Palmer gave young Michigan kid purpose — and a lot more

My dad and I spent the better part of an April afternoon in 1958 trying to find golf clubs for me at the Salvation Army, Goodwill and other thrift stores in Flint, Michigan.

I was 11 years old and, a couple of weeks earlier, I had been glued to the TV watching Arnold Palmer win the Masters.

Golf was a sport I hadn’t thought about before. What I read about it in Flint indicated the sport was played by GM executives who made others work while they hit golf balls. But hearing announcers talk about Arnie, whose dad worked in a steel mill and as a greenskeeper, made me think you didn’t have to be rich to play.

And watching Arnie flick away a cigarette dangling from his lips and then smash the ball with a vicious corkscrew-type swing — the ball seemed to fly forever — was the coolest thing I had ever seen.

Back then I never thought about what analysts say today: that Palmer, who died Sunday at age 87, made golf popular for the masses.

I just wanted to be cool like Arnie, waving at fans as I took another drag on a smoke. I dreamed one day people would follow me down the fairway shouting my name the way they did for him, then roar as I made a putt that copied his pigeon-toed style.

What became known as Arnie’s Army was born at that Masters.

That I hadn’t yet picked up a club or even been to a golf course made no difference. I knew I’d be great if I got clubs. So I pestered my father to take me to get some. He worked at the post office, Brinks and Kroger, so he didn’t have much time.

I think he finally made time because he could tell I was serious — I told him I’d use money I made as a paperboy for the Flint Journal. Dad said we couldn’t buy new clubs because some cost more than $200.

Finally, at a Goodwill store, I found clubs. I had to choke up on them a little bit. They cost half of the $20 I made each week on my paper route, but it was worth it. I knew you had to make sacrifices to gain