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Signature Magazine for the Golfing Lifestyle

Golf Sport g


Golf Sport g

Volume 2 • Issue 3

Advantages of Golf as a Sport

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Nearly every golfing enthusiast is familiar with Francis Ouimet as the amateur underdog who won the 1913 U.S. Open over the heavily favored legend Harry Vardon. However, few know him as a prolific and accomplished writer. Here is an excerpt from his 1921 classic, Golf Facts for Young People.

If the Beasts Played Golf

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The animals take to the course in this charming little piece by Gerald Batchelor from his 1914 gem, Batchelor’s Golf Stories. Cover: Bobby Jones (All American Hero) mixed media original painting by Paul Skellett. Visit WonderlandGallery.com

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4 Contents

Ford City 62

Out in the Shoals of northwest Alabama, hard by the Tennessee River, lies the remnants of a town that could have been the Detroit of the South. By Alan Clemons

Brothers Under the Skin

76

The Legacy of Pinehurst’s Black Caddies in the Golden Age of Golf. By Laurie Bogart Wiles

Blessed Design 86

North of Fayetteville and into the surrounding countryside, Blessings Golf Club is home to one of the most unique and organic clubhouses in the country. By Josh Wolfe • Photography by Tim Hursley


{ 116 Order Up!

The new collection from Maide’s is specially tailored for course, club or cafe.


The Course

{

14 Liberty National, Jersey City, New Jersey16 18 – A Dave Sansom Portfolio –

No. 4, Blueberry Plantation, Alma, Georgia

No. 18, Canyon Course at Mountain Dell, Salt Lake City

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Bar Pool

Sport

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From Manhattan to Michigan, and many stops in between, pool is played for many reasons, some quite peculiar, including women and riches or maybe just the next round of drinks. By Jim Harrison

a brief history of the Gentleman’s Sport

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Jameson Parker goes a few rounds with the onset and evolution of boxing, Queensbury rules of course.

30 Drink Potent Portable 54 The Road Mean Machine 56 Gear

Grand Prix

Caracalla Motor Sport Inspired Leather Bags

Purdey Oak & Leather Drinks Cabinet

Badass Morgan Three-Wheeler

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6 Contents


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Sharp-looking Game Aston Martin Golf collection by MD Golf


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66

Rock & roll

Entrepreneur extraordinaire Rocky Patel has lit the cigar world aflame with his own brand of smokes & his signature cigar bar, Burn by Rocky Patel. By Arthur Farrell

the talented Mr. Neiman

94 Art

The late Leroy Neiman was known for his distinctive handlebar mustache and vivid, energetic color palettes. Here is a Golf Sport gallery of his finest work.

water Goddess

106 Fashion

Carry along these exotic bathing styles from Aguaclara on your next vacation & unpack a world of luxurious adventure.

128 Parting Shot

A Midsummer’s Day Dream.

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daring & debonair

Adventurous & Luxurious Timepieces from tudor

Golf Sport g

www.golfsportmag.com

Publisher/Creator-In-Chief – T. Ryan Stalvey • Josh Wolfe – Publisher/Editor-In-Chief Associate Publisher – Laurie Morrow To obtain a Media Kit or for Advertising Inquiries – (803) 767-8290 The Golf Sport is represented by National Publisher Services, LLC Ron Murray • Jim Smolen and Circulation Specialists, Inc. Jared Katzman, Director Business Development • Laurie Levasseur, Consumer Marketing Director Proudly Printed in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania by Fry Communications, Inc. Please Call (888) 315-2472 for Subscription Information The Golf Sport is published bi-monthly by Stalvey & Wolfe Partners LLC., Columbia, S C. All rights reserved, reproduction in whole or in part without the written consent of Stalvey & Wolfe Partners LLC. is prohibited. Subscription prices: One year $39.95; two years, $74.95. (Canada, Mexico and all Foreign – add $42 per year.) Single copy $8.95. Subscription and change of address should be mailed to: The Golf Sport Subscriber Service Center, P.O. Box 23902, Columbia, SC 29224. Allow six weeks for entry of new orders or renewals or change of address. Periodicals postage paid at Columbia, SC and additional mailing offices. POSTMASTER: Send address changes and inquiries to The Golf Sport, Subscriber Service Center, P.O. Box 23902, Columbia, SC 29224. Printed in the U.S.A.

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10 Masthead


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our issues in. Amazing. And what’s more is that two guys with a hell of a lot of determination and a good deal of luck continue to put out this magazine. Yes, I’m a bit biased, but isn’t it just? We’ve had a lot of support along the way. I’d like to personally thank John Patrick of The Augusta Golf Show for not only allowing me to be a guest on his wonderful radio show, but also putting us in touch with some important people so that the magazine had a presence at The Masters. Anna Lacy McMains of the Bruno Event Team in Birmingham, Alabama, has been a tremendous asset. Again, because of her we circulated magazines at the Regions Tradition at Shoal Creek in May and she continues to spread the word among her contacts in the world of golf. Matt Brown, an old friend from my days at Auburn University, is another who has been a great ambassador. Also, a thank you to Kerry Andrews and Perry Smith of Pinehurst Resort So many others deserve my thanks, if only there were more room to express my gratitude. However, you know who you are, and as I’ve probably already said, I am forever grateful. As long as we have the love and support of those around us, as well as the new friends we’ve made, the faint light continues to grow stronger with every day. The word is spreading; from Canada to South Africa and across this great country, The Golf Sport has received high praise. But do know this: no matter the lengths we go to, the gray hairs we grow or the sleep we lose putting it all together; we are nothing without you, the reader. Don’t forget to tell a friend, sign them up if you have to and we’ll just bill them later. Let’s make this thing spread like wildfire as we continue to solidify The Golf Sport as The Signature Magazine for the Golfing Lifestyle. Sincerely,

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Josh Wolfe

Editor-In-Chief

From the Publishers

From Our Readers

Truly stunning, a first-rate magazine that the world of golf has been lacking for so long. Trish, Marietta, GA

Thank you, gentlemen. It has been far too long since I’ve enjoyed sitting back with a glass of Scotch and reading a magazine related to golf. Steve, Houston, TX

Great stories and artwork. The lifestyle aspect of golf is something everybody can enjoy. Bob T. New Haven, CT

Can’t recall where we found the magazine, but just ordered our subscription and can’t wait to see the next issue. Alison, Johannesburg, South Africa


DAVE

SANSOM

PHOTOGRAPHY

Providing the best in professional golf course photography for golf clubs, golf course architects and management groups nationwide. “I photograph golf courses for a very simple reason. If a course is well-designed and well-maintained, there’s no place I’d rather be. I have great respect for the men and women who design, build, maintain and manage golf courses. And I consider it a privilege to help show each property in its best light.”

678 . 362. 5592 DAVE@DAVESANSOM.COM WWW.DAVESANSOM.COM

Dave Sansom is Senior Consulting Photographer with Heritage Charity Auctions and Awards, a licensed photography vendor for The PGA Tour. For information on the full line of products and services Heritage offers golf’s premier clubs, contact: Mark Gibson, Heritage Charity Auctions & Awards, info@heritagecaa.net, (770) 888-7787.


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was never the type of guy to shed a tear. As a matter of fact I had always thought of myself as one pretty tough hombre. That is up until the moment my first daughter was born. Readily I recognized this to be far more than I had ever bargained for and all at once the probabilities of being a failure greatly outweighed the odds that in anyway I might emulate the Ward Cleavers and Andy Taylors of my preconceived assumptions. A second daughter soon followed and gradually the hues of my masculinity melted symbolically into a puddle of pastels and pinks, metamorphosing into a ribbon and tulle adorned world of dollies, Barbies and braids. I was never to be the same. Fathers have always played a significant role in the arena of sport. For it seems no sooner does a baby come out kicking and screaming before his Pop is sizing him up for a set of shoulder pads. I, myself, cut my teeth on a baseball mitt. I can still recollect the pungent stinging taste of its leather laces. With most sports, particularly those team contests, the fathers are half-forgotten in the exuberant hysteria of the triumphant moment. Such is not generally the case with golf. More so during golf ’s major venues, for who could ever forget the ‘97 PGA Championship as Davis Love III strode up Winged Foot’s 18th en route to victory with a glorious rainbow hanging overhead as if his late father was smiling from above. Or Payne Stewart, who after narrowly outlasting Phil Mickelson in the ‘99 U.S. Open, mustered-up precisely the right words for his defeated rival: “You’re going to be a father!” Or the 2010 U.S. Open when Kenny McDowell embracing his son Graeme in his finest moment, could hardly sob out “Some kid, you’re some kid.” Now I am not saying I am better than any other man, father or non, but I myself am a better man because of my girls. Those outside

From the Publishers

of this paternal order might puzzle over the why of this and as such I find Christopher Hitchens so poignantly said it best: “To be the father of growing daughters is to understand something of what Yeats evokes with his imperishable phrase ‘terrible beauty.’ Nothing can make one so happily exhilarated or so frightened: it’s a solid lesson in the limitations of self to realize that your heart is running around inside someone else’s body. It also makes me quite astonishingly calm at the thought of death: I know whom I would die to protect and I also understand that nobody but a lugubrious serf can possibly wish for a father who never goes away.” The beauty of our sport is the longevity of the time with which we can share a lifelong round with our children despite the benevolent phenomenon of aging. One would assume the founder of The Golf Sport to spend all of his time partaking in the spoils. The truth of the matter is, between the duties of this job and assisting in the development of my daughters’ blossoming junior careers, I rarely have the time to ever tee one up myself as nearly all of my on-course time is spent looping. For, as golfing fathers and fathers of golfers, we equip with clubs, teach the proper grip, align them up and send them out to play the course of life with the sound advice we never followed ourselves in hopes their contributions might leave this world a better place. Not that we might ever be applauded for father’s sake as this is but our duty as procreators; as Bobby Jones once said, you should never be credited for doing the right thing, it is the same as thanking a man for not stealing. In several weeks an onslaught of fans will assemble at Pinehurst as the two Opens are played in consecutive weeks. Champions will be crowned, and whether it be at arms-length, in the glow of a television set or from the heavens above, the victor’s father will weep. I too will share a tear, for I know like them and so many other fathers, that no matter what may lie ahead of my children I will always be on their bag. Happy Fathers Day,

T. Ryan Stalvey

Creator-In-Chief


© Drew Myers/Corbis

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No. 4, Blueberry Plantation Alma, Georgia

IMAGE COURTESY DAVE SANSOM - DAVESANSOM.COM


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The Course

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Liberty National Clubhouse

Jersey City, New Jersey

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The Course


IMAGE COURTESY DAVE SANSOM - DAVESANSOM.COM


No. 18, Canyon Course at

Mountain Dell, Salt Lake City

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20 The Course


IMAGE COURTESY DAVE SANSOM - DAVESANSOM.COM


Advantages of Golf as a SPORT

Nearly every golfing enthusiast is familiar with Francis Ouimet as the amateur underdog who won the 1913 U.S. Open over the heavily favored legend Harry Vardon. However, few know him as a prolific and accomplished writer. Here is an excerpt from his 1921 classic, Golf Facts for Young People.

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is slowly, but surely, coming into its own as a great American sport. Yet less than ten years ago nearly everybody was inclined to look upon it as a game suitable only for those of ripe age. This opinion was formed because it lacked the strenuousness so noticeable in football, baseball and tennis. Quite evidently all this has changed. Today thousands of boys and girls play the game. I take keen delight in this fact, all because I happened to be one of the first boys to adopt golf as his favorite game while attending school, instead of following the usual paths leading to diamond or gridiron. At the time I decided in favor of golf, it was no simple and easy choice to make. For one thing, I was subjected to a lot of pressure from my schoolmates to continue with the nine, and, for another, rather felt the censure they sometimes placed upon me for forsaking this sport for golf. Perhaps an incident that occurred during a recent trip to Pinehurst, where so much golf is played every winter, will best explain the position of golf among boys of today and among those of yesterday. While playing there on this occasion, I had the good fortune to meet an old school-friend of mine. He had recently become an ardent golf enthusiast, one who rarely misses creating an opportunity for playing. We had both attended the Brookline High School at the time when he was the unquestioned leader in athletics. Incidentally, he was captain of our baseball nine. I was particularly fond of baseball in those days, although I must confess I never could play it when a golf match was in sight. Nevertheless, I

The Classic

was persuaded to try for a place on our school nine, and, in the course of the practice, seemed to have a fine chance of making it at second base. About this time I was elected captain of our golf team. That put the question up to me of giving up one or the other of these games. I could not hold down the two positions without making a failure of each one. After thinking the matter over for a short time, I decided in favor of golf. Immediately I was sought out by both the coach and captain of the nine, who argued with me to change my opinion. One of their favorite points was, as I clearly recall it now, that golf was an old man’s affair and that I was somewhat silly, to put it mildly, to forsake a corking good game like baseball for it. But their entreaties and arguments failed to make me retract my first decision. This caused me to be the butt of many uncomplimentary remarks for a long time thereafter. Now the reason why I had chosen golf was that I felt, once my school-days were over, baseball would be a thing of the past, whereas with golf I could continue to play that game long after I had set aside my books for a business career. It seemed to me that the best time to fit myself for the game that I could play during most of my life would be during these school-days I was then enjoying; and I did want to play the game well. That is the only way to play any game or do anything in this world, for that matter. Good golf meant nothing to me but keen outdoor enjoyment in the years to come. And now that I look back to the time when I made this decision, I am more than satisfied that I “guessed right.” Nothing brought this point to my attention more clearly than meeting my old school-friend at Pinehurst – the one who had argued so strongly with me to forget all about golf because it was an old man’s game and for this reason to stay out for the ball nine. He told me that he recalled the whole incident most clearly, and could now say with all frankness that I was right in having decided as I did. Furthermore, he was of the opinion that he had wasted golden opportunities to improve his golf game by not taking to golf, instead of to baseball, when we had been in school together. Not long ago I talked with a Princeton graduate who was there in the days of Heyniger, their great baseball pitcher. He recounted for me a story quite similar to my own in connection with Heyniger. The latter, he said, liked golf better than any other game he had ever tried, but was unable to give much time to it while at college because he was virtually compelled by the pressure of the college to pitch on the nine. Heyniger did rank as a star boxman, but since his college days he has never risen to


francis & eddie by Bob Crofut – GolfArtGiclee.com.


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a very high rank in golf. Indeed, he may not be playing at all well. I am inclined to think this man misses a lot of enjoyment today because he did not follow his favorite game earlier in life and at the time when he could more readily have learned to master it. Perhaps the outstanding proof that golf is at last being recognized as a sport worthy of the consideration of every boy of athletic inclination is that the list of young golfers is increasing by leaps and bounds all over America. Boys and girls are taking up the game with equal satisfaction and enjoyment. That they can boast of being equal to any competition is rather clearly proved by the careers of Bobby Jones and Miss Alexa Sterling of Atlanta, who are right at the top in amateur circles. A word or two about Bobby Jones, this youngest of golf stars, to illustrate how he has won such a high position in the golfing world. Perhaps you remember that in the amateur event at Merion, in 1916, he was finally defeated by Bob Gardner, of Chicago, who had several times held the title. Bobby Jones learned much of his game from Stewart Maiden, a splendid professional teacher. But with due credit to Maiden for his remarkable ability at imparting his own knowledge to others, I doubt if Jones would have been as successful had he not been a fine imitator. An imitator is usually a good player. In fact, there is scarcely an exception to this rule. I know that I picked up a lot of golf by this method, and I can remember the time when I could imitate the strokes and play of almost any golfer I saw play. And I have seen Walter Hagen, our wonderful professional, demonstrate in succession the golf swings of such stars as Barnes, Brady, Hutchinson, McNamara, and others with such exactness and attention to detail that, had you been far enough away to be able to recognize him, you would instantly have thought that the man being imitated was playing a round on your course. There are many ways of learning golf, but the most expedient is to get in touch with a professional who knows the game and can adapt you to it. Although practice does tend to make one perfect, there are certain aids to practice which will save you time in your quest of a knowledge of this game. The professional who knows the game can give you these schemes, while quickly checking any tendencies on your part to develop bad habits, otherwise not easily eliminated, once they are allowed to go on. But under no conditions forget to watch the swings and styles of good golfers. One can get a ready, first-hand knowledge of all that goes to make up a good game by doing just that. You catch the ideas of golf and see the reasons for

The Classic

them by following this method, and you certainly can learn how the strokes should be played. I, for one, would not advise a boy or girl to play golf if he or she does not like the game. One cannot enjoy a sport he does not like, nor ever become proficient in it. It takes an unbounded enthusiasm in whatever you attempt to make a success of it. Good golfers love golf. They are enthusiastic over it. My own thought is that one of the main reasons for this strong love for the game is that it takes one outdoors during the three seasons – spring, summer and autumn – when nature is the most beautiful. True, one could walk about the woods and gentle slopes and get much pleasure and recreation from it. But golf gives one both a reason and a cause for being abroad in the sunlight that no other sport quite supplies. Unconsciously, you drink deep of health and happiness because the quest of the game keeps you keenly at play, rarely tiring. This is because your mind is occupied. Boys who have been trout fishing know what I mean. Far from camp and tired, one frequently wonders if he will ever get back. Then the trout begin to strike, and before you know it, you are again at the campfire, having never once thought of the long walk downstream as the fish were taking the fly. That is the kind of exercise doctors tell us is most beneficial. Indeed, golf is a game unlike any other sport. Golf itself affords more pleasure to its followers than any other. Next to it, I think tennis will take rank, because it may also be played for so many years. Yet tennis, great game that it is, must yield to golf in the matter of age. Golf, enjoyable golf, is yours for a lifetime if you so wish. Children may play it, and many is the golfer of skill I know today who has passed the seventy mark in the span of life. What other game offers you such constant companionship? Boys and girls too frequently make the mistake of thinking that they can never rank high as golf players. I believe this is untrue, all because the reverse has been proved quite frequently. If they have enthusiasm for the game and will give the time to practice when they are young, good play becomes almost automatic. Perhaps one cannot rise to championship ranks, but that is certainly not the real test of the game, else but few of the millions who play it each year would get any fun out of it. To my way of thinking, the lure of golf rests in your ability to play a fair game, one that averages well with that of your friends. Once you reach that state, you have arrived in golf at that delightful period when each round holds for you a keen enjoyment whether you be sixteen or sixty. That, I take it, is the real test of any sport.


If the Beasts

Played Golf

The animals take to the course in this charming little piece by Gerald Batchelor from his 1914 gem, Batchelor’s Golf Stories.

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an is a selfish brute. He wants to keep all the good things to himself. For many years Scotsmen guarded the secret of the pleasures of golf, and when this secret at last leaked out to England and quickly ran over the whole world, man still tried to monopolise the links. Once having tasted the blood of a foozled drive, however, his womenfolk and children insisted on sharing his new-found troubles and triumphs. Man has now recognised their right to golf. Should he not extend this concession to the other animals? Perhaps he would be more inclined to do so if it could be proved that this course would be directly to his advantage. We have been told that other beasts besides man need recreation of mind as well as body if they are to be brought to their proper state of physical perfection. It is found that sheep which are kept fully occupied and amused show their gratitude by providing a superior quality of mutton. That is why sheep are so often turned loose upon the golf links. Chickens, also, may be induced to offer a more tender tribute to the taste of man if they are given some real interest in life – such as play “last across” on some popular motoring high road. What need of further instances? Go to the Zoo, and you will find all the inmates either fast asleep or playing games. Special appliances are provided for their diversion, but the management have so

Humor

far shown a lamentable lack of local knowledge in failing to offer adequate opportunities for the playing of golf. Perhaps it may be doubted that the animals could play golf. Let us see. You give your dog a stick or a ball to play with, but you never give him both. Many of the poor brutes are evidently designed by nature for the enjoyment of golf. One or two examples should suffice to prove the point. The horse often goes out for a long drive. Sometimes, however, he is inclined to pull a bit, and consequently receives a good many strokes. The donkey also takes a lot of beating in a team match. One of his favourite courses is “Ye Banks and Brays.” The pig is a very porky player, and none knows better how to negotiate a sty-mie. The bat has the good fortune to enjoy a good lie all through the winter. The tortoise is a slow player, yet we cannot hope to teach him as much as he has taught us. The cat can quickly come down to scratch. She can knock spots out of the leopard, anyway. Most of the fishes get along swimmingly. The lobster, for instance, is quite good at a pinch, though it must be confessed that he is a confirmed pot-hunter. The salmon begins life as a “par” player and can always be relied on to keep his plaice. Everyone must have noticed that the sardine has a happy knack of finding the tin. Some of the animals would, unfortunately, be rather unpopular in the Club house, for who would care to pal up with the long-tailed tit, the lyre bird, the badger, the boar, the grouse, the puff-adder, the cheetah, the carp, or the bear (with a sore head)? On the ladies’ course we should find the spoonbill, and possibly the shrew. The wry-neck would be noticed on the green, and all the game birds would certainly be bittern with he sport. The secretary bird would be there, closely associated with the dormy mouse and the casual water-rat. Not to try the reader’s indulgence too severely, we may conclude by reminding him that the albatross keeps going all the time, that the rabbit can run down the hole from any distance, that the sand-hopper and the mud-skipper skilfully avoid the bunkers, that the gnu could play quite well is he only newt, that sea-urchins make good caddies, and that the butterfly is frequently found to be dead on the pin.


But it’s a grand sport - biffing a little ball by edmund Blampied – photographed by Justin Benttinen, pbagalleries.com


Bar Pool

From Manhattan to Michigan, and many stops in between, pool is played for many reasons, some quite peculiar, including women and riches or maybe just the next round of drinks. By Jim Harrison

clubhouses and there are games to be played. To be sure, it’s not like Elaine’s, where you can drop twenty bucks and pine away hours trying to exchange a simple glance with a fritzee brunette in a transparent blouse. Hereabouts such costumes would cause a riot of bumpkinry. In most northern Michigan bars there is a shuffleboard, often a bowling machine, frequently a pinball machine, and always a pool table, bar-sized, usually about four by seven feet. And in many bars that table will be continually busy from late afternoon until closing time at two A.M. and kick-out time at two-thirty. It is a game of infinite variables: after you break the rack the configuration of balls and the stratagems necessary to clear them never precisely repeat themselves. It is a game of inches and the calibration of stroke and English on a small table require even more patience than the larger table of the pool hall. True excellence is rare and vanities are punished. Gambling for a game of pool is illegal in Michigan but some sort of harmless “I’ll play you for a drink” action goes on and in the downstate urban areas it gets a great deal more serious. With all those lovely auto factories they have more money to play with. It is a benign though demanding sport. You won’t see the Johnson City big-time act with tuxedoed players owning the temperaments of concert pianists. A very few players like to surround pool with the aura of the badass; it’s not unfair to portray their hokum in all of the shabby colors of nickel-dime evil right down to the cue case with a decal of a cobra stretched along its length. I first came to bar pool as an unhappy graduate student who picked up his grocery money teaching English to foreign students in mixed lots, with as many as fifteen language backgrounds in a single class. My car trunk was stuffed with uncorrected papers. My heart was heavy. Each day was a fresh hemorrhoidectomy. The proctoscopic years. But in a half-dozen bars around East Lansing I began to learn to play pool, which quickly replaced bridge though the mania for both shares similarities. And with both learning is miserable. “You didn’t finesse, you fool,” your partner says as you slump down in your chair like a sick turtle. Or in front of thirty people in a bar, some of them pretty girls, you scratch an easy eight ball shot and the subsequent giggles

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anhattan cocktail lounges and bars are notable for their lack of anything for the customers to do. Except drink, of course. And a drink can cost you a buck and a half or three dollars if you drink doubles, long a habit of mine as I crave the substantial in life. So you sit there if you are unlucky enough to be alone and perhaps pretend to be someone interesting like a spy, a lesser celebrity, a solitary businessman concocting a deal that will make a lot of people truly sorry. To your untrained Midwestern eyes the bartender always looks like a criminal or at least a pimp. But there is finally no real reason to be in a bar in daytime except to booze and look out the window at the burnt and umbrous haze that is New York air. Way up in Michigan, officially known as the “Winter-Water-Wonderland,” there are admittedly no French restaurants, very little theater, and the first-run movies are a few months late, but the bars serve as local

Sport


Š William Helburn/Corbis


fill your ears with blood. You always lose when you’re learning and as Woody Hayes would have it, only losers are good losers. It is obvious to me now that the earlier one starts the better, especially if good coaching is available. You see people who have played a dozen years using an open rather than a closed bridge on the cue, affording much less control of the stick. Most bar pool is incredibly clumsy. There might be one or two local dudes who beat everyone else quite consistently but they would usually be utterly lost against an average player in a pool parlor. A good large-table player can easily adapt himself and a snooker expert is deadly on a bar table. A threecushion billiard player can rarely get used to the soft stroke required. It is easy to stay on the same plateau of skill for years, even drop one or two steps for periods of time. The better players are able to shut out the world other than their immediate querencia, their place of strength which is described by the circle of light cast by the lamp above the table. Those who lack this self-absorption and ability to concentrate never improve appreciably. You can usually connect very bad evenings to a cause, the most obvious of which is that you had too much to drink. You were playing with a good friend and neither money nor pride was at stake. One of those rare mini skirts was sitting at a stool humming. And a raft of other possibilities: general depression, excessive happiness, an argument, a tranquilizer that removed your aggressiveness. A dispute with a wife or friend can throw your grouse shooting totally out of whack and the damage on a pool table is even more direct. But sometimes as with so many other sports the faults are inexplicable: a few years ago I led the local tournament for eight weeks, only to blow up in the final two matches, dropping the contest and purple bowling trophy to a bluegrass banjoist from New Haven, Connecticut. A

We played for drinks and unobtainable women and riches. It’s fun to announce “This one’s for Ava Gardner” and then swiftly win. “This one’s for Annette Funicello” doesn’t have the same Bogartian resonance.

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foreigner got the apples. I brooded darkly. Though I had played for a long time I didn’t begin to understand the subtleties of the game until I met Benny Boyd a few years ago. At that time he was a college instructor and one day I caught him unloading several cases of liquor out of the backseat of his car. An unlikely act for a college instructor. He said he had won five hundred bucks in a pool game at a local bar and was stocking up. That seemed like a lot of money then and still does now, especially for an afternoon in a bar where one might be spending the afternoon anyway. I found out that he had won the Michigan Pocket Billiards Championship in 1966 and when in college had taken second in a national tournament run by the NCAA. After that he played professionally for a while. When Benny lost his teaching job in the economic bite put on universities he moved north and got a job bar tending. Watching him play I learned that the trip between good or average and excellent was an impossible one. You simply can’t beat a good player like Benny when he’s on “dead stroke” as they call it. You might pick up a game or two by accident but you simply haven’t paid your dues and in this case the dues are literally thousands of hours of intelligent practice. I’ve only really gambled at pool once and didn’t like the sensation. I mean gambled so that my pocket hurt as the fivers vaporized. It is similar, say, to a time-limit poker game where you are perhaps playing for a dollar, three raises to a man. There’s only a half hour left and you agree to temporarily raise the stakes. The winners agree because they feel arrogant and in control and the losers quite simply want some of their money back. There’s an almost palpable ozone in the air, acrid and suspenseful. Now people can be hurt. The pots are mountainous and the feeling of safety is gone. A pleasant evening of cards has exploded into something else and when your flush loses to a full house you are sitting in a bathtub into which some masked man has just dropped a radio which he neglected to unplug. I’m not geared for that sort of excitement in either poker or pool and doubt I ever will be. I was playing eight ball in a bar in Livingston, Montana last summer with country-rock singer Jimmy Buffett, whose appearance is a bit bizarre for even the new west. He was leaning far over the table for a stretch shot when the witty bartender threw a firecracker


at his feet. The blast was accompanied by a truly wonderful freak-out but it was hard for Buffett to get his stroke back so we watched the bartender toss some more firecrackers at two sleeping drunks at the end of the bar. Only one of them woke up, though the blast within the confined walls equaled a twelvegauge magnum. We decided the other was dead but were afraid to check. Actually the bartender is a nice guy with an elfin sense of humor. He told us a story of how his Arabian stallion mated a mare over a picket fence and when she moved away the poor stallion was hung up over the fence and the fence had to be destroyed. “That’s what can happen in love,” said Buffett, I thought not too appropriately. I don’t find it strange that bar pool is openly and stupidly male. Games of skill often are and bar pool is transparently so with its definite pecking order in any single location. You don’t mind getting burned by Benny but if some cretinoid hod carrier beats you badly you want to hide out in your bedroom in a penance of Dagwood boredom. In a hotel outside of Salinas, Ecuador, down near the Peruvian border, there was a bar table. And for a week a photographer and I would spend the evenings playing eight ball. I had an edge on him and could salve my poor hands and spirit, blistered by fighting marlin. The photographer would fight his marlin standing up while I required the strapped-in security of the chair. It was a very small thing to get back at his superb angling on the pool table with all of that warm, liquid equatorial air pouring in over the table through the open doors, the crash of surf in the background, and the moisture so heavy from the spray in the air that you would wipe your cue stick with your shirt after every shot. We played for drinks and unobtainable women and riches. It’s fun to announce “This one’s for Ava Gardner” and then swiftly win. “This one’s for Annette Funicello” doesn’t have the same Bogartian resonance. Boston bars tend to resemble those in Manhattan. Once after moving my family into a new apartment I checked out the local tavern. No pool table. But there were several pay phones. Why all the pay phones? I even asked the bartender who looked at me as if I were Mortimer Snerd made flesh. Better to drop your change on pool than dialing a number for the horses across town, I thought. Telling the booky I wanted twenty on Marmalade in the seventh

was a trifling pleasure compared to running seven stripes against that sea green felt. And you see some funny things happen. Down in Key West one evening I watched a game in a freak bar only recently torn down. There was a large shaggy crowd of players evidently wired on downers, probably Seconal, and each game was a somnambulistic nightmare with all the shots requiring minutes of meditation and endless practice strokes with the cue. Then pensive reconsiderations. It was a hopeless, slow-motion game until a Cuban shrimper came up and ran successive racks with hyperthyroid speed. There was much mumbling and a general desertion of the table. Huston Cradduck, who operates the grain elevator in Lake Leelanau, told me a story about a game that took place in Peach Orchard, Missouri. A hustler friend of Huston’s daddy had spent a whole afternoon dropping games to the local sharpies, pretending to be very drunk and a total sucker. He dropped a number of hundred-dollar games, even fell against the table, cracking open his lip, until he drew in a high roller for five grand at which point he ran the table. He left with his money in a hurry to save his life. I thought that must be a record for a bar game but Benny said that a few years back he had watched a two-day match downstate where thirty-five grand changed hands in a bar mostly in one direction: toward a nationally famous player and his backer. Violence in bar pool is a rare thing. The issues are settled on the table. I have had the 600-pound table moved during a game by people having a friendly argument over a euchre game. After a lot of bluish epithets the older man, a plumber, called the younger a “college student.” And the younger man called the plumber a “charlatan” which puzzled the spectators. While the plumber began to thrash the young man I looked in despair at how they had jostled my perfect setup on the pool table. Jim Harrison’s “Bar Pool” was chosen from his book Just Before Dark: Collected Nonfiction, a compilation of articles selected from 25 years of work from publications such as Playboy, Outside and The American Poetry Review. He is the author of ten novels, 17 books of poetry and several novellas including Legends of the Fall, which was adapted into the movie of the same name. He currently lives in Montana and Arizona.

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Grand Prix

Caracalla Motor Sport Inspired leather bags

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ev-up your next weekend getaway with these exquisite and sporty race-inspired leather bags from Caracalla. The unique Commemorative Motorsport Collection is the brainchild of Caracalla 1947 founder and chief executive Simon Jordan and pays homage to some of the greatest racing marques, colours, drivers and individual cars that the world has ever seen, and the numbers that left their mark in motorsport history. Each bag is handmade in Italy to his precise and exacting standards using only the best craftsmen and the highest quality vegetable-tanned through-dyed Tuscan leather. ÂŁ495 Caracalla 1947 also offers Bespoke, Personalized and Corporate Service. Visit Caracalla1947.com.

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ston Martin has joined forces with MD Golf to unveil a lifestyle collection and line of fine golf equipment stylish enough for the likes of James Bond. Established in 1996, MD Golf is Europe’s number one golf brand, renowned for premium golf equipment. Their exclusive new ‘Aston Martin S’ range includes golf clubs, bags and luggage, golf gifts and apparel - all emulating the distinctive sophistication and elegance synonymous with Aston Martin. Visit MDGolf.co.uk/astonmartin.


Sharp-looking Game Aston Martin Golf collection by MD Golf

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BETA TI DRIVER features changeable loft technology. Depending on the course characteristics or weather conditions, the player can change the loft of the driver from 9.0 degrees to 12 degrees, thus ensuring the perfect launch conditions. Our shaft offering is the Kuro Kage from Mitsubishi rayon. ÂŁ299.99

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MARAGING FACE IRONS Maraging steel is durable yet thinner than cast stainless steel or forged steel. This creates a high repulsion face with very high ball speeds at impact. Rather than being a simple cast iron, this is a two piece option, where the face is produced separately and then pressed into the iron body, delivering unbelievable performance. This performance is matched with a stunning appearance that is created by the use of PVD coating. A Project X shaft is fitted as standard in the steel iron and the Kuro Kage from Mitsubishi rayon is fitted in the graphite iron. £999.99 CNC MILLED PUTTER is cast from soft 304 carbon steel and is 100% CNC milled. The finishing touch is a technique called PVD (physical vapor deposition) which ensures the putters’ performance is matched by a sensational finish. £249

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a brief history of the

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Jameson Parker goes a few rounds with the onset and evolution of boxing, Queensbury rules of course.

efore Mixed Martial Arts, before the Ultimate Fighting Championship, before Kung Fu, before judo or karate or aikido or any of the many regional variations of those sports, there was the manly art of self-defense known as boxing. Frescoes depicting boxing matches have been found in Egyptian, Assyrian, Mesopotamian and Babylonian ruins dating back well over two thousand years before Christ. The Greeks took time out from their siege of Troy to watch a match between Epeus and Euryalus, a match described by Homer with as much excitement as any modern sports reporter, much as Teddy Atlas might describe it on Friday Night Fights: Both men, belted, stepped into the ring And, toe to toe, let fly with at one another, Hitting solid punches…

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Boxing was not then known as the sweet science or the gentleman’s sport. In fact, over the centuries it degenerated into something so brutal that eventually even the Romans – a civilization known neither for their squeamishness nor their reverence for life – finally banned it altogether, evidently finding the spectacle of men being torn apart by tigers more aesthetically pleasing and less upsetting to their sensibilities. Fast forward thirteen centuries, more or less. As Western civilization became more refined and men began wearing swords less, pugilism began to slowly revive, in part because of the

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Age of Enlightenment’s interest in anything and everything to do with classical antiquity. By the late sixteen hundreds to early seventeen hundreds the words “box” and “boxing” had come into use (of unknown origin, but possibly from medieval German), pre-dating by almost half a century any kind of structure or rules or even any recognizable semblance to what we think of as boxing today. Even the first rudimentary rules – developed by a prizefighter named Jack Broughton in atonement for having killed a man in the ring – were limited to not much more than what you might expect to see in a barroom on a good night. Boxing in those days was done by the lower classes and only watched and wagered on by gentlemen. Broughton helped change that by opening the first known boxing “academy,” offering to teach “gentlemen” and encouraging them by the use of what he called “mufflers,” or padded gloves. But it was an English Jew of Portuguese extraction by the name of Daniel Mendoza who raised the sport from a brawl to something close to the sweet science. Weighing only 160 pounds, Mendoza was much smaller than most of his opponents, but what he lacked in bulk he made up for in brains. He relied on footwork and technique to compensate for his lack of size and strength, and he is credited with being the first boxer to make real use of both the jab and the tactic of counter-punching. When he retired in 1795, he too opened a school, only he wisely catered to noblemen, and since everything fashionable in England in those days still relied heavily on the trickledown theory, it meant boxing had become the Englishman’s sport. There is a reason why we refer to the Marquis of Queensbury rules. There may be a reason for it, but it’s actually something of a misnomer. John Sholto Douglas, ninth Marquis of Queensbury was a “boxing enthusiast,” but whether that means he boxed himself or merely watched and wagered is unclear. (The late boxing writer Budd Schulberg, author of such novels as The Harder They Fall, and such movies as On the Waterfront, and the only non-fighter ever to receive the Living Legend of Boxing Award from the World Boxing Association, claims the Marquis did actually get in the ring, but I have been unable to substantiate that.) What is not unclear is that the Marquis was most famous during his life for being an exceptionally obnoxious bully, loudly outspoken atheist, womanizer (he died of syphilis), foxhunter, father of Alfred “Bosie” Douglas, and one of the


Early pugilist Jas. Jarvis


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founders of the Amateur Athletic Club. It is only because of the last two that he is remembered at all today. “Bosie” had a homosexual love affair with Oscar Wilde, which resulted in a famous lawsuit between Wilde and Douglas, which in turn resulted in Oscar Wilde’s ruin, imprisonment, and eventual death in a cheap Paris hotel room where, keeping his wit to the end, he spoke his famous last words: “Either that wallpaper goes, or I do.” The Amateur Athletic Club was a club for sports-mad Englishmen such as John Graham Chambers, former rower for Cambridge, champion walker, ardent promoter of billiards, cycling, wrestling and boxing. It was Chambers who actually drew up the modern rules of boxing, the most famous of which are the twenty-four foot ring, three minute rounds with a minute rest in between, padded gloves, no wrestling or hugging, and the ten-second count. (There are others, but by far the most intriguing and revealing rule states that no shoes or boots with spikes be allowed. Oh, those playful Brits!) Chambers needed an aristocratic name to lend weight to his rules, and the man he approached was the Marquis of Queensbury. The Queensbury rules did not immediately win over those robust Englishmen who considered spiked boots perfectly acceptable. Boxers who fought by the new rules were considered effete, and it took another small fighter to make gloves and rules seem manly. James “Jem” Mace won the English title in spite of weighing no more than Daniel Mendoza, and like Mendoza, he did it by judicious use of a quick left jab and equally quick feet. Obviously the Marquis of Queensbury rules were an aid to overcoming size and brute strength, and since bare-knuckle fighting had been outlawed anyway, “Jem” began to insist on the use of gloves. But the man who really put the manly-man stamp of approval on gloved fighting and the Marquis of Queensbury rules was the American-born son of Irish immigrants, the last of the great bare-knuckle fighters, a man known for his love of bars as much as for his love of boxing, the great Boston Strong Boy, John L. Sullivan. He did so unwillingly. Sullivan knocked out Jake Kilrain in the seventy-fifth round of a scheduled eighty round fight in 1889 in what proved to be the last bare-knuckle fight. Bare-knuckle fighting under the pre-Queensbury rules had been outlawed in America and after beating Kilrain, Sullivan was arrested. It cost him the then enormous sum of over $18,000 in various legal fees and lost wages, and prompted him to agree to fight Gentleman Jim Corbett under the Queensbury rules and with gloves. The rest is history. The rest is modern boxing. Probably the greatest barrier within the sport of boxing following the acceptance of the Marquis of Queensbury rules was the race barrier. Many a white champion, from John L. Sullivan to Jack Dempsey, found it convenient to hoist his racial pride up

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A proof sheet of author Ernest Hemingway sparring with one of his gunbearers, taken while on a big-game hunt in September 1952 in Kenya. (Photo by Earl Theisen/Getty Images)

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the flagpole rather than face certain fighters. Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight champion, remains the boxer best known for being persecuted because his skill was inconsistent with his color, but he was actually preceded by Joe Gans, who won the world championship six years before Johnson. (Gans was a lightweight who may have been the greatest fighter of all time at any weight, unless it was the first Sugar Ray, Sugar Ray Robinson; such debates can prompt less than professional fistfights.)

He was fifty years older than that football player and one hundred and fifty pounds lighter, but the big man stumbled backward; not a step or two, but six or eight feet.

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w a s n’t until Joe L ouis (aided on the Olympic track field by Jesse Owens) took on the mantle of Civilization-OpposingNazi-Barbarianism that race ceased to be an issue in boxing. (Sportswriter Jimmy Cannon, responding to a comment that Joe Louis was, “…a credit to his race,” responded, “Yes. The human race.”) But in this Gracie brothers day and age of cage-fighting and submission holds, does boxing still count as a form of self-defense? Consider the following. When I was busy setting my still-standing record as the worst amateur boxer in the history of pugilism, almost forty years ago, I trained in a series of dark, dirty, smelly, unsanitary, ramshackle gyms around Los Angeles, gyms frequented by ex-convicts, gang-bangers, wannabes on the way up, former champions and contenders on the way down, stunt men, grifters, less subtle crooks and a host of other colorful types. In one of the better gyms there was a trainer by the name of Eddie… And there I have to stop. Eddie was black, a former welterweight, in his mid-seventies at that time, and had done all of his professional boxing back in the pre-civil rights days. Pre-civil rights, black boxers could either lose consistently and fight under their own names,

or they could win consistently and fight under a string of aliases. Eddie had fought for so long under so many names that he had gotten into the habit of giving you a different last name every time you spoke to him. But he was an excellent trainer, better than anyone I ever met at breaking down movements and sequences into comprehensible combinations. He also had the worst halitosis of any man I have ever had the misfortune to be around, and when he got excited or upset because you weren’t doing something right, he would get right up in your face and yell at you. The motivation for doing things right was very great. I happened to be in the gym one day when a defensive lineman for the Kansas City Chiefs came in. It was the off-season, and he wanted to learn how to box. I was working on the heavy bag when he and Eddie started to train next to me, and I heard the football player tell Eddie he weighed 295 pounds. Eddie started with the jab, the basic punch that can knock a man out if done properly, but that is used most often to set up every other punch in a boxer’s arsenal. Over and over he tried to get the football player to step in with his body behind the jab, but years of football and reliance on brute force had made this professional athlete clumsy and almost uncoordinated at this new movement. Eddie began to get excited. The football player kept trying to get his face farther and farther away from Eddie’s face, and he kept using more and more muscle and getting more and more uncoordinated. Finally, exasperated, Eddie told him to step away from the bag. “Hold your glove up against your chest like this.” The football player put his gloved hand up over his sternum as directed and Eddie stepped forward with a quick and perfect jab to the glove. He was fifty years older than that football player and one hundred and fifty pounds lighter, but the big man stumbled backward; not a step or two, but six or eight feet. The first expression to cross his face was something close to shock. It was followed by an instant of pure rage, and then by dawning understanding and appreciation. Yes, boxing is an excellent choice for self-defense. Having said that, how do you go about finding a place to learn and train? Almost every city of any size has at least one boxing club. Some are as grim

Jack Dempsey delivers the knockout blow in the 1919 Dempsey-Willard battle.

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and grimy as the ones I used to train in. Some are almost civilized. Back in the seventies, the New York City Athletic Club, a club I was never refined enough or rich enough to join, still had a boxing program. The amazing thing is that almost every club, clean and welcoming or filthy and threatening, is a safe place to train. I boxed for five years in clubs that catered to professional fighters, and in all that time, the only fighter who ever deliberately hurt me was a middleweight whose professional record was one and seven. I even sparred once (because I was ordered to do so and was too afraid to refuse) with former heavyweight champion Mike Weaver shortly after he lost his rematch to Michael Dokes, and while I spent most of those three rounds lying on my back and wondering what the hell I was doing and why had I taken up boxing instead of bocce, Mike never made any attempt to do me damage. Professionals worthy of the name know what they’re doing and have no desire or need to prove anything. There are also gyms today that raise the level of the sport in ways no one could have dreamed of thirty or forty years ago. Consider former two-time world champion (featherweight and bantamweight) Paulie Ayala. He has a gym (The University of Hard Knocks Fitness Gym) in Fort Worth, Texas, where in addition to the regular boxing program, he conducts a special program for senior citizens suffering from Parkinson’s Disease. That’s a long step up from the fights that repulsed even the hardy Romans. Jameson Parker was a working actor for more than a quarter century, best known for his starring role as A.J. in the long-running ‘80’s series Simon & Simon. He now makes his living as a writer for a variety of hard-copy and online magazines, and is the author of the critically acclaimed memoir, An Accidental Cowboy. He is also the editor of the anthology, To Absent Friends. You can read more of his writing on his website, ReadJamesonParker.com. He is married to the actress and singer Darleen Carr.

Kicking back in true-champion fashion, Jack Johnson enjoys a ringside cigar while watching the Baer-Carnera fight in Madison Square Garden Bowl on Long Island.


An open book on decades of deep-water adventures, steeped in the mysterious aura of a hidden bay that gradually reveals its secrets to those who venture there, the tUdor Heritage black bay is a longlost treasure, returning to the light of day. This model is icy and sharp and exalts the original purpose of the Tudor submariner toolwatches and their use on the wrists of divers serving in some of the world’s greatest navies.


daring & debonair adventurous & Luxurious timepieces from tudor

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or nearly half a century, TUDOR has left its mark on the history of chronographs with products of strong identity, unique style and uncompromising quality. Equal to the task, a kindling of passions, constant improvements and collections and models that clearly belong to their era but retaining their own distinct identity has earned TUDOR a place apart in the field of sports chronographs. Here is a Golf Sport feature of TUDOR timepieces – a collection as stylish and functional on land as on sea, others racy and modern, as well as exquisite his and hers models of timeless elegance. Visit Tudorwatch.com.

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In a collection devoted to a passion for motor sports, the Grantour Chrono Fly-Back model is a well-tuned balance of style and technical performance. These timepieces are available in a combination of steel and 18 ct pink gold, a first for the TUDOR brand. The watch also allows consecutive time intervals to be measured rapidly thanks to its on the fly chronograph reset and instant restart functions.

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The tango, possibly the most sophisticated, sensual and seductive of dance genres, is also the most demanding technically. And the rose, a timeless symbol, long associated with the TUDOR brand, evokes elegance, passion and perfection of form and function. Inspired by the palpable emotions and aesthetics of the two, and drawing on the characteristic elegance and elan of the TUDOR Glamour collection, the new TUDOR Glamour Double Date is the ultimate expression of retro chic and sensuality.


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tudor heritage chrono blue is a watch as much at home in water as on land, radiating the Mediterranean spirit and its warmth. It is a unique reinterpretation in which past, present and future converge in both time and style. While all the aesthetic codes that contributed to the recognition of the historic model remain, many modern touches have been added to update the iconic spirit of this watch and endow it with a timeless strength to make it “tomorrow’s icon”. The Heritage Chrono Blue comes with two bracelets, one in steel with a folding clasp, the other in reinforced fabric with a buckle. The fabric strap – the outcome of cooperation with a firm still carrying on the age-old art of traditional weaving – echoes the characteristic colours of the dial and provides exceptional wearing comfort: an extra touch for a chronograph that takes its inspiration from history but makes an utterly contemporary statement.

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erfect for the shooting field, tailgating or doubling as the 19th Hole is this oak-framed, leather-covered portable drinks cabinet. The attention to detail is exceptional with recessed carry handles, Purdey-engraved English crystal decanters and glasses, compartments for two bottles of your favourite malt or brandy, removable trays, brass corners and leather straps for keeping the lid in place. The inside is decked out in Audley House red baize with a James Purdey & Sons case label. A truly magnificent gift. ÂŁ15,000 Visit Purdey.com.

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Potent Portable Purdey Oak & Leather Drinks Cabinet

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Mean Machine Badass morgan three-wheeler

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A leader in the motoring world in its heyday, the Morgan 3-Wheeler is back in full force.

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he success of the Morgan Motor Company was founded on its iconic vehicle, the Morgan Three-Wheeler. This brilliant but simple design by skilled engineer and company founder Harry Morgan, mostly referred to as H.F.S., became one of the most successful lightweight cars of the early days of motoring. The principal of fitting a powerful motorcycle engine and simple transmission into a lightweight chassis and body inspired a new type of vehicle which generically became known as the “Cyclecar.� The fashion for new motoring introduced the freedom of the open road to those of more modest means. The Morgan Runabout was at the forefront of this movement and therefore Harry Morgan can be regarded as the man who first introduced motoring for the masses. One of the first Cyclecars, which was built at the Morgan factory in Malvern Link, was without doubt the best engineered, the most reliable and the most successful vehicle in its class, which set the standards for other manufacturers to follow. It featured a simple two-speed transmission (fast and very fast), but no reverse gear. To go

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backwards required gravity, or the driver had to get out and push. Engines were usually J.A.P. V-twins, although the simplicity of the chassis design allowed many other makes to be fitted. Within a few weeks of its launch at the Olympia motorcycle show in London in November 1910, Harry Morgan entered the Runabout in the MCC London to Exeter Trial, and his remarkable performance won a Gold Medal. This was the first of many such victories in all forms of motor sport such as reliability trials, plus racing and record-breaking particularly at the Brooklands autodrome. In little more than three years, by the outbreak of World War I in 1914, Morgan had secured ten British and World Records for various classes of Cyclecars, won 24 Gold Medals in major reliability trials and had achieved numerous victories on the race track. These successes included an astonishing drive by Mr. Harry Martin who easily won the first International Cyclecar Race at Brooklands, finishing more than two minutes ahead of the second place car even though Martin had


completed the race in just eight and a half minutes! A few months later Harry Morgan won the Cyclecar Cup for the 1100 cc one-hour record, traveling at a fraction short of 60 miles per hour for one hour at Brooklands. The most significant victory of the early years was that of W.G. McMinnies in the International Cyclecar Grand Prix at Amiens in France. McMinnies and his passenger, Frank Thomas, won against strong opposition from many continental four-wheelers. All of this was achieved in spite of an enforced stop to change an inner tube in one of the front

tires. McMinnies was the editor of Cyclecar magazine and his success gave Morgan a great deal of publicity. After the event he christened his particular car “Jabberwock of Picardy,� and a new model called the Grand Prix was introduced to the Morgan range. At the conclusion of WWI in 1918, Morgan was one of the first manufacturers to resume full production mainly due to the simplicity of the design. Most manufacturing operations were moved from the Worcester Road factory to the new one on Pickersleigh Road, although the first two shops at the site had been completed before


the war. In fact, the WWI flying ace Captain Albert Ball had ordered a special-bodied Grand Prix of which he remarked “to drive this car was the nearest thing to flying without leaving the ground.” Unfortunately, Captain Ball was shot down and killed shortly after receiving his car; however, his special Morgan inspired the 1920 introduction of the Aero, the new sporting model named in recognition of the famous pilot. So advanced had been H.F.S. Morgan’s first designs that little alteration apart from bodywork modifications were required for some years. The car retained its sturdy, lightweight construction and the two-speed transmission system remained in production for many years. A family vehicle, called the Family Runabout, was offered as an inexpensive car to tote more people around. The reliability trials led the company to add front wheel brakes, making the Morgan car the first in the field to apply this innovation. More powerful V-twin engines were fitted, giving Morgans an exceptional performance for their time. Throughout the 1920s the Morgan continued to have success after success in racing and was so fast that at Brooklands, it was required to start a lap behind the four-wheeled cars in the same class. Likewise, Morgans were dominant on the hills, where they won more medals and trophies than any other comparable machine. The rugged strength of the Morgan and its excellent traction meant that it always performed well on muddy tracks when taking part in reliability trials. In 1931, the Super Aero, with a lowered streamlined bodywork, was not only one of the most fashionable machines on the road, but it also set a set a world speed record of 117 miles per hour on the long straight at Arpajon. This eventually led to more improvements, including a new transmission system with a three-speed and reverse gearbox, a single chain and detachable wheels. These arrangements were eventually used on all models, their engines now supplied by Matchless. Due to all its success, the Morgan ThreeWheelers sold well abroad. In fact, Harry Morgan was having difficulty keeping up with the demand for his machines, so a Frenchman by the name of Monsieur Darmont bought a license to manufacture the car as the Darmont Morgan. Just a few years later, Morgan introduced the

four-wheeled 4/4 although the three-wheeler remained in production. Car production came to a halt throughout the Second World War, but resumed in 1946. The last twelve twin cylinder three-wheelers were manufactured that year using mostly pre-war parts and shipped to Australia. The F-type continued to be built alongside the 4/4, but due to postwar shortages, export orders were favored over those for the home market when allocating supplies of steel. The three-wheelers did not enjoy this popularity overseas, therefore the decision was made to discontinue their production in 1950. The last Morgan Three Wheeler left the factory in 1953. While it has been more than sixty years since the last Morgan, and the world is an incredibly different place than in the car’s heyday, the Morgan Motor Company decided to expand its range and return to its roots in 2011. Refining the original design has produced a unique 21st century vehicle. Its overall weight is less than 500 kilograms and the streamlined bodywork provides the ultimate in performance and fuel economy. Once again, the iconic Morgan Three-Wheeler is being created by the skilled craftsmen at Malvern Link so that even in modern times, discerning drivers can experience the thrill and freedom of those halcyon days of motoring. Visit Morgan3Wheeler.co.uk.

After more than 60 years since the last Morgan 3-Wheeler was manufactured, the new generation of designers have made it better than ever.

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Ford City

despite the early misgivings. Aside from the typical “this won’t fly” attitudes of some, a few of the sites selected seemed questionable. Flood plain property, a swampy mess of hills and riverside overgrowth, farmland, a small town south of Montgomery best known for a smoked turkey retail store. But Bronner’s dream and the vision of Jones, the old master who along with his design associate Roger Rulewich, came together. Of those 11 sites, one of them is in northwest Alabama in Muscle Shoals, hard by the Tennessee River, and known more for the music industry’s famed recording studios than anything else. Final holes of The Schoolmaster and Fightin’ Joe courses and the lodge sit atop a bluff overlooking Wilson Lake, while the remaining holes wind through farmland that once was part of another man’s dreams. It was in the Shoals, 90 years ago, where another great visionary first dreamed of grand things. He, too, was first given little support until he presented his carefully crafted ideas and blueprints for a 75mile long city, and people realized he was serious. Henry Ford was always serious about business ventures and his plans, grand as they were for a small but growing area of the Southeast. Yes, that Henry Ford, he of Ford Motor Corporation in Detroit. Known as “Ford City,” the industrialist millionaire’s dream was to create a bustling city by combining a willing workforce home from World War I with easy transportation in all directions by rail and river and the new, monstrous Wilson Dam being constructed just a few miles downstream from his dream. About ten years ago I first learned of this project, abandoned by Ford later on (more on that later), and how it could have created a Detroit of the Southeast. Interesting, for sure. But what stuck was the mention that Ford had thought of everything in his planning: ample and affordable tracts for worker housing, recreation areas including a sports field, track and giant centralized public green space park, ferry dockings on the river, and a golf course.

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Out in the Shoals of northwest Alabama, hard by the Tennessee River, lies the remnants of a town that could have been the Detroit of the South. By Alan Clemons

ore than two decades ago Dr. David Bronner was asked about investing in a golf project in central Alabama. He was intrigued. But Bronner doesn’t think big. He thinks huge. Gigantic. Instead of one course he unleashed a harebrained idea initially ridiculed and batted about like a scuffed range ball: create an 11-site golf trail throughout the state, with outstanding full and shorter par-3 courses open to the public, coupled at some of the sites with resort hotels. In Alabama? Public golf on such a level in the state ranked near the bottom of any United States list. Bronner, the CEO of Retirement Systems of Alabama, believed his Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail would work. It has, splendidly, with accolades near and far

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Henry Ford’s original blueprint of what was to become the industrialist millionaire’s dream , “Ford City.”

Ford City


Golf in the 1920s in Alabama was about as popular as a muddy pig at a church social. Few courses existed. Highland Park in Birmingham, still open, was established in 1903 as the Country Club of Birmingham and is the oldest course in the state. It was opened to the public in 1927. Spring Hill in Mobile was established in 1930. The Country Club of Tuscaloosa was opened in 1920, and Huntsville Country Club opened in 1925. But public courses? Few and far between. The layout at Ford City would have been one of the first, no doubt, open to those in Ford’s meticulously planned community. It was to be located by the resort hotel that would have overlooked the Tennessee River, providing guests and the community’s residents a slice of the sport that was about to hit a growth spurt. Sounds familiar? Perhaps similar to Bronner’s vision 70 years later? Ford dreamed big, pushed hard, usually got what he wanted. He wanted a well-oiled machine churning out Model T automobiles in Alabama and believed it was within his grasp. And then it all went away.

The terrain today, not much changed from 90 years ago, is rolling. A links course could have easily been designed, with wind from all directions playing havoc on golfers and summer heat baking the ground to a crust.

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Ford’s Plans Were Rolling

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orthwest Alabama in the 1920s saw a couple of major growth opportunities for returning veterans of World War I with two nitrate plants, an aluminum mill and water transportation on the river that would soon be harnessed for hydroelectric power. The first dam of many on the river and its tributaries in Tennessee and north Alabama was under construction at Muscle Shoals. Spanning the then narrow, flood-prone river, Wilson Dam would create jobs, electricity and, with the future dams in what would become the Tennessee Valley Authority, the

Ford City

way of life for millions. Funded by Congress, Wilson Dam was just a few miles downriver from where Henry Ford decided he could be part of this change. Dam construction with some 18,000 workers began in 1918 to supply electricity to the two plants providing nitrate for war munitions. When the war ended Congress didn’t know what to do with the uncompleted dam that, at that point, had cost about $46 million. Ford stepped in with his plan for a new city and a lowball offer of $5 million for the dam. Speculation ran wild. Streets were laid out, sidewalks poured, land carved up and sold, and Ford’s vision began to somewhat take shape. Among these plans was a golf course that would be laid out just across from the Ford City Boat and Country Club and behind the Jackson Inn, which was nestled between two ferry landings. The blueprints designed by “Evans & Meade Engineers, 1923” merely show “Eighteen Hole Golf Course” but nothing else. No holes, no nines out and in, nothing to indicate anything other than the land allotted and specified for golf. Speculation is left to the imagination. The terrain today, not much changed from 90 years ago, is rolling. A links course could have easily been designed, with wind from all directions playing havoc on golfers and summer heat baking the ground to a crust. But, no one knows. “There were 80 acres or more set aside in the middle of the city for parks and recreation, and on the river was the Ford City Country Club and a yacht club,” said Tom Pennington, a longtime historian in Muscle Shoals. “Ford had planned for a four- or five-story hotel on the point looking toward the dam, and the golf course by the hotel.” Pennington has a map of the site, of Ford City, that is incredible in its layout. Named streets, traffic circles, a central park with a football stadium and track field, gardens, a town square, factory sites on the river, ferry and shipping docks … he had everything planned. Nothing was left to chance. He wanted a community where his workers could live, play and be comfortable. Golf was growing from its American infancy. The PGA of America history shows that in 1922 it suggested a maximum price of


$3 for a set of irons. PGA membership grew to more than 1,500 by 1925, and the PGA Championship, British Open and Ryder Cup were the top professional events. Walter Hagen, Gene Sarazen, Jock Hutchinson . . . those were the names in headlines. Ford City’s golf course likely would have been the first, or one of the first, in the area, Pennington suggests. Other public courses came much later; a private course across the river and designed by Robert Trent Jones Sr. wasn’t established until 1961. “There were no golf courses around here at the time Ford was planning his city that I know of,” Pennington said. “The Spring Park area in Tuscumbia, they’ve had one for a long time. But before that it was where they showed the horses and had horse races. There just weren’t many of them around back then.” Ford’s dream disappeared after Congress voted against handing over Wilson Dam to a private investor. Nebraska Senator George Norris fought it, railing about the privatization and how the possibilities of the dam and others could help the distressed Tennessee River Valley. The margin in Congress was slim; one vote separated Ford from creating a Detroit of the South but in Norris’ eyes, the potential for one person to hold sway over a river system and public electrical provider was too great a risk. Ford abandoned his dream and put his attention into his main factory in Detroit. Curbed streets and lighted sidewalks of Ford City were forgotten. Land that had been sold was sold again or passed on through generations. Speculative prices plummeted. Men from near and far who had heard of more jobs were left scrounging for anything or looking for a way out of the area. Some sidewalks still exist in pieces, found in fields or by those with careful eyes and a bit of knowledge of the area. One of the original streetlamps is housed in the Muscle Shoals City Hall exhibit of the area’s history.

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ord City faded into the musty pages of history, one of those stories about what could have been and almost was. Few in North Alabama have ever heard the story or what one of the country’s leading industrialists almost did.

Pennington points out different areas on his map, which he reveals to only a few people now and then. It’s a source of pride that he knows so much about the area’s history. Ask him almost anything and if he doesn’t know the answer or have a personal insight, he knows someone who does and will. I’m with Pennington and his grandson, Alec Pennington, and Susann Hamlin of the Colbert County Tourism & Convention Bureau. We’re in the lodge at The Shoals, the beautiful Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail facility overlooking Wilson Lake. Two 18hole courses wind through red clay farmland that once, 90 years ago, would have been Henry Ford’s dream. Pennington’s grandson, Alec, plays golf daily and is familiar with the story. “I think it’s pretty cool that Ford included a golf course and also that it’s close to the course we play now,” he said. “It’s obvious he wasn’t just thinking about factories either, since he had a hotel and golf course for people to play.” We’re not on the exact spot of that “Ford City Golf Course” on the blueprint, Pennington notes, but his map shows that the current RTJ Trail courses are not far from where Ford’s course would have been. It’s within walking distance. “Oh, for sure,” Pennington says, pointing to the map. “I’d say we’re about right here, and you can see the course here.” Maybe a mile, perhaps, separates the two areas he points to on the map. A woman who works for the course stops by the conference room to check on us, and Pennington shows her the map. “There’s chunks of sidewalk or something over in the field across the road from the course,” she says, providing a little more detail about the location. “You’d have to go look for it, but I don’t think it would be too hard to find.” We don’t go look, as the sunlight is fading and chiggers are bad in the grassy fields of north Alabama. Besides, four folks trespassing to look for 90-year old sidewalks probably wouldn’t be a story anyone would believe.

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For more information about the The Shoals Robert Trent Jones Trail golf courses, visit Colbertcountytourism.org.

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Rock & roll Entrepreneur extraordinaire Rocky Patel has lit the cigar world aflame with his own brand of smokes & his signature cigar bar, Burn by Rocky Patel. By Arthur Farrell


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a former entertainment attorney in Los Angeles, becoming a leader in the cigar industry was only a pipe dream for Rocky Patel. As he spent more and more time in the cigar bar next to his downtown L.A. office, or smoking behind Hollywood studios with movie executives, his passion grew into an obsession. Ultimately, the calling of fine cigars was too much. Rocky quit his lucrative law practice and became one the original founding members of the Grand Havana Club. Years later and many miles behind him, he is continuing to steadily surround the market after having survived the cigar boom and today, his Rocky Patel Cigars are selling better than ever. In an industry built on name recognition and reputation, Rocky Patel’s passion has brought his brand to heights unseen by most boutique cigar manufacturers. His hard work and long hours have been paying off in big ways. In fact, Rocky told us that he traveled to some six hundred cities in seven hundred days, crashing on couches along the way as he met with almost every cigar retailer in the United States. Of course his prowess did not stop within the U.S. as his name and brand are recognized worldwide. Regardless of his travel schedule, office responsibilities and constant production, Rocky still maintains the enthusiasm that he has had since day one. “I sacrificed a lot,” he said. “My life was this company. I didn’t have time for friends or

Rocky Patel

family because of my constant travel schedule and workload. But it’s a labor of love.” While searching for the very best cigars, Rocky was approached with the opportunity to manufacture his own brand. And even though his friends and colleagues warned him against


leaving his law practice for the cigar industry, Rocky seized the opportunity to create the kind of product he saw missing in the market. He was convinced that a new company was needed to open the marketplace with fresh ideas, bold packaging and fuller cigars.

After careful development, the Indian Tabac Cigar Company debuted at the 1996 RTDA in Cincinnati, where customers flocked to the Indian Tabac booth, drawn in by the distinct packaging and staying for the high-quality product.

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Step inside Rocky Patel’s Naples, Florida, Burn by Rocky Patel, and enter into a world of exotic tastes and diversified flavors as the eclectic and vibrant interior sets the perfect environment for tobacco enthusiasts.

In 2003, he put aside the Indian Tabac brand name to focus on the Rocky Patel Vintage Series. A superior smoke to anything Rocky had created previously, the Vintage Series was made up of premium quality aged tobaccos. While in Honduras, he had discovered unused bales of old Honduran-grown broadleaf and Ecuadorian Sumatra. He used these two different tobaccos to create both lines of the Vintage Series. The older tobacco performed beyond his wildest expectations. To insure that the craftsmanship equaled the quality of the tobacco, Rocky cut production to a mere 250 cigars a day. The result is a line of fine cigars that have consistently cracked the 90-rating barrier in Cigar Aficionado. The legacy of precision continues to this day with every Rocky Patel Cigar being thoroughly inspected and draw tested.

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ocky Patel has created a company that has outshined even those created by multimillion-dollar corporations, and he’s doing it one customer at a time. As he travels the

Rocky Patel

world informing the public and sharing his cigars with consumers, his passion extends beyond the retailer, allowing his customers the experience of meeting the man behind their favorite smokes. As with any business, being there in the flesh, meeting face to face, always leaves the best impression. He’s even opened his own cigar bar in Naples, Florida, called Burn by Rocky Patel. Burn by Rocky Patel is an evolution in cigar lounges, featuring a design that draws on an exotic mix of Mediterranean, Asian and Cuban cultures. Burn is a sanctuary for those who enjoy fine cigars and premium spirits. Created to offer perfection in service, it is the perfect place to enjoy life’s pleasures. The bar stocks the full line of Rocky Patel Premium Cigars, as well as cigars from other top makers around the globe. The world-class humidor features private lockers so guests can keep their cigars in perfect condition to enjoy whenever they visit. Rocky Patel continues his mission to introduce his product to tobacco enthusiast everywhere. Often heralded as the hardest


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working man in the business, Rocky logs more than 300 days on the road a year. He considers his traveling as time well spent, winning over new costumers in every town. This practice is only an extension of his enthusiasm for his award-winning cigars and his commitment to his customers. Rocky also hosts trips to his factory in Honduras, giving his customers a chance to discover fine craftsmanship in person. The dedication in the factory is translated into a quality cigar that is enjoyed all over the world. Apart from maintaining a consistent presence in the public eye and inviting his customers to see his operation, Rocky spends his time focusing on production, gearing his product towards the more complex palate. He believes that blending tobaccos from various regions takes greater skill and knowledge, and that it creates a more satisfying end product. This process is time consuming, and Rocky will often take a year or more to craft a perfect blend.

Rocky Patel Premium Cigars continues to set itself ahead of the competition by offering the highest value cigars at reasonable prices while currently producing twenty million annually. Three hundred different hands touch the tobacco from the time a seedling is planted in the ground, to the time a cigar is placed in a box for final shipment. Rocky assures his customers that when they want the best, they get the best with Rocky Patel Premium Cigars. Rocky Patel has truly been an inspiration to many, even us. As we continue moving forward, it’s our own drive that keeps us on the road away from our friends and families. Building a business isn’t easy and if there was ever a model to follow, Rocky Patel fits that mold. If he’s not on the road or in the office, he spends his time cooking, skiing (water and snow), fishing, or, who would guess, playing golf. Visit RockyPatel.com for more on his Premium Cigars or BurnByRockyPatel.com for his signature cigar bar.

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Brothers Under the Skin

The Legacy of Pinehurst’s Black Caddies in the Golden Age of Golf. By Laurie Bogart Wiles

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the first thing I came upon was a letter written almost a century ago to a black caddy, by a white golfer who had just won a tournament on Pinehurst No. 2. “I didn’t win this tournament,” he wrote. Two men won – you and me, together, as a team. You are a great caddy. But you are an even greater man.” And in that moment I understood that some of the greatest men in the history of golf weren’t the ones swinging a club. They were the ones carrying them. For in those words, there was no distinction between black and white. The love of golf knows no race or class, no limitations or bounds, makes equals of all individuals, and the only judgment made is decided by the rules of the game. he Tufts Archives has more than 80,000 negatives from the John Hemmer Collection. Hemmer, an award-winning press photographer who died in 1981 in Pinehurst at the age of 89, received the following letter, dated November 14, 1944, from Leonard Tufts. Son of Pinehurst’s founder, James Walker Tufts, Leonard was a man “whose fine, strong personality cast its sunshine over the Sandhills domain in making Pinehurst a favorite residence of gentlemen sportsman in other sports as well as golf.”

TROLL UNDER A CANOPY OF LOFTY LONGLEAF PINES, down the brick path that borders the Village Green of historic Pinehurst, past a stand of flowering camellias and blooming azaleas, through the stately columned portico of Given Memorial Library, and just beyond the Reception Desk, to the rear of the building, you’ll find Tufts Archives – and its executive director, Mrs. Audrey Moriarty. “Audrey,” I asked the petite, perky woman whose abundance of knowledge of Pinehurst and its hallowed place in the annals of golf is second to none, “what sort of resource material is there on black caddies in Pinehurst?” She got up from her desk and walked over to a long row of archival boxes, pulled one out, and said –“I think you’ll find what you want here and if not, there’s more and tons of photographs, besides.” I sat at one of the two large round tables and set off on a journey into the past. Remarkably,

Dear John: I find there are four more men that we did not get in that picture yesterday. We will never be able to get as many together again. Mr. Black forgot to go out and get Bart Sadler so he went out yesterday afternoon and got him and had somebody take a photograph of him. There are 3 negroes – one old uncle Ed Gaines – and 2 brothers, John Henry and Tom Dowd, whose father was working at Pinehurst when it first started and after his death my father gave those boys a job to help their mother. They first helped Danny Black pick chickens down back of the old stables and later

Above, left to right: The Gaines brothers,: John Henry, Ed and Tom Dowd.

Pinehurst Caddies


got a job carrying water at 15 cents a day. Tom is 62 years old and John Henry is 64. Ed Gaines was born in slavery and has caddied, as I remember it, for 4 generations of Tufts, 4 generations of Fownes and 3 generations of Johnsons. He is shown in one of the early colored calendars. I don’t know how old he is and I don’t suppose he does, but he is over 80 of course. Old Uncle Ed Gaines was the grandfather of the late Fletcher Gaines, who famously carried for Tommy Armour, Gene Sarazen, Porky Oliver, and Curtis Strange in his back-to-back North & South Amateur wins in 1975 and 1976. The grandson of a slave, who was inducted into the Pinehurst Caddy Hall of Fame in 2001, said this of an apprentice club maker from Scotland, Donald Ross, who would become the greatest golf course architect

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in history (and for whom Fletcher caddied): “Ross used to hate it when someone broke par on No. 2. He always considered par to be an elusive animal and never wanted to see anybody shoot in the 60s. The secret to putting the greens on No. 2 is not to play as much break as you think and to remember that all putts under six feet will not break if hit firmly towards the cup.” Some say No. 2 is “a living animal that changes subtly with the seasons.” One year you might need to hit a slight draw on one hole and the next year, you might need to hit it straight down the fairway on that same hole. It was his keen understanding that earned Gaines the distinction of holding the record of seven straight wins in tournaments played on Pinehurst No. 2 – and one that his great-nephew, Mert Monroe, himself a Pinehurst caddy who is completing his golf management


degree, carries through the generations of one of golf ’s most notable families. In that same letter, Leonard Tufts describes some of the early beginnings of caddies he grew to know and respect: Bart Sadler (age 78) hauled wood to the power house for fuel. Danny Black (age 73) first helped build roads and streets and later went to work at the nursery that we established for the planting of Pinehurst. Orin Morrison (age 79) It is said his mother was an Indian and his father an Englishman. He broke up all of the #2 golf course with his pair of black mules. John Calcut (age 76) had charge of the trolley tracks between here and Southern Pines. Kenneth Wallace (age 60) was a boy who Father hired to pick up papers and trash around town.

William Harris (age 77) hauled muck out of the bottom up to the 9 acre oval in front of the Holly Inn, which was to be a beautiful open green lawn, but after 10 years of labor on it we gave it up and planted it to pines. Arthur Wicker (age 6) among other things hauled the sills and other lumber for the Holly Inn. Duncan McDonald (age 69) operated a bottling plant for us, the first one in the Country, and made ginger ale, root beer, lemon and other flavors of pop. Will Bosworth (age 71) was a mason’s helper and worked on the power house and most of the chimneys and foundations of the early houses. He closes with, “I am writing this all out as a record for future reference, not with the idea that you can use any of it for publicity,” to acknowledge these men.

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the 1920s, Pinehurst employed more than 500 caddies. At the height of the season, a wagon was sent to the local school to get boys as young as twelve years-old to come and carry. “With reference to your letter of November 9, with reference to the [black] school and the caddy question,” a letter from that time goes, “I made arrangements last year with the principal of the school to employ boys of school age in the afternoons, provided he sent them to us marked with a tag in such a manner as would prove to us that they had put their full time at school. He did this and it worked out very well.” Girls were no exception and were collected from the black girls’ school in the area to caddy for women golfers. A Western Union telegram sent by Leonard Tufts to New York likewise reflects an urgent need for caddies: “Three hundred boys. Season Nov. first to May first, busy season from Christmas to April 10th. Ten or twelve years-old acceptable. Earn about four dollars per week. There are no sleeping quarters for those boys. I certainly hope arrangements may be made.” This letter, written in 1993, captures the depth of respect that began many years before, when a golfer from New York recounted how he met his favorite caddy: Enclosed are the pictures I promised including one of my old caddy – Caleb Lucky. Lucky started caddying for me in 1948 and continued same off and on – twice a year until about 1962. I’ll never forget how I met him – the caddies were herded all together near an old building close by the old Pinehurst Club locker entrance – the caddy master’s name was Jack and he was a real toughie. When I passed by – there seemed to be a genuine glow in the eyes of one – and he sort of signaled to me that he wanted to tote my bags. I spoke with Jack and after quite a bit of haggling he agreed to let go of Lucky and assigned him to my buddy and I. From that point on when Jack ever saw me coming he would yell out – “Lucky – Caleb Lucky here’s your man!” We formed quite a relationship over the years – staying in touch – and it was quite a fond reunion when we met the other day. It would be interesting to interview him to find out roughly how many times he has walked No. 2. I think we paid him the grand sum of $5 – for carrying doubles for 18 – in the beginning – it could have been for 36.

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By the Twenties, a black caddy with good knowledge of the game and course was in high demand – and paid well. The race question was put to rest with this correspondence from 1926 (opposite), which makes the point that white caddies, according to the Pinehurst Resort, were less qualified and therefore less desirable than black caddies.

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The Caddy Master’s Journal featuring individual photographs of over 200 early Pinehurst black caddies.


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he reign of the black caddy in golf in America coincided with the Jim Crow Era (1876 - 1965) and its demise, with the advent of Civil Rights. A good caddy today is worth his weight in gold, they say, and stands to make serious money if he carries for a professional. He consults, advises, totes and gives support – just like the great caddies before him did, but without the purse. And when I see a young man like Mert Monroe, who carries the torch of generations of black caddies before him, you pray that torch may always burn bright. What, then, was it really about? It’s about skill, respect, and camaraderie among men, whether he swings a club or carries them, whether he is black or white. I found the answer here, in the obituary of a black caddie who ceased to walk the earth almost a century ago:

CADDIE DIES

Hecktor McLauren, 81, Faithfully Served Pinehurst Country Club Cap’n Ward’s Toter Hector McLaurin, 81-year-old Pinehurst caddie, is dead. He has been a diligent bag-toter at the Country Club for a quarter of a century, the last two years of which he caddied for Cap’n W. H. B. Ward. Hector died of old age at his cabin home in Taylortown last Friday night, May 30th, mourned by his wife and their several children. He was a darky of the old school, quiet, unassuming and courteous to all. Until two weeks before he passed on he tramped the four mile round trip between Taylortown and the Country Club for his daily work of eighteen holes of club tot’n. If he did not always see where the ball went, the Cap’n would find it for him and then Hector would take over the job. After his beloved Cap’n had departed for the summer, Hector – serene at having completed his full round – called it a day.

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A Psalm of Life Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing leave behind us Footprints in the sands of time.

- HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (1807—1882) Set in bronze on Pinehurst No. 2

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Pinehurst Caddie Hall of Fame Jack Williams, Caddy Master – Teddy Marley – Robert “Hardrock” Robinson – Jeff “Rattman” Ferguson – Jimmy Steed – Robert Stafford – Fletcher Gaines – Hilton “Doctor” Rodgers – John T. “Barney Google” Daniel – Willie McRae* These men were honored when the Pinehurst Caddie Hall of Fame was established in March 2001, along the main corridor of the Pinehurst Clubhouse at Pinehurst No. 2. “This hall is dedicated to those special individuals who have distinguished themselves while caddying at Pinehurst. In both casual and competitive situation, these caddies helped make a round on Pinehurst No. 2 the ultimate golf experience.” * Of these Hall of Famers, there’s Willie McRae, 80, son of caddie Thaddeus, who caddied at Pinehurst for thirty-five years and Pinehurst’s most senior caddie. Willie was ten-years-old when he started, in 1943, and been caddying for golfers on No. 2 ever since. McRae decries the golf cart. “You get to the ball too fast when you’re riding. There’s no time to think.” So does John Ross, a fifty-year veteran of Pinehurst and a “double bag caddy,” carrying two bags and servicing two players in the same round. He walks No. 2 Editor’s Note; Special thanks to Audrey Moriarty and the Tuft’s Archives for assisting in this feature.

Opposite: Donald Ross appears with a caddy in this early magazine advertisement. Ross said this of No. 2, the course he considered his masterpiece: I sincerely believe this course to be the fairest test of championship golf I have ever designed. It is obviously the function of the championship course to present competitors with a variety of problems that will test every type of shot which a golfer of championship ability should be qualified to play. Thus it should call for long and accurate tee shots, accurate iron play, precise handling of the short game and finally, consistent putting.

Pinehurst Caddies


Blessed Design North of Fayetteville and into the surrounding countryside, Blessings Golf Club is home to one of the most unique and organic clubhouses in the country. By Josh Wolfe • Photography by Tim Hursley


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The Marlon Blackwell designed clubhouse at Blessings Golf Club in Fayetteville, Arkansas, is a standalone structure set at the base of a hill in the Ozark Mountains and has a very small footprint as it barely makes contact with the land.

was hardly surprised by the continuation of winter as I drove north from Fayetteville, Arkansas, and toward the more rural setting of Blessings Golf Club. Usually my motive, and most everyone else’s I’m sure, for visiting a golf course is to play. But this cold morning in mid-April held a different reason for my visiting what has been deemed one of the hardest courses in the United States, and home to the University Arkansas Razorbacks’ golf team. Blessing Golf Club is home to one of the nicest and most unique clubhouses in the country. Designed by architect Marlon Blackwell, this modern-style clubhouse is outfitted with natural, organic design features including local stone and imported, exotic woods that are used throughout the interior. Its pro shop, restaurant, lounge, men’s and women’s locker rooms, swimming pool were all tastefully designed as only Marlon Blackwell can do. Blessings Golf Club is a private, 18-hole golf course located along Clear Creek just outside of Fayetteville. Its creation was funded by former Tyson Foods CEO John Tyson and was designed by Robert Trent Jones, Jr. It opened in June 2004. As I exited off of I-540N and headed out further into the picturesque farmland, I wasn’t sure what to expect or even know where to look for a golf course, much less its elegantly composed clubhouse. To say the least, the Ozark Mountains that surround Fayetteville were indeed stunning with the frost-laden grass and dormant groves of apple trees. In quiet admiration I drove right past the Blessings. I met General Manager and Director of Golf, Richard Cromwell, in the pro shop. Just two weeks in as the GM of Blessings, Richard is no newbie in the world of golf after playing professionally for a number of years before holding management positions at golf courses in Virginia.


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Blessings’ clubhouse was built to serve as an extension of your living room, where you can relax with friends and family in a casual atmosphere.


Wood-built lockers and a full spa make up a good portion of the men’s grill on the top floor of Blessings’ clubhouse.

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Right away I was impressed with the immaculate layout and design of the clubhouse. The stone and wood of the interior brought a comforting warmth and consistency to each room while the abundant windows allowed plenty of natural light to accentuate every aspect of the clubhouse. Artwork adorned the walls and plush leather couches made a living room type area look very appealing after a day on the links or just a good place to hang out. “Our motto is that this place is an extension of your living room,” said Richard. “Kids are welcome here anytime and families are encouraged to come together to play, have lunch or dinner and enjoy the company of the other members.” Even the pool lacks the blue tile on the sides and the white bottom. To keep it in character with the rest of the clubhouse, Marlon Blackwell designed it with earth tones. Right out from the clubhouse, across the putting greens, a state-of-the-art practice facility, also designed by Marlon Blackwell, is where Arkansas’ golf team (men and women) and members practice. It is home to six indoor-outdoor practice bays, an indoor video swing analysis station, office space and fully furnished locker rooms. A new building, which will allow players to hit shots at a target green

Blessed Design

35 yards away, is in the works. It will also have a much larger fitness room for players to workout. The men’s grill, in my mind, is the epicenter of the whole building. Windows wrap around three sides and the view is outstanding. Leather couches and a big-screen TV make for an inviting place to watch football in the fall or golf in the summer. Tables for small parties sit across the right side of the room as well as one large table, a communal gathering place where members may join each other to catch up or become more acquainted. Dress is casual except for dinner on Friday and Saturday nights. Again, an extension of your living room. The left half of the large rectangular room is made up of woodbuilt lockers for the male members and a full spa, including a sauna, hot tub and a shower. In the end, my visit to Blessings and the tour of the clubhouse could not have lasted more than 30 minutes, but it was all I needed. I’ve been in clubhouses and 19th Holes across this country, and though most of them are first rate, Blessings is extraordinary. As I headed north still, out of Arkansas and into the Midwest, I speculated about living in the Ozark Mountains where there is plenty of countryside and clean air, downtown Fayetteville, and of course, Blessing Golf Club.


America’s Cup 1970

The late Leroy Neiman was known for his distinctive handlebar mustache and vivid, energetic color palettes. Here is a Golf Sport gallery of his finest work. Images Courtesy of the LeRoy Neiman Foundation


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Mr. Neiman


U.S. Open Bethpage 2002 Opposite Page: Baccarat Atlantic City 1989

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Augusta National Golf 1996

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World Class Skier Opposite Page: Muhammad Ali 2000

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Derby Day Paddock 1997 Opposite Page: Mister Kelly’s, 1993

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Roulette II 1970

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water

Goddess Carry along these exotic bathing styles from Aguaclara on your next vacation & unpack a world of luxurious adventure.


Below: PIEL Y COCTEL white missy halter ($90) with retro bottom ($96). Previous pages: CARNAVAL DEL CUSCO Bandeau top ($116) with low rise bottom ($57). Opposite Page: AMAZONIA DORADA cover up $280 with hipster bottom ($69).

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Fashion


DESTELLOS DE LA SELVA missy halter top ($90) with missy bottom ($80). Opposite Page: MADRE PERLA Bandeau top ($110) with low rise bottom ($61).

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PERFUME ORIENTAL cover up ($330). Opposite Page: PIEL Y COCTEL bandeau top ($90) with side tie bottom ($75).

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AMAZONIA DORADA bandeau ($92) with missy bottom ($92). Opposite page: SELVA TURQUESA cover up ($390).

to shop the Aguaclara Collections visit aguaclara-swimwear.com.

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Order Up! The new collection from Maide’s is specially tailored for course, club or cafe. Images Courtesy of Maide Golf, Photographer Weston Wells

Webbie short sleeve in spotted diamond print, 100% cotton poplin ($88). Highland Short in navy, 100% polyester ($88).


Berwick white polo, cotton-poly blend ($78), Seacroft Cardigan in heather grey and green stripe, 100% cotton ($108), paired with Piped shorts in navy with white stripe, ($98). Opposite page: Kingpin short sleeve with golf club and shoe print, 100% cotton poplin ($88), paired with the Palmetto premium Italian cotton pant in white ($148).

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Webbie short sleeve in spotted diamond print, 100% cotton poplin ($88), Knockdown sweater in Navy and white, 100% cotton ($88), paired with Highland pant in yellow, 100% Polyester ($108).


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Berwick polo in light orange, cotton-poly blend ($78), navy and white dot Spottington sweatshirt, 100% cotton ($98), paired with Tee Times cotton stretch khakis with shoes and club critters ($128).

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Tee Squares Navy polo with white square print, $88, with Maide Club Blazer, navy Italian cotton pique blazer ($298). Opposite page: Berwick polo in heather grey, cottonpoly blend ($78), paired with Diamonds in the Rough cotton stretch pants in navy with white diamond pattern ($128).

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Webbie short sleeve in spotted diamond print, paired with Highland pant in yellow, 100% Polyester ($108). Visit Maidegolf.com.

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130 Parting Shot

By Samuel D. Ehrhart from Puck, July 30, 1902.


©2014 Pinehurst, LLC

It doesn’t take all day to get a massage ... unless, of course, you want it to.

A typical treatment at The Spa at Pinehurst usually lasts 50-80 minutes. But with spacious lounge areas, saunas, whirlpools, a swimming pool plus healthy snacks and smoothies, you can relax all day. So call the Spa to schedule an appointment that will benefit you long after your treatment ends.

$797* Summer Spree Package 3 Nights at The Carolina Breakfast and Dinner Daily Three 50-minute Spa Treatments

Located next to The Carolina Hotel • Village of Pinehurst, North Carolina • 888.976.0702 • pinehurst.com *Rates are per person for three nights, based on availability. Valid 6/30-9/3/14. Subject to tax and resort service fee.


Golfsport issue 4  

The Golf Sport is The Signature Magazine for the Golfing Lifestyle.

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