Links editor George Peper filed “A Rant Against Golden Age Golf Architects” in the latest issue and while I suppose a backlash was inevitable, he also makes a few points that warrant a Golden Age defense.
The old architects are certainly getting a lot of ink these days and no matter how many old photos we turn up showing their courses were just better, there will be a subset that just wants to be living in a better time. And another subset that needs to be living in a better time for their self worth.
But in making his case, Peper ignores when key trait of the restoration movement results and deification of the old architects. First, this attempt at suggesting they are overrated:
If, as one of today’s leading designers Tom Doak has astutely observed, “the best architects are the ones who get the best clients,” then maybe the individuals we should be venerating are not the Golden Age designers but the Golden Age owner/developers, the gentlemen golfers with deep pockets and a simple, steadfast vision that began and ended with the creation of an outstanding golf course: Dick Tufts (Pinehurst No. 2) rather than Ross; Clifford Roberts (Augusta National) rather than MacKenzie; George Crump (Pine Valley) rather than Colt; Robert Moses (Bethpage Black) rather than Tillinghast.
With the exception of Crump, the architects were the difference between having a nice development and a masterpiece. Though Crump famously relied on many opinions besides Colt’s and the overall collaborative nature ended up spawning several successful design careers.
In Roberts’ case, he attempted to redo MacKenzie’s 8th green and turned it into a flying saucer that was rebuilt a short time later. If not for Bobby Jones and Alister MacKenzie, the Augusta National would not have been the success it was. (And contrary to the prevailing narrative MacKenzie spent a great deal of time at Augusta during key stages of construction. Which we know from David Owen’s book.)
The truth is, the early golf architects were not particularly revered or famous during their own lifetimes or for decades thereafter. Indeed, as recently as 50 years ago, if you had asked a member of just about any club in the world who the designer of his golf course was, he would have been hard pressed to tell you.
Not sure about the lack of fame part. Having flipped through thousands of magazine pages from the era, the household name designers were covered pretty thoroughly, featured prominently and praised for their work transforming rudimentary courses. And fame does not translate to timeless design, as Rees Jones and Tom Fazio prove over and over again.
Suddenly, belonging to a club with a course designed by an A-list Golden Ager became a badge of honor. More than one layout of 6,500 theretofore nondescript yards rebranded itself overnight as “a great old Donald Ross course” and a coterie of insufferable poseurs arose, boasting of their familiarity with MacKenzie bunkers, Macdonald templates, and Raynor greens. I know this because I did some of that boasting. Let this be my mea culpa: “I’m George and I’m an archaholic.”
Name dropping has always been part of the elite golf world. The difference now? After playing a course people can tell the difference and like any other kind of connoisseurship, seek more because of the satisfaction derived.
I guess what got me riled about this Golden Age regurgitation is the pretentiousness it’s fostered in some circles.
Except that successful restorations have led to more enjoyable golf, newfound respect for a course, increased value of memberships or land, interest in reclaiming once-grand public courses, and an appreciation of architecture that is fun to play merely serving to move lots or punish bad shots.
While the occasional pontificating that comes with the Golden Age reverence may not be progress to all, I’ll take the doses of pretentiousness if it means more people are enjoying the courses they play. After all, that is ultimately the point of good architecture and something that the old masters and their restorers keep reinforcing.
