pennsylvania, played the game with all his heart, in front of a camera, and the people watching saw something they wanted to be part of. That is the story of Arnold Palmer, and it is a story that will be told for as long as golf is played.

My Take:

I think Arnold Palmer is the golfer I would most like to have met, and I say that knowing that Jack Nicklaus won more majors and that Tiger Woods won more tournaments. Palmer is the one I would like to have met because he seems like a man who would have had time for you. He would have shaken your hand, he would have looked you in the eye, and he would have asked you about yourself. Nicklaus would have been polite, and Woods would have been polite, but Palmer would have been warm, and warmth is a rare thing in a famous person. I have met famous people in my life, and the ones I remember are the warm ones, the ones who made me feel like a person rather than a fan. Palmer was that kind of man, and the whole world seemed to know it.

What I admire most about him is that he never pretended to be something he was not. He was a working-class boy from a steel town, and he stayed a working-class boy in his heart, even when he became rich. He did not put on airs. He did not speak in a fancy way. He did not hide where he came from. He was proud of Latrobe, and proud of his father, and proud of the course where he had grown up, and he talked about those things for his whole life. I think that is a brave thing to do, because the world often tells successful people to forget where they came from, to dress differently, to speak differently, to become someone else. Palmer refused, and the world loved him for it.

I also think about his golf, and about the way he played. He was not a careful golfer. He was a brave golfer, and sometimes his bravery cost him tournaments. He went for shots that other men would not have tried, and sometimes those shots ended in trouble. I admire that, because it takes courage to play that way in front of a crowd. It is easy to play safe. It is hard to play brave. Palmer played brave, and when it worked, it was beautiful to watch, and when it did not work, it was still beautiful in a different way, because it showed a man who was willing to risk something. I think we all need a little of that bravery in our own lives. We play too safe, too often, and we miss the chance to do something wonderful.

The story of the 1960 United States Open moves me every time I think about it. He was seven shots behind, and he told the writers he might shoot a 65, and then he went out and shot a 65, and he won. That is not just a golf story. It is a story about belief. He believed he could do it, and he said so out loud, and then he did it. Most of us are afraid to say what we believe out loud, because we are afraid of looking foolish if we fail. Palmer was not afraid. He said it, and he did it, and even if he had failed, I think he would have been glad he had tried. That is a lesson I want to remember: say what you hope to do, and then go and try to do it, and do not be ashamed if you fall short.

I also want to say something about Arnie’s Army, because I think it is one of the most beautiful ideas in sport. A crowd is usually a faceless thing, a mass of people who watch and go home. Palmer’s crowd had a name, and they had a feeling of belonging. They were not just watching a golfer. They were part of something. They walked with him, they cheered him, and they felt that his wins were their wins. I think that is what sport should be. It should bring people together, and it should give them a feeling of belonging, and Palmer understood that better than any golfer before him or since. He did not just play for himself. He played for the people who walked behind him, and they knew it.

His business life interests me too, but not because I care about money. It interests me because he showed that a sports star can be more than a sports star. He built a hospital for children. He built golf courses. He helped start a television channel. He did not just spend his money. He used it to build things that helped other people. I think that is the right way to use success. Success is not only for yourself. It is for the people around you, and for the people who will come after you. Palmer understood that, and he lived it, and the hospital in Orlando is proof of it. A trophy sits on a shelf. A hospital saves lives.

I think about his death, too, and about the way the golf world stopped to remember him. It is a strange thing to think about a person’s death, but I think it matters, because the way people remember you tells you what your life meant. When Palmer died, the tributes were not only about his golf. They were about his kindness, his warmth, his manners, and his generosity. People remembered the autographs, the handshakes, the smile, and the time he took for them. That is a better legacy than any record, and it is one that I hope to live up to in my own small way. I want people to remember me for being kind, not for being clever.

If I am honest, I do not think Palmer was the greatest golfer who ever lived. Nicklaus won more majors, and Woods won more tournaments, and that is a fact. But I think Palmer was the most important golfer who ever lived, because without him, golf might still be a small, quiet game for a few people. He made it big. He made it popular. He made it loved. That is a different kind of greatness, and it is a greatness that does not show up in a list of wins. It shows up in the number of people who play the game, and watch the game, and love the game, because a man from Latrobe showed them how.

I also learn from him that it is all right to be emotional. He showed his feelings on the course, and he showed them off the course too. He was happy when he won, and he was sad when he lost, and he did not hide it. In a world that often tells men to hide their feelings, Palmer did not hide his, and people loved him for it. I think that is a good lesson for a young man, or for any person: your feelings are not a weakness. They are part of who you are, and showing them honestly is a form of courage.

His marriage to Winnie, and her death, also stay in my mind. They were married for forty-five years, and he loved her deeply, and her loss hurt him for the rest of his life. He did not pretend otherwise. He spoke about her with love, and he kept her memory alive, and he found happiness again with Kit, but he never forgot Winnie. I think that is a true and honest way to live. You can love again, and you can be happy again, and still remember the person you lost. Those things are not in conflict. They are part of a full life.

In the end, I think Arnold Palmer’s story is a story about joy. He played golf with joy, he lived with joy, and he shared his joy with the people around him. He was not a perfect man, and he was not a perfect golfer, but he was a joyful one, and joy is a rare and precious thing. I hope that when people think of him, they think of that joy, and that they try to carry a little of it into their own lives. The King is gone, but the joy he gave to golf is still there, in every crowd that cheers, in every young person who picks up a club, and in every glass of iced tea and lemonade that bears his name.

I will finish by saying this: if you have never watched Arnold Palmer play, find a film of him and watch it. Watch the way he swings, hard and free. Watch the way he walks, fast and eager. Watch the way he smiles at the crowd. You will understand in a few minutes what I have tried to say in many words. He was a man who loved a game, and a game that loved him back, and that is a happy story, and it is one worth telling again and again.

I keep thinking about his father, Deacon, and about the way a parent’s work can shape a child’s life without the child ever noticing it at the time. Deacon Palmer was a greenskeeper and a club professional, a man who rose early, who cut grass, who repaired greens, and who taught his son to grip a club and swing hard. He did not give Arnold money, or fame, or a famous name. He gave him a work ethic, and a love of a golf course, and a belief that honest work matters. Those are better gifts than money, and they lasted longer, and they carried Arnold further than any amount of money could have done. I think about my own parents, and about what they gave me, and I am grateful, because the best gifts are often the ones you cannot see, until many years later, when you realise how much they shaped you.

There is another part of his story that I want to hold on to, and it is the way he treated people who were not famous. He signed autographs for hours, he shook hands with strangers, he looked people in the eye, and he remembered their names. That sounds like a small thing, and it is a small thing, but it is also a large thing, because most famous people do not do it. They rush past, they look away, they pretend not to see. Palmer saw people, and he let them see him, and that made them feel that they mattered. I think we all want to feel that we matter, and a famous man who makes you feel that way has given you a gift that costs him nothing and means a great deal to you. I want to be that kind of person, in my own small way, to the people I meet.

I also think about the Bay Hill tournament, and about the way Palmer built a place of his own in Florida, a club, a lodge, and a tournament that still bears his name. He did not just play golf. He built things, and he built them to last, and he built them so that other people could enjoy them. That is a different kind of success from winning a tournament. A tournament win is yours, and it is over in a week. A golf club, a hospital, a television channel, those things last, and they help other people, long after you are gone. Palmer understood that, and he built, and the things he built are still there, still helping, still welcoming people, and that is a fine legacy for a man from a small town in Pennsylvania.

Finally, I think about the drink that bears his name, the iced tea and lemonade, and I smile, because it is such a simple and happy thing. A man can win seven majors, and build a hospital, and change a sport, and still be remembered by millions of people for a glass of iced tea. That is not a small thing. It is a sign that he touched ordinary life, in an ordinary way, and that ordinary people loved him for it. I hope that when people think of Arnold Palmer, they think of that drink, and they smile, and they remember a man who was warm, and honest, and joyful, and who made golf a game for everyone. That is enough, and it is more than enough, and it is a story I will keep telling.

Frequently Asked Questions

Where did Arnold Palmer grow up and who taught him golf?

Arnold Palmer grew up in Latrobe, Pennsylvania, where his father Deacon was the head professional and greenskeeper at Latrobe Country Club. He learned the game on that course as a small boy, watching his father work and practising for hours, and he later played at Wake Forest College before serving in the Coast Guard.

How many times did Arnold Palmer win the Masters?

He won the Masters four times, in 1958, 1960, 1962, and 1964, and he played in the tournament for fifty years, from 1955 to 2004. His first win in 1958, after a famous rules dispute on the twelfth hole, made him a star, and Augusta remained his favourite place for the rest of his life.

What is Arnie’s Army?

Arnie’s Army was the name given to the large, loyal crowds that followed Arnold Palmer at tournaments, walking the fairways behind him and cheering him on. It was the first great fan following in golf, and it showed how much ordinary people loved Palmer and his brave, attacking style of play.

What is the Arnold Palmer drink?

The Arnold Palmer is a drink made from iced tea mixed with lemonade, which Palmer ordered so often that it became known by his name. It is now sold in bottles and cans all over America and in many other countries, and it remains one of the most famous drinks named after a sports star.

When did Arnold Palmer die and how old was he?

Arnold Palmer died on 25 September 2016 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, at the age of eighty-seven, after being admitted to hospital for heart tests. The golf world honoured him at the Ryder Cup that week and at the Masters the following April.

What charity work did Arnold Palmer do?

He helped found the Arnold Palmer Hospital for Children in Orlando, Florida, which opened in 1989 and has helped many thousands of families. He also supported the Bay Hill tournament and other golf charities, and he believed strongly that a successful person should give back to the community.