Calling Mr. Palmer

It was late June in 1970 when I first met Mr. Palmer. At the time, it was a seemingly indistinct meeting, and man, for that matter. Little did I know this happenstance meeting at Longfellow’s Resort would impact my life for, well, the rest of it. My family had just arrived for our traditional two-week stint at the increasingly popular mountain lodge getaway. As dad got us all registered and the wagon unloaded, I wandered, as was my custom. I was an adventurous 20 year old obliging my parents to come along, “One last time.” It wasn’t like my wandering was dangerous; it was 1970, we were at the same place we’d gone every summer since I can remember and we were surrounded by old, rich people.

Not much had changed at Longfellow’s in the decade plus I’d been coming, but this year felt a bit different. Maybe it was because I felt older, more mature or maybe it was simply because there were new things to do, to occupy and fill my two weeks. Regardless of the reason, I was actually, surprisingly kind of excited as I wandered toward the badminton area. I could hear the familiar sound of mothers minding their children to the background of dance lessons on the pavilion. Where would I begin this year?

I continued to wander; passed the pavilion, through the tea garden and down to the lake. I loved the lake; this was my favorite place to go at Longfellow’s. There was just something about the quiet simplicity of the this beautifully, somewhat unkempt body of water. There were any number of activities to do in and around the lake, all of which I had at least attempted at some point. My favorite activity was paddle boarding. No one, to speak of, was paddle boarding in those days. I must admit, it made me feel edgy and cool at the time. I could not wait to get settled in and out on the lake again. After my wander, I made my way back to my parents and helped get organized.

By the time we were sufficiently settled in, it was 5:30 and time to get dressed for dinner; paddle boarding would have to wait until tomorrow. Little did I know, my life would be altered that night in a significantly insignificant way. Off to dinner we go. Dinner was nice, fancy-ish and satisfying. Afterwards, I went off on a wander once more. This time, I went and found a friend, Sarah; I knew she was there with her family as well. Sarah and I had met about six years ago, here at Longfellow’s and remained pen pals and friends ever since. We only saw each other at Longfellow’s, but would write letters throughout the years and occasionally call one another to catch up. I couldn’t wait to catch up in person.

After searching around to our usual hangouts and getting distracted by my own musings a bit, I finally found Sarah in the pub. She was sitting talking to a man. That was not unusual for Sarah, she was always quite gregarious and never met a stranger. I snuck up behind her and surprised her with a startle. We both squealed in excitement of finally getting to visit again after a year apart. After we calmed ourselves, Sarah introduced me to her new friend. “Lily, this is my new fascinating friend, Mr. Palmer.” I was very obliged to meet him and joined in their chat for a bit. We talked about insignificant things and I never knew who he really was or anything like that until a bit later.

An hour or so after our initial meeting, it was getting pretty late at this point, we began to say our adieus. Just before Mr. Palmer got up to leave he ordered one last drink to take to his room; half iced tea and half lemonade, what a curious choice. I had to try it myself. And thus began my love affair with the illustrious Arnold Palmer, the drink, not the man.