Jim McCabe offers his thoughts on Arnold Palmer’s passing.

I never saw him hit a shot. Not in his prime. Not in person.

But my eyes witnessed Arnold Palmer, who died Sunday at age 87, at his best as a man, which is eons more important than being an unforgettable sports hero.

The scene is frozen in my memory, a January night in Boston in 1997 when Palmer, then 67, did what most would have presumed to be impossible. He silenced a jam-packed room of 1,500 who had been busy talking, clattering glasses, clinking silverware. Dinner was over and the star attraction at the Francis Ouimet Scholarship Fund’s annual banquet moved to the center of the head table and stood ready to speak.

He was 24 years removed from his last victory on the PGA Tour, nearly 33 from the last of his major championships, and a lot of us in the room truthfully didn’t know what it was like to see his whiplash swing in person, to savor the euphoria he brought to competitive golf.

But, oh, the awe that gripped us, and on this night it was confirmed.

Palmer smiled and acknowledged a standing ovation that had to have lasted a few minutes. Though the memory recalls much of what he said that night, the most indelible nugget is how quickly the room hushed. Every person in the ballroom that night must have felt connected to Palmer — his aura was that strong, his humanity that warm — and while my ears took in the words, it was my what my eyes absorbed that blew me away.

People utterly were captivated by the presence of Palmer, and my tears flowed at his heartfelt words.

As if the spell he had on the crowd wasn’t unforgettable enough, there was this: Palmer stood in front of 1,500 that night knowing he had prostate cancer and would be leaving in the morning for surgery at the famed Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn.

Palmer never let on. The grace carried on.

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Before there was Twitter and Instagram and all the vehicles by which today’s athletes can scream, “Look at me,” Arnold Palmer used his own social media. It was called the human touch, and it often started with eye contact, grew into a firm handshake and involved simple acts of kindness.

Such as when he found out his trip to Boston would coincide with the graduation of the eldest son of his friend Richard Connolly. “He asked me, ‘Would they like me to come and speak?’ I mean, who does stuff like that?” Richard Connolly said. “This was my son’s high school graduation; he wasn’t receiving a doctorate from Stanford or anything.”

Palmer not only was the guest speaker at Middlesex School’s graduation but he went back to the house for the party.

Oh, and he did high school reunions, too.

It was the brainchild of George Sweda, an old-school sportswriter with The (Cleveland) Plain Dealer who counted golf among his beats and Palmer among the newsmakers whom he enjoyed. Quick on deadline and with a dig, Sweda once challenged Palmer to go with him to a department store as a way of doing an off-beat story. Palmer agreed. It turned out to be fun, so another idea was hatched a year later.

“I’d like to take you to my high school reunion,” Sweda said.

Palmer went.

Sweda said the DJ introduced the golf legend, handshakes and smiles were plentiful and all in all “it was hilarious,” Sweda said. “Arnold couldn’t have been nicer.”

It’s about now that you’re wondering what happened to times like this and what happened to the mold that was used to make Palmer. Clearly, it broke.

That point was driven home to Connolly – whose relationship to Palmer began as stockbroker but soon morphed into pure friendship – on a trip to St. Andrews. Connolly said he always wanted to meet the late Tip Anderson, the legendary caddie who was on Palmer’s bag for back-to-back wins in the British Open.

“I called Arnold. He told me exactly where to meet Tip, and sure enough, when (my wife) Ann Marie and I walked into the Dunvegan (Hotel), there he was,” Connolly said.

What they talked about that day had very little to do with Palmer the golfer but everything to do with Palmer the man, Connolly said.

“When we said our goodbyes and headed for the door,” Connolly said, “Tip said to us, ‘No one ever said a bad thing about the man. Isn’t that a hell of a thing?’ ”

It is, indeed.