"Ah, good, says Palmer. Are the TV cameras in focus? Swell. Flick the cigarette. Hitch the pants. And there goes a sixty-foot chip, uphill, downhill, and in for a birdie deuce. On to 17. Flick. Hitch. Hitch again. And down goes a six-foot birdie putt. Play-off. Which, of course, he wins..."
Arnold Palmer was one of those names that everybody knew, even people who didn't care about golf or thought the only thing more boring than golf on TV was golf on the radio. He was a quintessentially American figure, the Everyman with one special talent who never forgot where he came from. America loved him for it, and good old Arnie persevered as a neighborly, low-key icon throughout the years, impervious to trends, fads, fashion, and golfers who, though better players than he, never captured the hearts and minds of people in the same manner. Good show, Arnold Palmer. You'll be missed.
Dan Jenkins, whose piece on the 1962 Masters we quoted above, writes better than just about anyone. He shares his memories of Arnie here:
http://www.golfdigest.com/story/dan-jenkins-savors-his-moments-with-arnold
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