Arnie and His Ardent Army Keep Marching Through Time

It is an army in search of a war. It keeps going off to battle, only to be sent home before the real action starts. Its firepower is not what it once was. Neither is its general.

But that doesn’t seem to stop it. Nor deplete its numbers.

This is Arnie’s Army, that curious collection of fans that has followed Arnold Palmer around the battlegrounds of the pro golf tour for three decades. In the glory days, it routinely marched home with the spoils of victory.

But those days are long gone. It has been 15 years since Palmer won a victory on the PGA tour, three years since he even won on the Seniors Tour.

You’d think this guy would have trouble drafting a caddy at this point.

No way. The artist may not be drawing masterpieces anymore, but he still doesn’t have any trouble drawing a crowd. Arnie’s Army is alive and well, still keeping the faith.

When Palmer, now a 58-year-old grandfather, showed up the other morning at the Wood Ranch Golf Club in Simi Valley to play in a pro-am event prior to this weekend’s GTE Classic, his army was on hand, 100 strong. Even without the victories, a day on the golf course with Arnold Palmer remains a magical mystery tour.

5:30 a.m.--Palmer, scheduled to tee off at 8:33 a.m., arises in his Westlake hotel.

“The guy pole vaults out of bed around that time every morning,” says his caddy of five years, Royce Nielson. “He is the hardest working person I’ve ever met, a driven man.”

7:45 a.m.--Palmer, nattily attired in grey slacks, a light purple shirt and dark purple pullover, whistles shots across the driving range with seemingly the same force he used in winning his first Masters 30 years ago.

“If I could hit like that,” says an admiring Lou Gibson, a specialist in building and repairing golf clubs, “I could use the same club all the way around the course. When he hits the woods, they talk. Absolutely talk. He hits as long as he ever did. I could stand and watch him hit balls for hours. The way he dissects a course, it’s like watching a surgeon working.”

Palmer looks up and asks Gibson, “What do you think?”

Replies Gibson with a warm smile, “I’m going to talk to the coach about putting you in the starting lineup.”

Palmer offers back a wry smile. “At least,” he says, “my practice sessions are still good.”

8:15 a.m.--Palmer moves to the putting green. The army is starting to fall into formation. On the way over, he has signed nine autographs--everything from programs to caps to purses--and posed for four photos.

As he talks with fans, he casually taps a ball toward a hole on the green. It misses by several inches.

He looks up at Nielson and shakes his head.

“I must never do what I did just there,” Palmer says. “If you get lazy, even here, it rubs off.”

Nielson nods in agreement and replies, “Yes sir.”

9 a.m.--The pro-am event is running late. Finally it is Palmer’s turn. He walks to the first tee, stopping along the way to sign 10 more autographs and pose for two more pictures.

Upon reaching the tee, he shakes hands with the other four members of his group for the day, who have paid $1,750 each for the privilege of talking for the next 20 years about the morning they teed it up with Arnold Palmer.

Says one of the four, local real estate man Lyle Williamson: “It’s certainly the greatest thrill of my golfing career. I couldn’t sleep last night just thinking about it.”

9:15 a.m.--Shots fly in all directions over the first few holes as the four amateurs struggle with their game.

“See it all the time,” says Nielson to a reporter. “They’re all nervous when they play with him, even some of the pros.”

9:35 a.m.--One of the amateurs swings awkwardly and plunks his ball into thick underbrush.

“My father tried to tell me,” says Palmer to a reporter, “that 90% of this game is above your shoulders.”

When questioned further about his late father, Pennsylvania club pro Milford Jerome (Deke) Palmer, Arnold smiles.

“He had me playing with sawed-off clubs,” says Palmer of his father, “when I was about three. Or sooner.”

10:05 a.m.--Palmer swings his 3-wood and the ball explodes off the club head, soaring 250 yards before bouncing into a sand trap. A vintage Palmer swing.

He shakes his head. “We should have used the 1-iron,” he says to Nielson. “We’ll know better the next time.”

“I’ve never seen him refuse anybody,” Nielson says. “Or lose his patience.”

11:00 a.m.--On the eighth hole, Palmer drops his shot into a thick bush. Nielson and several tournament officials attack the bush with an arsenal of clubs and it yields eight shiny balls.

None belong to Palmer.

By the rules, he must walk back to the tee on a lost ball and start again. Or he could say one of those balls is his.

Who would know? Who would care? This is a pro-am round that doesn’t count anyway.

Palmer does neither. He plays a new ball beside the bush, then walks over to the scorekeeper and disqualifies himself from the round. He will continue to play for his fivesome, but his individual score won’t count.

11:30 a.m.--Palmer pauses after nine holes to sign 7 autographs, then signs 6 more and poses for 5 photos after playing the 10th hole.

11:59 a.m.--Palmer is busy working with one of the amateurs, lining up a putt for him.

“We were in Palm Springs for a tournament last week,” Nielson says. “After this, we go to the Bay Hill Classic in Orlando. That’s his tournament so he’ll run it, and play, and go to all the social functions. Then we go to Japan. Then on to Augusta for the Masters. And then, it’ll really get busy.

“In the five years I’ve worked for him, I’ve seen the guy just lay around at home and do nothing one afternoon. One afternoon in five years.”

12:40 p.m.--Palmer stops to sign an autograph for Pat Kreutzberg of La Habra. She and her husband Don are lifers in Arnie’s Army. They’ve been following him for two decades and plan on marching right along. Winner or not, to them he’s still the greatest.

1:05 p.m.--One of the amateurs asks Palmer if he ever tires of these pro-ams.

“I like people,” replies Palmer with a smile. “It’s a beautiful day and I can always make a good time out of it. But even if it was a bad day and you people were horrible, it’s still better than a day at the office.”

1:39 p.m.--On the 17th hole, Palmer hits a tee shot that kisses the green.

“This is the one,” he excitedly tells Nielson.

Palmer freezes in the position that he was standing, then has Nielson take his place--holding the club the same way and standing in the same spot--while he circles the caddy to study the pose.

1:48 p.m.--Palmer is talking to his amateur group as he walks down the final fairway.

“There were two things I always wanted to do,” he says, “when I was on the regular tour. I wanted to spend Saturday and Sunday with my family and I wanted to have a business I could go to from nine to 12 so that then I could go out and play golf in the afternoon. I set it up that way so I could do it when I was around 50. Then along comes the senior tour and here we go again. But I wouldn’t change it a bit.”

2 p.m.--Palmer finishes the round, shooting an unofficial 75.

He tells Nielson they will break for lunch, then head for the driving range for another hour of practice.

But first there is the army to deal with. Perhaps 100 are now beckoning for still more autographs, more photos, more small talk.

Far back in the crowd, an onlooker surveys the scene, then turns to his companion.

“Look at this,” he says. “What is it about Arnold Palmer?”