"Sometimes," one of the oldtimers said, "a player in a cart will
ask, 'Did you see my ball?' A couple of us have said, 'Why don't you ask your
can't find a ball. It can't tell you what club to use and it can't help you
read the green. There's a lot of advantages to having a caddie that can
caddie," he said.
Like Pete Tufts,
I always carried my own bag. My economy golf included a ploy for not paying
greens fees. With friends of mine I'd walk out to the old starter, engaging him
in conversation. Smiling in his snap-brim houndstooth hat, he would not mention
the lack of a ticket on my bag. We thought we had fooled him, but I wonder.
When I was a
little older I met Deke Palmer, Arnold's father, at the Manor Hotel, one of the
independent hotels in the town. "Boy," he said, "you've got a hand
just like Arnie's." I never shook hands with Arnie, though, partly because
as a pro he was seldom there after his college days at nearby Wake Forest—the
old exclusivity rule.
just won't be exclusive anymore," says one of the Millionaire Hill gang.
"I imagine they'll take anyone now." He had a NIXON NOW sticker on his
Maurer, 38-year-old Diamondhead president, contends that this impression is
accurate. He has been asked who he plans to sell his land to, and he says the
question bothers him. He says he will not make artificial barriers for blacks,
Jews or "99ers." the guys who come down on a package weekend.
in town," says a member of the Tin Whistles, an invitation-only club within
the country club, "you can't keep combs or Vitalis in the locker
Bill Maurer, who
appears to use a little hair tonic himself, says, "There are a lot of
people in this country who have worked hard to earn their money, and they
deserve a place to spend it." He makes it sound a little like land reform.
He acknowledged during an interview that his salesmen have a composite picture
of their customer: he wears a hard hat, carries a hammer in his belt and has a
lunch box full of money. They call him Joe Lunchbucket.
I asked one of
Maurer's salesmen to show me the condominiums. We got into his Cadillac and
drove out past Quail Hill. When I lived in Pinehurst, Quail Hill was Blacktown,
and we called it Smoke. It was scrunched down behind a railroad underpass and
to the left of the 18th fairway of No. 3. In a single gesture toward progress
the Tuftses had built $70,000 condominiums there in the late'60s. The families
were put through a kind of rural removal operation. They were allowed to take
their Pinehurst-owned shacks for the price of having them moved.
drove on, anticipating questions about the local weather. I did not explain my
own knowledge of the area.