"Well, we only got a complaint on yours. A lady called in and said she knew her rights. Are you here at the university?"
"No. I'm playing in the golf tournament."
"Just for the record, what's your name?"
" Jack Nicklaus, but where can I park the car?"
"Hey, I've heard of you. Come with me and I'll fix it up." So we drove to the front of the arena, he removed a no-parking sign from directly in front of the main door and I parked there.
At half time I was asked to do a radio interview. During the course of it I explained a tip that Arnold Palmer had given me the year before in New Orleans. After a long layoff, he said, it is often better to chip with your putter instead of a lofted club. A bad putt is usually at least as good as a good chip, because you can almost always get the ball within six feet of the hole with a putter. Not always with something else, however. This started me thinking about how funny golf is in that respect—meaning, how we all like to help each other out. It is as if we wanted the whole breed to improve, not just ourselves. For instance, if I see something wrong with another player's game, and I think he won't jump down my throat for saying something about it, I will always point it out. Likewise, I appreciate others pointing things out to me. Very often you will give a golfer a tip that saves him the stroke that just beats you out of a tournament. This happens quite a bit, but even then you feel a certain amount of pride that it was you who helped him to win. Golf is a gentleman's game, all right. Maybe that is why it has gained so much popularity, why so much money can now be put up for tournaments.
I played another good round the next day, a 68, and tied for 12th. Arnold invited me to fly down with him to Palm Springs in his plane, an Aero Commander 560F that has seats for the pilot and copilot up front, four seats just behind the pilot's cabin and a bar. Very nice. I had played early. Arnold had played late, being among the leaders, and I drove by his gallery on the 17th hole as I was leaving the course. All of a sudden, there was Winnie Palmer tapping at the window of my car.
"Are you going to fly down with us?" she asked.
"Yes, but that's tomorrow."
"No. We are going to leave right after Arnold's finished. He thinks the weather might close down."