Chuck Frank
Arnold Palmer was my guy. His charisma drew me into the game of golf at an early age and he became my sports hero. When tournament scores appeared in the newspaper after each round, I would put a piece of paper at the bottom and reveal scores one by one, hoping that I wouldn’t see Palmer’s name until I reached the top.
When I was 13 or 14, I sent a letter to “Arnold Palmer, Latrobe, PA” requesting his picture. It arrived a few weeks later in a cardboard sleeve with a personal handwritten inscription. I later learned that Palmer personally responded to every request throughout his life, always signing carefully and legibly. It’s been noted that his finely tuned signature fits perfectly straight atop a ruler, and my photo affirms that. He often said that it was a privilege to sign autographs, and he wrote that autographs are “a personal experience, a memento on which you can't put a price.”
Palmer never took a dime for his autograph, and he returned money to those who sent in funds to cover postage. It’s estimated that he spent $250,000 annually to fulfill all requests.
Seeing him in person was thrilling. Back when crowd control was more relaxed, I sat cross-legged just a few feet behind Palmer on the practice range at the Western Open at Medinah Country Club in 1966.
Pros traveled with their own practice balls back then and would position their caddies to retrieve each ball. Palmer fired shot after shot that bounced one step in front of his caddie so they could be caught on the first bounce. One of my friends who was there whispered to another, “Chuck’s in a trance.” I was.
When Palmer played occasional exhibition rounds for Newsweek magazine at Skokie Country Club in Glencoe, I ditched school and hopped the fence at the sixth green to watch him. Years later, when I was a sportswriter at Suburban Trib, I was in the clubhouse at Butler National in Oak Brook covering the 1977 Western Open. Palmer dashed out of the locker room with a six-pack of his hometown Rolling Rock beer, shouting, “Who wants one?” to his follow pros. It was the perfect opportunity for me to meet my hero, but I was profoundly tongue-tied. I interviewed Orville Moody instead.
AP Enterprises estimates that Palmer signed 1,121,000 autographs in his 87 years, spanning well over 1,000 professional tournaments. His 3- and 4-hour signing sessions at home in Latrobe and Orlando are legend. No request went unanswered. Consequently, a Palmer autograph is anything but rare. But only I have his photo with the handwritten inscription “To Chuck Frank, Best Wishes, Arnold Palmer.”