Best Seat in the House: 18 Golden Lessons from a Father to His Son

INTRODUCTION

Learning from the Golden Bear

I arrived in this world on September 23, 1961, in Columbus, Ohio, as the 7-pound, 8.5-ounce firstborn and bundle of joy of married twenty-one-year-olds Jack and Barbara Nicklaus.

Dad wasn’t a household name yet by any means, even if he enjoyed a successful career in amateur and college golf at The Ohio State University. Dad won two U.S. Amateur titles in 1959 and 1961 and gained a modicum of national attention in 1960 when he finished second in the U.S. Open behind Arnold Palmer, by two strokes. He came close to winning, but Arnold rallied from a seven-stroke deficit on the final day to overtake Dad.

As a young father holding my little self, Dad had no idea what the future held, nor, frankly, could he have predicted what would come over the next few decades. However, he realized the best competition was in the professional ranks, and so he turned pro just two months after my birth. Since professional golf was not the lucrative career it is today, Dad juggled other jobs. He successfully sold insurance for Ohio State Life and Parker and Company, a brokerage firm out of New York. He also did promotional work for Hercules Slack Company, a pants manufacturer based out of his hometown, Columbus, Ohio.

Dad’s first professional tournament was far from a financial windfall. He finished tied for fiftieth—last place—in the Los Angeles Open on January 8, 1962, twenty-one strokes behind the winner. Dad had to split $100 with two other players who tied for that spot in infamy, pocketing just $33.33. (That extra penny went to one of the other guys!) Even as an infant, I traveled with Mom and Dad to tournaments. The car had clothes and golf clubs in the trunk and a Port-A-Crib and diaper pail in the back seat. Boy, I can’t imagine the smell! Night visits to a laundromat were as routine for them as practice rounds in preparation for the next tournament were for him.

Nine months after I was born, Dad, a rookie on the PGA Tour, beat Arnold Palmer in a playoff to win the 1962 U.S. Open for his first professional win, which began to fuel the legendary rivalry with The King. After that loss to Dad, Arnold said of him, Now that the big guy’s out of the cage, everybody better run for cover.¹ The win also ignited Dad’s amazing run in major championships that will likely never be matched. The name Jack Nicklaus had become a big deal.

Being named after my father was more of a warm, wonderful tribute than anything else, but following in his footsteps wasn’t always easy. Dad recently admitted that if he’d had a crystal ball to allow him to see into the future, he wouldn’t have anointed me his namesake. Dad thought it was unfair to knowingly place that pressure on his son. He said his choice for my name had not entered his mind until maybe five or six years after I was born. At that point, Dad had won two Masters (1963 and 1965), claimed the PGA Championship in 1963, and raised his first claret jug at the Open Championship in 1966 to complete the career Grand Slam at the age of twenty-six.

But as big as the Nicklaus name would become on the golf course, he always put his greatest effort into being just Dad. I’ve been asked many times throughout my life, What is it like to be Jack Nicklaus’s son? My quick response has always been, He’s just my dad. When I was six years old, somebody asked me what he did for a living. I shrugged and answered, Nothing. He just plays golf.

While in college at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, I often simply introduced myself as Jack. I intentionally didn’t mention my last name because—even though they’d eventually figure it out—I wanted people to get to know me for who I was instead of treating me as Jack’s son. Thankfully, and more importantly, as Dad’s namesake and firstborn, I have learned so much about Dad and myself over time. And by watching the way he’s lived his life, I’ve spent years in the greatest leadership-parenting-marriage classroom one could imagine.

The greatest golfer of his generation, if not all time, known to his fans globally as the Golden Bear, has always made family his number-one priority. Dad says his life’s work—117 championships, including a record eighteen major championships; a successful golf-course design business; an unwavering commitment to his wife (and my mom), Barbara; and raising funds for pediatric care for children—was to make his family proud.

I hope I have delivered on that, Dad said one day when the subject of priorities came up.

And speaking for the rest of my family, let me respond: Dad, we are proud beyond words.

Dad and Mom both turned eighty-one in early 2021, as we were finishing this book—Dad on January 21, and Mom, the First Lady of Golf, on February 28. They celebrate their sixty-first wedding anniversary on July 23, 2021. I am the oldest of five children, followed by Steve, Nan, Gary, and Michael. My parents’ lives revolve around us and their twenty-two grandchildren. In nearly everything Dad does now, he always considers how it will affect his family when he’s gone. And both he and Mom strive to exhibit an enduring love, grace, and humility no matter where they go and what they do.

In the spring of 2020, for instance, Dad and Mom tested positive for COVID-19 at the onset of the coronavirus pandemic. It could have been a bad experience at their high-risk age, but, thankfully, they recovered quickly. Mom didn’t exhibit any symptoms; Dad had a sore throat and slight cough. They quarantined in their home in North Palm Beach, Florida, for five weeks so as not to put their family and friends at risk.

Dad tested positive on March 13, 2020, the same day the PGA Tour postponed the season due to the spread of the coronavirus. During his time in quarantine, Dad, always concerned and determined to help others, established a charitable campaign aimed at providing personal protective equipment for frontline health care workers.

Through all of Dad’s amazing achievements that made him one of the world’s most recognized athletes, he made being a parent one of the most important parts of his life. I know we’re all accustomed to hearing people say those kinds of words (usually at retirement parties, lifetime achievement ceremonies, or funerals), but I had the best seat in the house to watch this man live out extraordinary lessons.

While I share these lessons with you, I promise you right now that my parents never once stopped me and said, Hey, Jackie, file what I’m telling you right now under ‘lessons.’ Dad shaped everything about me, and for the first time in his life (and mine!), it’s time to share those lessons he passed down to me as his oldest child.

I want to share stories about Dad in these pages and explain how these stories led to lessons about fatherhood. Along with each story and the lesson learned from it, I’ll also include some discussion about how I, as a father, carried that lesson forward to my children. These are the takeaways I used to raise my children—and the way I hope they will raise their children. I hope you find value and fun in all of it.

I have so many experiences and memories of our incredible journey—at home, on the golf course, and in business as vice chairman of the Nicklaus Companies, Dad’s course design company based in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. I have watched the decisions Dad has made throughout his life, and I have been impacted greatly by his pledges to and passion for his family, career, gifting, and mentoring. He has always rightly credited Mom with holding down the fort with the family, but in this tribute, I’ll share private family stories that show how Dad set a bar for fatherhood that we all can learn from—wisdom that continues to teach and guide me every day.

The influence of fathers on their children should never be underestimated. Dad’s father, Charlie, taught him the lessons he continues to live out. To this day, Dad still wants to make his late father proud with the decisions he makes daily. Charlie, who died from pancreatic cancer at the young age of fifty-six, was a pharmacist who owned several pharmacies in Columbus. A stellar athlete himself, Charlie introduced Dad to athletics and golf. Far more important, Grandpa also taught Dad how to live life the right way, how to be a good sport, and that your word is your bond. Dad studied pre-pharmacy at Ohio State before he decided to pursue a professional golf career.

Dad built on those lessons and passed the mantle to me. Even as I turn sixty years old in 2021, I still live for Dad’s approval. That’s how much I respect him. I think every son, no matter his age, wants to catch his dad’s eye and make him proud, or live a life that honors his memory if he’s passed on. I wish knowing I have my dad’s approval could be enough, but I need to hear it all the time. I want my life—and the Nicklaus name that stretched across my back when I caddied for him—to mean something. I value that reinforcement from Dad. And I believe my five kids value that reinforcement from me.

Because of his career and life, Dad is the first sportsman, and only the fourth person in history, to be awarded the three most significant honors an American civilian can receive: the Presidential Medal of Freedom (2005), the Congressional Gold Medal (2015), and the Lincoln Medal (2018). He is the first living person outside of the royal family to appear on a British banknote. Dad was voted Golf Magazine’s 2014 Architect of the Year, received the 2017 World Golf Award for Golf Course Designer of the Year, and his company, Nicklaus Design, is responsible for nearly 450 courses open for play worldwide. The Jack Nicklaus Museum is housed on the campus of his alma mater, The Ohio State University, in his hometown of Columbus. There are multiple awards named after Dad as well. The Jack Nicklaus National Player of the Year Award is presented annually to the top male players in the country from five different collegiate divisions. The Jack Nicklaus Award is presented to the first-year PGA Tour player with the best scoring average, and the Jack Nicklaus Medal is presented to the U.S. Open winner.

Those are just a few of the ways Dad’s accomplishments have been recognized, but they all pale in comparison to Mom and Dad’s commitment to making a difference in the world. In 2004, they cofounded the Nicklaus Children’s Health Care Foundation, which has raised more than $100 million in less than fifteen years, and its impact has led to the rebranding of renowned Miami Children’s Hospital and Miami Children’s Health System to Nicklaus Children’s Hospital. The hospital has cared for families and children from 119 countries and all fifty states. The Nicklaus Children’s Health System includes seventeen outpatient and urgent care centers, with plans to grow. Dad credits Mom for her vision and work in this area—Mom was the recipient of the 2019 PGA Distinguished Service Award and the 2015 Bob Jones Award, the U.S. Golf Association’s highest honor, which is bestowed on those who show spirit, personal character, and respect for the game.² And this journey has become more personal for Dad over the years as he has grown close to some of the families and children that he and Mom have helped, and these people tug on his heartstrings.

Dad has repeatedly said golf is just a game. Though it turned out to be an important component in his life, he says the miracles he has witnessed in hospitals are far more important than any four-foot putt he ever made.

In 1972, at the age of thirty-two, Dad won the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach Golf Links in Pebble Beach, California. I was ten years old, barely tall enough to see over the gallery rope lines. I sat on the ground near the 17th green, out of the way and behind the cheering spectators, shifting and looking between people’s knees and legs to watch my dad (Golf Digest captured and published a picture of me in that moment). At the par-3 17th, he hit what would be described as one of the most famous shots in his career. Pulling a 1-iron out of his bag, Dad used it to make a tee shot that hit the green, bounced once, and struck the flagstick. The ball landed inches away from the hole, and Dad tapped in for a birdie. Dad bogeyed the 18th, but it didn’t matter. He beat Bruce Crampton by two strokes for his second consecutive major that year.

Though my vantage point was obstructed by all those legs, I had the best seat in the house that day for Dad’s eleventh career major championship. A few minutes after that victory, I was sitting on Dad’s lap when he received a congratulatory telephone call from President Richard Nixon. How many ten-year-olds get to listen in as their fathers talk to the president of the United States?

Although now I’m much taller and older, my view of my dad hasn’t changed.

So back to the question, What is it like to be Jack Nicklaus’s son? I had never pulled back the curtain and given an in-depth answer until I spoke at the Congressional Gold Medal presentation for my dad in 2015. During my speech, I discussed in detail the 1986 Masters, where I served as Dad’s caddie. Not many had given Dad a chance at victory because they thought he was past his prime at the age of forty-six, but he proved everyone wrong. He shot a final round of 65, seven shots under par, with a 30 on the back nine, for a total score of 279 to win his record sixth Masters. He became the oldest winner of the Masters and second-oldest winner of any major championship, behind Julius Boros, who at forty-eight won the 1968 PGA Championship.

But that’s not the memory etched into my heart. I described it this way after Dad’s final putt dropped on the 18th green. (I share more of my speech later in this book.)

And there I was, completing the mundane task of placing the flag back into the cup. For me, time was standing still as the cheers continued. I was thinking, Wow, Dad really played great today. Yet it was more, so much more. This man, this wonderful man, had accomplished so much. He is Jack Nicklaus; he is arguably the greatest golfer in the history of golf. The Golden Bear had just won his sixth green jacket in incredible fashion. His fans adored him. It was his moment in time. A moment so earned and a moment so deserved. . . .

So there I was, turning from the flag, and all I saw was my dad. In the midst of this moment—that was all about Jack Nicklaus—there Dad stood, waiting for me with the most wonderful smile. His arms were outstretched to embrace me. Dad had made me a part of it. I knew I had Dad’s full focus. I felt like I mattered. And I felt loved. That is what it’s like to be his son.³

Whether you are a serious golf fan, a casual golfer, or someone who has never picked up a club before in your life, you will be able to learn lessons from my father. You might recognize some of these lessons from things you’ve discovered in your own life. Other lessons might be new to you, even if you apply them far away from