Golftown Journal

Golftown Journal

A Masterful Gift

The memories of Augusta in April

By Lee Pace

This month, for the 65th time, Lou Miller will enter the gates off Washington Road in Augusta, Georgia, buy a ham and cheese on rye sandwich for $3, and begin his annual treks up the hills and through the dogwoods of Augusta National Golf Club, sometimes clocking as many as 27,000 steps in a day. The grass will tweak his nostrils, the sun warm his face as he remembers jostling to watch Arnold Palmer back in the day, and seeing a limping Ben Hogan make birdie on his final hole in the 1967 Masters.

“There’s nothing like smelling Augusta National on Monday morning,” he says. “From there it’s a very special week. There’s nothing like it.”

The 79-year-old Miller attended his first Masters in 1958 at the age of 14 and has been to every one since (even wrangling access on the Saturday of the 2020 tournament held in November, when public attendance was suspended in wake of COVID-19). He grew up in Augusta, so to a golf-minded youngster the rite of spring known as the Masters was a big deal.

“I first played the golf course when I was still in high school,” Miller says. “The superintendent at Augusta National at the time was from our county, so he got us on. We played with no pins, but we still felt like we were playing in the Masters.”

What a first Masters experience that was, following a young Palmer around the course as he won the first of his four Masters, edging Doug Ford and Fred Hawkins by a shot.

“I like to say I was a ‘private’ in Arnie’s Army my first year,” Miller says. “By the time he won his second Masters in 1964, I was a ‘lieutenant colonel.’ I saw most every shot he hit those two weeks. Then you had Jack Nicklaus come along and challenge him. They fought it out for years, and Jack took the throne.”

Tickets weren’t difficult to come by in those days. He found various avenues into his early Masters and in 1965 started buying them himself — and he’s been on the list ever since.

“I had no money and couldn’t afford it, but I bought those Masters tickets anyway,” he says. “They were like $25 a ticket, and that was for the whole week. Shortly after, they announced they were oversubscribed and closed ticket sales. I was lucky.”

Miller in the early 1990s was moved by the awe and wonder on the faces of some guests he brought to their first Masters. He began a tradition of using his tickets on at least one tournament day to introduce first-timers to Augusta National. This month, he’ll escort two of his grandchildren onto the grounds. Over the years, he’s invited employees at clubs where he’s worked (today he’s president of Old Edwards Club in Cashiers, North Carolina), various friends and family members, and a few hard-luck stories of people whose lives would be brightened by a venture to the Masters.

“There’s nothing like taking somebody and seeing the awe and excitement and thrill of that person getting there the first time,” Miller says. “It’s seeing the excitement of the first thousand people on Monday morning. Every single time, it exceeds their expectations — whatever those were.

“I just love watching these first-timers smile. That thrill never grows old.”

By now some of you Pinehurst old-timers are going, “Lou Miller . . . where do I know that name?”

Miller was vice president and director of golf at Pinehurst from 1976-81. This was five years into the ill-fated Diamondhead era of Pinehurst’s history (the founding Tufts family sold the club and resort to Diamondhead on the last day of 1970), and one of Miller’s first jobs was figuring out why there were never enough tee times on Pinehurst No. 2 when the hotel was rarely at full capacity.

“The previous spring they were sending 150 people a day to other courses in the area,” Miller says. “The first people we fired were the starter on No. 2 and the guy working the starter tower over the clubhouse. We figured out they had direct phone lines and were selling tee times to golfers and pocketing the greens fees. We also had guests and members double-booking times. They would make one for first thing in the morning and another for later in the day. If they were too hung over, they’d show up for the second one.

“It was a mess.”

Miller was the first in an official capacity at Pinehurst to begin dreaming of a U.S. Open contested on No. 2 and actively courting USGA officials about the idea. He traveled to Baltusrol Golf Club for the 1980 U.S. Open to press flesh, and visited with USGA officers P.J. Boatwright and Frank Hannigan when the association conducted the World Amateur Team Championship on No. 2 and the U.S. Amateur at the Country Club of North Carolina later in the summer.

He even arranged a meal function with the USGA brass and Pinehurst’s new general manager.

“This guy was new to the job and said, ‘Oh, we don’t want outside events,’” Miller remembers. “‘We don’t need them.’ You talk about taking a nice warm shower and having cold water dumped on you. I wanted to throw him through the window.”

Miller left Pinehurst just as the banks were taking control of the distressed resort (later to be resurrected by the Dedman family and elevated gradually to its current status with three Opens already in the books, five more to come, and the USGA less than a year away from opening Golf House Pinehurst). Today he’s busy in Highlands overseeing a luxury inn and spa, a Tom Jackson-designed golf course, and a new 12-hole short course called The Saddle. He attended the Carolinas PGA annual meeting and trade show in Greensboro in February, then drove to Pinehurst the next day.

He played The Cradle short course, which was in part the impetus for building a similar venue at Old Edwards. “We wanted an amenity where three generations could play golf together, where you could be serious or play hit-and-giggle,” Miller says.

He sought out guys he’d hired nearly half a century ago, like Larry Goins at the resort clubhouse bag drop, and David Stancil downstairs working the carts and storage. He inspected the recently refurbished lobby and public area of the Carolina Hotel — quite the contrast from when Miller left in 1981 and the hotel was decorated with the greens and golds and shag carpet of the era.

“I love to hug the guys I know, smell the place, check everything out,” Miller says. “That hotel is gorgeous. They did an unbelievable job.”

Lou Miller’s a lucky man indeed. Seventy-nine and still going strong with memory banks full of Augusta and Pinehurst.   PS

Lee Pace’s first book on the history of golf in the Sandhills, Pinehurst Stories, was published in 1991. Follow him @LeePaceTweet and write him at leepace7@gmail.com.

What’s in a Name?

What’s in a Name?

Cattleya Penny Kuroda and Cattleya Hawaiian Fantasy: Two Splash-Petal Enigmas

By Jason Harpster

What if your birth certificate was wrong? Yikes! You need it to get married, register for school, obtain a driver’s license or a passport. It verifies your age and citizenship. If it’s not the most important document you have sitting in your safety deposit box, it’s in the top three. But if a flower has a mistaken “birth certificate” it’s no big deal, right? This isn’t Little Shop of Horrors. It’s not like you’re going see Audrey II in line behind you at the DMV.

Just as the DMV tracks names and addresses for drivers, Kew Royal Botanical Gardens maintains the Kew World Monocot Checklist, which tracks currently accepted names for over 30,000 orchid species in the wild. The Royal Horticultural Society is the international authority for orchid hybrids and maintains the International Orchid Register that lists over 100,000 orchid hybrids with their seed and pollen parents. Orchid hybrids must be registered to be eligible for shows and awards.

In her article “Cattleya Penny Kuroda By Any Other Name,” published in the April 2014 issue of Orchids, Laura Newton details how Cattleya (C.) Penny Kuroda was originally registered with the wrong parentage. When C. Penny Kuroda was registered in 1976 by Mary Hernlund, the parents were listed as C. Summer Snow x C. guttata. Given that virtually all splash-petal cattleyas have C. intermedia var. aquinii in their background, Newton rightfully questioned where the distinct, peloric, splashed petals of C. Penny Kuroda and its progeny originated. The Royal Horticultural Society found Newton’s argument convincing and subsequently updated the registration to C. Summer Stars x C. guttata that year.

Michael Blietz, an accomplished Hawaiian orchid grower, has uncovered new evidence that shows the registration change for C. Penny Kuroda is incorrect. In his letter to the American Orchid Society in February 2022, Blietz recounts how he recently received the cross book from the Mary Hernlund nursery which shows the parents of C. Penny Kuroda as C. Summer Snow x C. guttata var. alba. Interestingly, the alba form of C. guttata was not found until the early 2000s; only C. tigrina var. alba would have been available in 1976.

After reviewing the many progeny of C. Penny Kuroda and the inventory from Hernlund’s stud book, Blietz concluded that the color, splashing and spots exhibited could only come from C. Interglossa, not C. Summer Snow or C. Summer Stars as Newton espoused. It is not a coincidence that all of the selfings and original plants from the C. Penny Kuroda were bifoliate due to the influence of C. amethystoglossa, C. intermedia, and C. tigrina which are all bifoliate species. The size of the spots and lavender color on the tips of the side lobes of the lip are in line with C. amethystoglossa and its hybrids. The size and length of the splashes on C. Penny Kuroda also match C. Interglossa since the peloric petals are mirroring the color and pattern on the lip.

Prior to the registration change of C. Penny Kuroda in 2014, C. Summer Snow had five F1 offspring with C. Penny Kuroda, by far being the most prolific with 143 F1 offspring and 837 total progeny. A closer examination of C. Summer Snow’s offspring is warranted as it appears a registration error similar to that for C. Penny Kuroda has occurred with C. Hawaiian Fantasy, another prolific splash-petal hybrid with 25 F1 offspring and 114 total progeny as of this writing.

Cattleya Penny Kuroda was registered in 1976 by Hawaiian grower Mary Hernlund while C. Hawaiian Fantasy was registered by Benjamin Kodama of Waianae, Hawaii in 1982. The parents of C. Hawaiian Fantasy are listed as C. Summer Snow x C. Wayndora, though this registration is suspect as neither parent has C. intermedia in their background. Unfortunately, Kodama passed away in 2017, which makes determining the exact parentage of C. Hawaiian Fantasy exceedingly difficult. An attempt to obtain clarification from Kodama Orchids has not been successful.

Correspondence with Roy Tokunaga from H&R Orchids, another longtime orchid grower and breeder in Oahu, in December of 2021 was especially helpful. Tokunaga confirmed that he and other older Hawaiian growers knew C. Hawaiian Fantasy had C. intermedia var. aquinii in its background, though they were unsure of the exact parentage. These hybridizers understood that the peloric form of C. intermedia var. aquinii is dominant and passed on to its progeny.

In discussing Newton’s findings regarding the correct parentage of C. Penny Kuroda and how this would relate to the lineage of C. Hawaiian Fantasy with Tokunaga and Fred Clarke, both gentlemen agreed that the current registration for C. Hawaiian Fantasy is incorrect. The question then becomes what, if anything, should be done about the incorrect registration?

Reviewing Hernlund’s cross book reveals another curious surprise: C. Hawaiian Fantasy and its reciprocal cross were made by Hernlund. Despite being registered by Kodama in 1982, it appears Hernlund made, or at least attempted to create, C. Hawaiian Fantasy as detailed by crosses No. 1247 and 1257. Blietz reached out to Ben Kodama Jr. who confirmed that his father, Benjamin Kodama Sr., received the C. Hawaiian Fantasy flasks from a grower on the Big Island. Blietz agrees that these plants had to come from Hernlund.

Although it is impossible to prove with 100 percent certainty that C. Interglossa is the correct parent of C. Penny Kuroda and C. Hawaiian Fantasy, we can conclude that the registrations for both hybrids are incorrect as C. Summer Snow does not have C. intermedia in its genetic background. It is unlikely that C. Summer Stars is in the background of either of these crosses since Stewart Orchids used alba parents to create C. Summer Stars. Considering the state of hybridizing in Hawaii during the 1970s and ’80s and the push to bring new crosses to market before they were registered, it is easy to see how these errors occurred. Given the new evidence that has come to light since 2014 when the Royal Horticultural Society revised the parentage of C. Penny Kuroda from C. Summer Snow x C. guttata to C. Summer Stars x C. guttata, the registration should be updated to C. Interglossa x C. tigrina, or, alternatively, change the C. Summer Snow parentage to unknown. Moreover, the registration for C. Hawaiian Fantasy should also be updated accordingly since the same parent was used to make C. Penny Kuroda.

Correcting the record and establishing the proper lineage helps honor the numerous contributions of Hernlund, Kodama, Tokunaga and other Hawaiian growers. Thanks to the Hernlunds’ cross journal and Ben Kodama Jr., we know that Hernlund used C. Summer Snow to make both C. Penny Kuroda and C. Hawaiian Fantasy. Blietz agrees that Hernlund’s stud plant that was labeled C. Summer Snow was mislabeled and was actually C. Interglossa. Updating the registrations of C. Penny Kuroda and C. Hawaiian Fantasy would highlight the contributions of this Hawaiian community and ensure that the knowledge they shared is not lost. Mary Hernlund passed away on April 19, 2022 at the age of 103.  PS

Jason Harpster is an accredited American Orchid Society judge and works at his family’s business, Central Security Systems. He hopes to share his collection of 2,000-plus orchids by starting a botanical garden in Southern Pines. 

Poem April 2023

Poem April 2023

Farmlife

If I were a farmer now

I would name my hoe Samson

to move the dirt near my cow

 

that moos the meadow for nose

discharges worthy of respect,

some lows with lots of excesses

 

pouring like rain flattery cannot know

so thin and bare when we wag our tails

and say Nature’s cruel enough to please

 

any milker named Grace

or Paul or Brown.

May pings of milk stream

 

into the bucket between knees.

The cow chews her cud

with contentment of a Christian without honor

 

or the noise from the garden my mother tends.

Discretion is the council of remembrance.

Sometimes a tower is by itself a watch.

 

If needs be, grant mercy,

then climb to the top,

a mile from the dirt.

  Shelby Stephenson

Shelby Stephenson was North Carolina’s ninth poet laureate.

Out of the Blue

Out of the Blue

Forever, My Lucky

Elegy to a black cat

By Deborah Salomon

About eight years ago I began dedicating January columns to my two cats — their habits, antics, stuff like that. In each, I reprised our history: Lucky, a sleek all-black male with talking eyes and a brain borrowed from Einstein had been left behind when his family moved. Neutered, front claws removed . . . somehow he fended for himself until the day he peeked into my front door. Black cats are my weakness. I established a feeding station on the porch. He dug himself a nest under the bushes.

After an adulthood of befriending needy animals, I had retired, not anticipating the loneliness.

That was December 2011. On July 4th I invited him in. He strolled to the kitchen, sat down, waited for his supper, hopped onto the couch and fell asleep.

I named him Lucky, for obvious reasons.  He was calm, quiet, stoic, intuitive and totally affectionate.

A year later, a wide-bodied gal with a nasty temper and a clipped ear signaling a spayed feral tried the same trick. I learned she was a neighborhood kitty, fed by many, housed by none. I let her in, too. She repaid me by hissing for a week so I named her Hissy, modified to Missy when she came around. But she lacked Lucky’s intelligence, his communication skills. He tolerated her, more so after she became his handmaid. They formed a bond.

A cat’s age is hard to ascertain. The vet and I estimated that, as of 2022, they were both 12-14.

I suspected Lucky might have early-stage diabetes last fall, when he began drinking and peeing a lot, so I made an appointment. Then in October, I broke my wrist. Managing my large carrier was almost impossible. I put off the exam until my pain subsided. Lucky seemed fine — ate well, enjoyed a nightly tussle with his gal-pal.

The kitties had a routine. Lucky pawed me awake at about 4 a.m. I got up soon after, fed them, then weather permitting, they went out, rarely beyond the yard. On the morning of January 12 Lucky refused breakfast, ran directly to the door with an insistent cry. I let him out.

He never returned.

I called him all day. I put up signs, talked to the neighbors, inquired about predators, contacted the Humane Society. Lucky didn’t like rain or cold.

A friend put a notice and photo in the paper. About once a year Lucky would take a “vacation day” but always came home at dark. He would never go into another house.

I slept in a chair by the door for three nights.

I felt lost, panicky, then desperate. I missed seeing him in the many “nests” he had made throughout the house. I missed him leaning on my shoulder in bed, hopping onto my lap while I watched TV, sitting on the windowsill guarding the house until I came home. Missy followed me, clung to me, went in and out, in and out, looking for her buddy. She hardly ate for a week.

I have never had an animal companion disappear. They all led long, healthy, happy lives and went to that final sleep in my arms.

Missy is adjusting. I am not. My eye spots something black in a pile of sweatshirts, or on a porch chair. I imagine him licking my ear, another surefire wake-up tactic. But I accept, through my tears, that he is gone.

Perhaps he left to die, as some animals do. If so, something good died with him.

I pity people who cannot form a relationship with an animal. They are missing the unconditional love not always available elsewhere.

Missy will be my last kitty. I could not inflict what happens to pets when their human dies. But of all the dogs and cats I have rescued, placed in homes or adopted myself, Lucky stands out. We understood each other. He made me laugh. He needed me. I loved him.

Good-bye, my sleek, handsome friend. The hurt may fade, but you will live forever in my heart.  PS

Deborah Salomon is a contributing writer for PineStraw and The Pilot. She may be reached at debsalomon@nc.rr.com.

Melinda Moore + Chas Chapman

Melinda Moore + Chas Chapman

Melinda Moore and Chas Chapman are a couple of cool and laidback hair stylists, and their marriage proposal reflected that.

“Hey, you wanna get married?” Chas asked Melinda sometime near the end of 2022.

“Absolutely,” she replied.

A short five months later, on March 3, 2023, the couple tied the knot at Soirée on South, right near Chas’s salon, Create Studio, on South Street in Aberdeen.

For their big day’s theme, Melinda and Chas went without one and just included things they like.

“Our wedding was about us and our love for one another, so we just played off of that and let it inspire us,” Melinda says. That meant a free-flowing evening of blue-pointed heels, sunglasses, and guests wearing whatever clothes made them feel most beautiful, so they could have a great time.

“I honestly don’t think we would have changed anything,” Melinda says. “We had a small, private wedding with guests who meant a lot to us, and we had a great time celebrating.”

photographer: Holly Kearney
ceremony: Soirée on South
reception: Soirée on South and Create Studio
dress: Sherri Hill
shoes: ASOS
hair: Tucker Cinalli
makeup: Morgan Richards
wedding rings: Alexis Russell Jewelry

bridesmaids: Anthropology
groom: Highsnobiety x Dickies, blazer
Doc Martens, shoes
cake: C.Cups Cupcakery
catering: The Workshop Tavern
flowers: Thistle & Moon