The Unsung Heroes of Golf: Beyond the Big Three and Into the Heart of the Game
Everyone knows the usual suspects. The Big Three, right? Vardon, Taylor, Braid. Then Palmer, Nicklaus, Player. The titans. The legends. But golf’s history is a lot deeper than just the guys who hoisted the most trophies. There are other folks. Guys who did things. Guys who were just… around. And sometimes, they were the real heart of it all. Real characters. People you’d want to have a beer with. Or maybe just know. Because they made the game bigger. Better. More real.
We’re talking about the guys who weren’t always in the spotlight, but their impact? It’s undeniable. They’re the backbone. The quiet contributors. The ones who loved the game so much, they lived and breathed it in their own damn way. And that’s what we’re digging into today. Forget the headlines for a minute. Let’s talk about the stories. The real ones.
The Innovators and the Icons: More Than Just a Swing
You think golf starts and ends with a perfect drive? Nah. It starts with an idea. A spark. Like Dr. George Franklin Grant. This guy wasn’t just some random dude. He was a dentist, sure, but he was also an inventor. And what did he invent? The damn golf tee. The wooden one. The one that actually works. U.S. patent number 638,920. Simple, right? But think about it. Before that? Golf was a different beast. A much harder one. Imagine trying to tee up a ball without one. It’s a pain in the ass. So yeah, credit where credit’s due. This dentist gave us something we take for granted every single day. A small thing, maybe. But a game-changer.
Then you’ve got your Middlecoffs. Dr. Cary Middlecoff. Two U.S. Opens. One Masters. Yeah, he could play. He was one of those guys who made the game look easy. But even these guys, the superstars, had their circles. Their people. People who saw them not just as golf machines, but as… well, as people. And that’s where guys like Dr. Howdy Giles come in. He was Arnold Palmer’s dentist. And not just that. He was Arnold’s photographer. His unofficial, unofficial, unofficial photographer. And that’s a hell of a lot more than just a gig.
The Fan Who Became a Friend: Howdy Giles's Legacy
Howdy Giles. What a name, right? Howdy. Sounds friendly. And he was. He was a fanatic for Arnold Palmer. And not in a creepy way. In a genuine, admire-the-hell-out-of-this-guy way. He took thousands of photos of Arnold. Thousands. His basement? It was basically an Arnold Palmer museum. His whole house? Done up in Palmer style. Seriously. His daughters even ended up at Wake Forest, Arnold’s old stomping grounds. Howdy even had a ball marker made from one of Arnold’s old gold fillings. Talk about dedication. He even wrote a book. “The King and I: An Unlikely Journey from Fan to Friend.” That title says it all, doesn’t it? It wasn’t just about watching from afar. It was about getting close. About being part of it.
This is what we’re talking about. The deep end of fandom. Where it bleeds into friendship. Into life. Howdy died recently. He was 84. And this year’s Arnold Palmer Invitational? It’s the first one without him there. It’s a big deal. A real loss. For the people who knew him. For the game. Because guys like Howdy, they’re the glue. They’re the ones who keep the stories alive. Who make sure the legend isn’t just about the scores, but about the person. The human being. And that’s a damn important job.
The Power of a Photo: A Personal Connection
You know, I remember this one time. Back in ’87. I was a reporter. Young. Eager. Hanging around Chester Valley Golf Club. Arnold was there. Older, but still Arnold. Silver hair, tanned, the whole deal. Sitting on a golf cart, just shooting the breeze. I was trying to be cool, loitering with intent, you know? And this guy, Howdy, he sees me. Sees the press badge. And he asks me. “Want to interview Arnold?”
Hell yeah, I wanted to interview Arnold Palmer. Who wouldn’t? So, I bumble through it. Write something up. Then, get this. I drive to New York. First date with my wife. And I remember exactly what I wore that day. Why? Because Howdy. He made the intro. Took a photo of me interviewing Arnold. And then, no warning, no asking, he prints it. Mails it to me. It’s on my desk right now. Along with a matchbook from some New York bar. That’s the kind of guy Howdy was. Stunned by his generosity. His effort. He didn’t have to do that. But he did. Because that’s how he rolled.
And it wasn’t a one-off. Over the years, I saw Howdy dozens of times. He’d bring me in when Arnold was in town. For dinners. For dental check-ups. I even had a meal with Arnold and Howdy at a restaurant Howdy co-owned. Stanley’s Tavern, in Wilmington. And when Arnold got a new plane? Howdy invited me over to check it out. Arnold gave me the tour. Showed me the cashmere blankets he got for his wife, Winnie. It was just… a moment. A real moment. And Howdy made it happen. He had this knack for creating these things. These unforgettable moments. You can’t buy that kind of access. That kind of connection. He just… made it.
Moments That Matter: Capturing the Essence of the Game
Howdy wasn’t just a passive observer. He was in the thick of it. I remember being greenside at Baltusrol. U.S. Open, Father’s Day, 1993. Lee Janzen wins. The putt drops. Who’s there? Janzen, Payne Stewart, their caddies. And then… Howdy. Camera in hand. He was just so… earnest. So unassuming. So nice. Nobody ever told him no. He was part of the scene. Not in the way that got in the way, but in the way that enriched it. He was there for the history being made. And he was there to capture it. For Arnold. For everyone.
I even looked up the highlight reel from that day on YouTube. Hoping to catch a glimpse of Howdy. Didn’t see him. But Arnold’s there. Opening the show. That foghorn voice. Turns out, Howdy was also a USGA rules official. They were both members at Pine Valley. Howdy once showed me an old Golf Digest cover. Arnold, grinning. Howdy points to a tooth. “I shaved this tooth down a little bit,” he said. “It had a little bit of a fang to it.” See? He was involved. He knew the details. He saw the game from multiple angles. As a fan, as a dentist, as an official. That’s a deep dive into golf, man.
The Path to Palmer's Smile: A Dream Fulfilled
Howdy’s journey with Arnold started, like many things, with TV. Back in the ’60s. He was a swimmer at Delaware. Then dental school at Temple. And while his classmates were probably studying teeth, Howdy was buying clothes from the Arnold Palmer line at Wanamakers. Yeah, the department store. His buddies were like, “What’s with all the Palmer gear?” And Howdy’s response? “Who has the last laugh now?” Classic. He was all in. His girlfriend, Carolyn Boddorff, even gave him a set of Arnold Palmer clubs. They ended up having a long, happy marriage. His daughters married Palmer fanatics. His grandkids are getting indoctrinated. It’s a Palmer dynasty in his family.
Then the real dream kicked in. Mid-70s. He joins Bay Hill. Meets Arnold’s dentist, Benny Tacke. And Howdy says it. “My dream would be to be Arnold Palmer’s dentist.” Tacke’s reply? “Arnie’s a lousy patient. When I die, you can have him.” Two years later, Tacke dies. And boom. Howdy gets his patient. His idol. His friend. It’s like something out of a movie. A dentist who becomes the confidant of a legend. And not just a confidant. A documentarian. A friend. A fixture.
The End of an Era: Remembering Howdy's Presence
The last time I saw Howdy was at Bay Hill. 2024 Arnold Palmer Invitational. Carolyn was gone. Arnold was gone. And Howdy… he’d developed that same walk Arnold had in his early 80s. The shoulder dips. The slow, deliberate steps. He was still warm. Still engaging. But you could see time had taken its toll. He’d lost his two great partners. Arnold and Carolyn. It’s tough, losing people you love. Especially when they were such a huge part of your life. Part of your identity, even.
He once told this story. About playing with Arnold. Wilmington Country Club. Mid-spring, 1976. The sixteenth hole. Par 5. 603 yards. The caddie bets Arnold he can’t get home in two. For a beer. Arnold hits driver, driver. Chips in from 15 yards off the green with a sand wedge. For a three. Gets a six-pack for the caddie. Signs the cans. Budweiser. Shoots 67. Howdy’s idol comes to town. Plays golf. Gets his teeth checked. Stays at his house. Howdy drives him to the airport. Arnold flies off in his jet. And Howdy? He’s got tears in his eyes. That’s pure devotion, man. That’s what this game can do to you. And that’s what guys like Howdy brought to it. The raw emotion. The pure fandom. The love.
You see that photo of Arnold on the AriZona Arnold Palmer cans? The one where he’s staring off at a distant green? He’s well into his senior career. The old caddies called him “Bull” for his flaring nostrils, especially in battle. They’re on full display in that Howdy Giles snap. For posterity. You think Howdy asked for a dime for that photo? Not a chance. He gave it. Because that’s what you do when you love something. You share it. You contribute. You make moments last. Arnold even introduced him to George H.W. Bush. Said, “Mr. President, I want you to meet Howdy Giles, my dentist, my photographer and my good friend.” And Bush says, “Oh sure. We were talking about you at dinner last night.” That’s the circle. That’s the impact. Beyond the majors. Beyond the wins. It’s about the people. The connections. The stories. And Howdy Giles was a damn good storyteller. And a damn good friend.