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Vol. XXVIII
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FEBRUARY 7, 1925
as second class metier at the
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Number 8
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The Pinehurst of Nineteen Eleven
(By “Chick” Evans)
(Editor’s note.—Pinehurst friends will be delighted to know
that “Chicle” Evans will arrive here Saturday, February 7,
for a weelc or ten days’ visit. This will be the first time that
he has been here for any length of stay since 1911. He has
very kindly written the following article for the Outlook on his
impressions of the place at that time and of his eagerness to
get back and see the Pinehurst of today.)
mN the Spring of 1911 I saw Pinehurst for the first time.
I spent over a week there, and I have not seen it since
except for a fleeting day or so years apart. Many a
time I have wanted to go back, but winter is my busy season
and I could never spare the time. Now, at last, I find myself
able to make the long-wished-for visit, and I am looking for
ward with much interest to the changes that I am sure to see.
I know that the courses have been much altered, and improved,
and I am anxious to see just exactly what form these im
provements have taken.
On my first visit I played in the United North and South
Championship, which I was fortunate enough to win, and at
the conclusion of the finals and as a sort of a reward perhaps,
although I had already received a very beautiful prize, Lincoln
Beachey took me up in his airplane. Riding in airplanes is an
old story to me now, but then it was the most thrilling event
I had ever known. Beachey's airplane was a crude affair
compared with the ones in use at the present day, but I recall
that his flew smoothly and gave me a chance to look down on
Pinehurst, that fine monument of Mr. Leonard Tufts in its
entirety, its golf courses, and forests, lying like a vari-colored
map beneath us. By a singular co-incidence I was at the Pana
ma Exposition in 1915 when Lincoln Beachey lost his life, and
I think he was using the same machine in which we went up.
I was rather a young boy in those days, and I remember that
a dear lady told me that as she watched our flight from a win
dow of the Carolina she prayed for my safe return, for she
felt sure that I would never have gone up if my mother had
been there. Probably she was right for judged by present
standards the airplane was not safe.
The Pinehurst of 1911 was a very friendly, home-like place
.and I am wondering if the great growth has taken away any
thing of the family atmosphere. There was a fine cottage
colony when I was there, and everyone seemed to know every
one else. It was a community of golfers, and they played the
game all day and talked about it all night. Dear Mr. Walter
J* Travis was there, and at that time he was the leading golfer
of the country. I can see him now in evening dress after
dinner, surrounded by golfers eager to talk with the great
player; and during the day his distinctive costume out on the
links made him a striking figure. He was a part of Pinehurst.
There is something else that I recall with much pleasure and
that is Pinehurst galleries. They, too, seem different from any
elsewhere, friendly, appreciative, and leisurely. There was
something, too, in the way the sound of the well-hit ball re
echoed against the pines that gave an added pleasure to a good
shot. In fact, as I look back upon it, Pinehurst was the ideal
spot for golf, and I am anticipating by the light of my old
memories a re-doubled pleasure in my visit next week. I ex
pect to see again the Pinehurst Boy of the calendars, the* negro-,
caddies, the Donald Ross courses, and the background of dark
pines. : %
My visit in 1911 was, as I have said before, to take part in
the championships, but my trip this year is for rest and health,
and, for me, that means a chance to indulge quietly in the game
that I love best. I feel sure that I shall have a better oppor
tunity to enjoy the improved courses in casual, friendly games;
than in the feverish ahxiety of a tournament. As I write:
Chicago is suffering from near zero weather, and the ground,
is covered with ice and snow. There is not a spot in the
whole vicinity, except in an indoor school, where a golf bait
can be comfortably hit. If hitting were possible, its only fate
could be a snow burial, with the player skating and diving
frantically after it.
It will be a delightful change to get away from Chicago just
now. And it is probably better to play in the mild climate of
Pinehurst than in the more relaxing ones of the far southern
courses. At least that is the thought that is thrilling me just
now. Pinehurst in February!!