What it is....

Pinehurst is where I am finally writing the stories that have been floating around in my head for the last 40 years, since I left Pinehurst for good. They are stories about the New England village plopped down in the middle of the North Carolina Pine Barrens, some of the people who livedor passed through there in the time it was my home, and the experience of growing up in such an unusual place. Pinehurst is also the place where those who shared some of the experience of this place, particularly in the 1950's and 60's can build, or rather re-build, the community that shaped us.

Actually, Pinehurst was at least three communities. The community that defined Pinehurst, the one it was created for was made up of Yankee industrialists, military retirees and a variety of other priveldged, anglo saxons from the leisure class. These largely seasonal residents filled the cottages and hotels from October to April, and gave the town and the region its identity as a genteel and exclusive playground.

The second community was very much like those of hundreds of other small, southern towns with single industry economies. The shop keepers, company and service employees, and the farmers surrounding the town ran the gamut from extremely poor, to solidly middle class. This was a community of family, church, and solid post World War II values.

The third community was found around the periphery of Pinehurst, and was absolutely vital to its succees. The residents of Taylortown, Jackson Hamlet, Smoke, and other Black communities made their way to Pinehurst every day to carry the golf bags, clean the homes and hotels, and groom the town were ever present, but the community that sustained them could only be glimpsed by those in the other two who cared enough to look.

And then there was golf. Golf was not just somthing you did in Pinehurst. It was the heart and soul of the town. Sure, there were tennis, and horse sports; dancing and lawn bowling; hunting and fishing; cocktails, and church; shopping and gambling. But the first thing out of anyone's mouth when describing Pinehurst was "golf capital of the world". Whether you played or not, whether you played casually or with serious intent, hack or scratch you knew that Donald Ross was a Saint, that number 2 was the best course West of St Andrews, and that you were special being part of such a place. Golf was in fact was so important that Pinehurst refused to allow the PGA to play tournaments there, as the residents would object to having their beloved number 2 closed and chewed up with divots for a whole week.