Palmer had round of 72 that day. But no doubt who is who. Crowd grins and rocks back and forth, delighted with exchange.
Palmer goes over and looks in Fleckman's bag. Hefts some irons. Palmer impressed by weight of Fleckman's irons. "How you swing these things?" he asks.
Fleckman makes a noncommittal murmur.
Palmer: "Well, you're young and strong...and healthy."
Fleckman: "...but not wealthy."
Palmer: "Haw! Haw! Haw!"
Crowd delighted. Everyone stares at Palmer to see if he has answer for Fleckman's quip. Palmer: "Haw! Haw! Haw!"
My notes from the practice range ended at this point. Palmer was done with his practice. He motioned Blair in and, turning, he hitched at his trousers in a quick, characteristic gesture and stepped over the retaining rope. The crowd closed in around him immediately. I tried to keep close to him. I said I hoped he could spare me a moment or two in the locker room. I explained lamely that I hadn't really wanted to disrupt his practice with questions.
"Well, all right," he said. "I've had a lot today, though,"
He kept signing papers as we walked for the clubhouse, the people calling to him, "Hey, Arnie," "Arnie," "Arnie." There was a big jam at the locker-room door, and he had difficulty getting through.