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ARE WOMEN PEOPLE? OH, BROTHER!
Consider, for example, the changes that have taken place within the last few years at the club of which I have been a longtime member. Seven years ago we had a small club of about 65 active members, most of them residing in the city. Even members of neighboring clubs agreed that our golf links were among the best laid-out and best maintained within reach of New York.
As more and more young people began to take up residence in the communities surrounding our property, some of our older members, not wishing to be thought of as being behind the times, opened the club to some of these new arrivals, as a matter of fact, at a considerably reduced membership fee. They hoped, I believe, for some young blood on the links and some pleasant new golfing companions. Let me chronicle in short order what we actually got.
First, the two tennis courts, long dormant through disuse, were rebuilt for wives who did not themselves play golf. In addition we made Tuesday a regular Ladies Day for golfing, but all too soon were reminded that ladies wished to accompany their husbands also on the weekends.
One of our more exuberant members offered the club a swimming pool, which was accepted by the committee, overhastily, in my opinion. The pool has become the week-round social center for the teen-age sons and daughters of our younger members, and most of us have become accustomed to being treated with the indifferent arrogance which seems to be so much a part and parcel of that unfortunate age group.
The club today has regular Saturday night dances as well as Friday night barbecues around a newly constructed outdoor grill. Some of us regret that the putting green had to be drastically shortened to provide parking space for the cars of the many new members the club has had to absorb, presumably to pay for the new parking space. I sometimes feel that I can detect more familiar faces in the waiting room of the New York, New Haven & Hartford Railroad than I can find in the locker room of the club.
So far it has not been suggested that the golf links be flooded for water skiing by nonplaying wives and their children. But I consider this a matter of time only.
You will understand if I sign this letter with my initials only.
FACTUAL AND AUTHENTIC HORRORS
This piece was long overdue, and I am delighted to see it come out in a magazine of national prominence such as SPORTS ILLUSTRATED. About 1953, when I was a part-time columnist on horse matters for the Nashville Banner, and reported on local horse shows, I put several pieces in my weekly column on the subject. It got me some fan mail, mostly anonymous and abusive. One Walking Horse exhibitor, asked for an opinion on my outbursts, remarked scathingly that I was "Nothin' but one of them jumper people, tryin' to harm the Plantation Horse."