Palmer—Born To The Links

Press, Volume CI, Issue 29907, 22 August 1962, Page 11

Palmer—Born To The Links

r THE golfer who wears the 1 crown left vacant by the semi-retirement of Ben Hogan, and who recently rounded off three days' of superb play by winning the British Open championship for the second successive years, was born to the links. The son of a professional, Arnold Palmer was playing golf at five, was breaking 100 at seven, was a caddie master at 12, could make a golf club before he knew algebra, and decided he was going to be a professional himself half-way through high school Since he turned professional soon after winning the 1954 United States amateur title, Palmer’s one aim has been to reach the top. He has said that he wants to win every open championship on the world circuit—with 24 major events being held, he still has some way to go. There is a graciousness, an acceptance of his fortune —both good and bad—an impish delight in sinking a 30-yard pitch, an entertainer's sense of fulfilment when he gains the crowd's attention and delicately chips out of a bunker to the side of the hole, that makes him welcome wherever he goes as an ambassador for golf and his country. As a child, if is said his favourite expression was “watch me, watch me’’ before he made a shot; he does not have to say it now, but Palmer gives the impression he might do so if he thought anyone was looking away. It said much for his popularity in Britain that in spite of beating Britain’s top post-war golfer, the Ryder Cup captain, D. Rees, into second place in the 1961 Open, no-one begrudged him his victory. This was probably because when he lost the Centenary Open to K. Nagle in 1960 with whom he reversed roles this year—Palmer neither then nor afterwards blamed the course, nor the crowds, nor the officials, nor his opponents, nor the weather as so many of his countrymen had done in the past. All he said was: “If you’ll have me, I’ll be back

next year. This Is one trophy I must win.’’ He was as popular in Australia in 1961 as he had been in Britain. In Sydney, he struck the worst weather for years playing in the Wills tournament and opened with an 80. He shrugged, with “It wasn’t my day,” and remained a major attraction to the end, in competition with G.

Player, P. Thomson and Nagle. He was human, too. Never golfs “best-dressed” man, he played an entire round in a white cardiganbuttoned the wrong way. Palmer flies his own plane to tournaments, is a family man with a wife and two children, has owned about 20 cars in seven years, is a lavish tipper, plays baseball and football with the local children, and still reshapes his own irons and woods. He can be as tense as any player, and will lecture the crowd on proper course behaviour, but no-one can recall seeing him throw his club or lose his temper. When he played at St. Andrews in 1960, a discerning Scot said. “He’s a great player.” His companion replied: “Aye, and he’s a warm boy.”