ORLANDO, Fla. — Sam Saunders lifted the cologne off the desk, removed the cap and sniffed its contents. It was as if he had liberated a genie from its bottle. The spirit of his grandfather Arnold Palmer, in the form of a musky scent, filled the second-floor office at the Bay Hill Club and Lodge.
The cologne, a container of digestive powder, two pairs of reading glasses, three scrolls of golf course designs and other detritus from Palmer’s long and lustrous life were just as he had left them. It all created the comforting illusion that Palmer was not really gone, but had merely ducked out for a cold can of the part-tea, part-lemonade refreshment that he made famous.