Jeff -
My wife and I played Palmetto last spring. A beautiful, cool, breezy afternoon. The sun was settting as we finished and everything was closing up. My intrepid wife, a sometime travel writer, convinced Tommy Moore to give us a look at the old clubhouse.
I was a wonderfully spooky tour. The dark wood in the locker rooms, the engraved mantles, the parquet flooring, all pretty haunting. After Tommy left us, we walked back out to the first tee. A full moon had risen from behind the pines and Stanford White's little clubhouse was aglow. I will never forget that evening.
Bob