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The driver turned and looked at him.
"What are you, traveling incognito?"
Faulkner didn't argue. As the cab neared the club the traffic became thicker and thicker, until Faulkner finally decided the trip wasn't worth the effort.
"Driver," he said, "let's go back to the hotel. It's just too hot today."
"What?" the driver demanded.
"Let's go back to the hotel," Faulkner said, just a bit testily.
"This is ridiculous," the driver said. "There's 15,000 people out here to see you play, and you're going to disappoint them just because it's a little hot?"
"Back to the hotel," said Faulkner, and that's where they went.
Faulkner's troubles started a few years ago, he says, "just after Palmer had been on a Sunday TV golf show. I got off a plane in Dallas, and two teen-agers asked for my autograph. 'You don't want my autograph,' I told them. 'Aren't you Arnold Palmer?' they said. I laughed and told them I wasn't. They apologized and that was all there was to it. That time. But a few weeks later I was in Dallas again, when Palmer was there for an exhibition. I went into a barber shop. There were a lot of people waiting. But as soon as a chair was vacant, the owner came over and ushered me to it. I thought the other customers were waiting for their favorite barbers, so I went ahead and sat down. A few minutes later I heard the owner whispering to another barber, 'That's Arnold Palmer.' I figured it was safest to just keep my mouth shut. When I left I gave him a pretty good tip. I didn't want him to think Arnold Palmer was a cheapskate.
"One morning I took a taxi to an airport and I was trying to read the paper on the way. The driver kept talking about how many famous people he had had in his cab. I nodded and grunted once in a while. Finally the driver got sore and said, 'I even had Roy Rogers in here once and he didn't mind telling me who he was.' I told him I was just Wendell Faulkner from Pecos, Texas. He never did believe me."