Ahhh...the Golden Age of Mini-Golf Course architecture is certainly over, and alas, I have to admit that I took part in the demise.
It was the summer of 1981, and I was fresh out of college with a less than marketable liberal arts degree in Journalism. I took a job working at a factory that built...miniature golf courses.
Today we fault Fazio and Palmer and Hills and Jones and some of the big-name international architects for all too often producing the same product over and over, as if mass-produced in some sort of golf hole factory, wherein the final product is simply forced upon the land, whether the natural environment is desert, or mountain, or linksland, or parkland.
In comparison to what we did, those folks are original Masters. Yes, we built everything to very demanding specs, and it didn't matter the least whether the course was going to be homed in the dairylands of Wisconsin, the ridges of West Virginia, the beaches of Long Island, or the woodlands of Minnesota.
Did we consider any of these unique natural attributes? No, not in the least. Instead, we stamped out a standard course with the requisite farmhouse, bridges, rock mountain, and yes, even the infamous clown face, with the hole (and free game) right in the nose.
I'm not sure I'll ever get over my shame at what I did at a low point in my life for simple sustenance and a few pieces of silver. I'm not sure the game has ever recovered, and today, when I see a miniature golf course, I turn my back and shun and rue the day when I participated in such unconscionable activities.