Six tiger headcovers are jammed in the corner closet of Jane Spicer’s North Phoenix office. She’s hiding them there, tucked behind a cardboard bin of paperwork. The office is locked, just in case.
Spicer isn’t hiding those headcovers from you or me or some headcover burglar. She’s guarding against total catastrophe. If anything tragic happened to her nearby warehouse — which holds more than 10,000 headcovers and their decades-old designs — she would always have those six tigers in their own little cage. Consider them headcover insurance, because Spicer just never knows when Tiger Woods’ mother, Tida, will come calling again for a replacement.
Spicer, 56, is the always-smiling CEO of Daphne’s Headcovers, and through luck, persistence and a commitment to her customers (see above), she has provided the 15-time major winner with his world famous tiger headcover for 24 years. When Tida Woods phones, all other calls get dropped. It’s the most important business Spicer has.
“I remember three dates,” she says with a chuckle. “The birthdays of my two children and the date that Tiger first won the Masters. That’s pretty much it.”
It was April 13, 1997, when a spry 21-year-old Woods won by 12 strokes at Augusta National. He did it with a glowing smile, his classic red-and-black outfit and a curious tiger headcover atop his golf bag. Woods had toted the Daphne’s headcover for a few years, winning his final two U.S. amateur titles with it, but the Masters was an international moment. The golf world’s eyes were fixated on the young phenom prowling around Augusta National, that headcover following like an obedient pet. Spicer’s business quickly reaped the considerable benefits: a phone order for 30,000 headcovers.
It had to be a joke, right? Nope. American Express, one of Woods’ deep-pocketed sponsors at the time, was no joke. The company not only wanted 30,000 tigers, it offered to pay an extra $30,000 for expedited service. When a fat check arrived overnight, a baffled Spicer still couldn’t believe what was happening. She held the check up to the light, examining the paper for hints of a counterfeit. She then sprinted into the office, tripped on her way up the stairs and crashed onto the floor.
“I skinned my knees, skinned my elbows, but I didn’t let go of that check,” Spicer says. “Everyone came running out and asked what happened. I said, ‘We just got really busy, guys.’ That was the start.”
Her beginnings were even more humble than that stumble. Spicer began making and selling puppets at age 10, with her entrepreneurial mother and company’s namesake, Daphne Kronstorfer, providing business advice and plenty of inspiration. After six years of puppet-making, Spicer was an underclassman at the affluent Phoenix Central High School, desperate to fit in with a car of her own. A puppet customer suggested she make headcovers, and her mother put a price on it, telling her daughter, “If you sell enough, I’ll buy you a car.”