[Marty Bonnar]

If we accept the premise that the TRUE definition of minimalism might actually be 'doing the least possible to the planet in order to create a golf course' (I know others have other, WRONG! viewpoints, but they're just WRONG!), then should we also accept that Mr B was undoubtedly the one true grandaddy of minimalism?

Given that his 'idea' of course design was generally to spend as little time as possible staking out a rudimentary routing for the chaps who'd just bought his clubs and balls, then beetling off to his next sales pitch in order to flog some more of Mr Spalding's fine sporting ephemera, should we not give him more credit, rather than less?

Did anyone hear if Stuart had furthered his research, or maybe even published any yet?

FBD.

[Mark_Fine]

Martin,
We did research on Bendelow for our hazards book.  Unfortuately we had limited space but some of our findings are included.  I also spoke with Stuart and got his perspective as well.  Bendelow did more for the game of golf then what he is best known for which is 18 stakes on a Sunday afternoon.
Mark

[RJ_Daley]

From seeing some of his early courses 1905-20 and trying to figure out what is left of his design, I would say that those remaining don't look just rudimentary.  Yet, there are so many NLE Bendelow courses, and one would assume most of them are the most inconsequential and minimal.  Yet, of some that remain, there are earthworks green sites and built up teeing grounds.  The bunkers are efficiently placed.  But obviously, the main thing you see are routings over natural ground using hills and side hill slopes to an extreme.  Some of his side slope fairways are onto hills that don't work well with lower mowing heights and I figure he counted on taller turf to hold a ball on them.

[Sean_Tully]

...and a poet!

I found this poem while doing some research. I had some problems with the format and the language, but I think I have it in order.


HOO ANDRA FOOZLED OOT

By TOM BENDELOW

The links were bricht an' bonnie
Wi' tartan an' wi' plaid,
When the pride o' Skeebo village
Play'd the best that Cleveland haid.

The play was fast and furious
As soon's the ba' was thwack'd,
But in the final test o' skill
Ae' point oor Andra' lack'd.

The caddies stood wi' bated breath
An' every ee was set,
For no a mon was in that crood
But had his siller bet.

Ae' caddie cried as wi' his club
Oor Andra' faced the ba',
"Hoot mon, play up, and show them noo
Hoo Skeebo beats them a'."

Oor John he never winked an ee
Nae maitter fat they said,
He kent old Andra's game gey well
An' it never fashed his head.

He kent that a' he had tae dae
Was play a waiting game,
Sae a' he did wis cracked a joke
Wi' him o' library fame.

A' even at the seventeenth hole
Was hoo the game did stand
When Andra' stepped up tae the tee
Wi' driver in his haun'.

Oor Andra' look'd up at the sky,
An' then doon at the dirt,
An' cannily he weigh'd his club,
An' loos'd his pleated shirt.

An' then he plaintit baith his feet,
An' syne replantit each,
An' swung his club St. Andrew's style,
As high as he could reach.

Grim death, at just that moment micht,
Hae been old Andra's wush,
For the atmosphere resountit
To a michty empty swush.

His club flew like a rocket,
But, alas, the weird decreed,
The ba' row'd twa feet sickly
An' just lay doon an' deid.

Oor John noo steeped forward
A' een on him were set,
An' caddies o' the Skeebo tribe
Looked dour and glum you bet.


John waggled free and easy like
As he looked doon at the ba',
Bit he wisna taking chances
Wi' old Andra' ava'.

Sae takin' extra care he drave
A laich and rinning ba'.
An' Andra' wis richt vext tae find
He'd be on the green in twa.

Auld Andra' took his trusty cleek
An' fire wis in his ee
Tae try an' make a brilliant shot
An' lat his backers see,

That he wis in the rinnin' still.
An' could the game still win,
By swipin' sic a mar-vellus shot
An' holing the next yin.

He missed the ba' an.d brake his club,
Then kicked it wi' his fit,
Which pit him far's the game's concerned
Just hors-de-com-bat.

Ah, somewhere in this bonnie land
The pipes skirl a' the day,
An' somewhere lads and lassies shout
An' men are passing gay.

But they're awfu' dour in Skeebo
An' nae joy is there aboot,
Sin' the day when, like ane "Casey,"
Ould Andra' foozled oot.

American Golfer June 1909

[RJ_Daley]

Gee, with the focus on this "Casey at the Bat" parody, I wonder if Ol Tam Bendelow was sellin more Louisville Sluggers for the Spaulding Co., at that time, than laying out courses or selling clubs and balls.

[Marty Bonnar]

All,
received a very fine email from a gent (long-time lurker here), whom I shall not name unless he okays it, regarding the Splendid Mr B.

The email pointed me to a great old article from 'Golf' Vol 4, May 1899, No. 5. which resides within the new USGA archive. BTW, just how brilliant is THAT!?!?!

Go to:

http://www.usga.org/aboutus/museum/library/segl.html

and type 'mosholu' in the search box. It's the second  article in the list. At 7Meg, it's maybe a bit chunky for dial-uppers.

The article, entitled 'Golf at Van Cortland' tells of TB's involvement in the Course development and then of his time as Pro there. There's a lovely small routing plan and some great pics of the period, inc one of our Hero himself.

I have asked the gent in question to stop lurking and to join this band as he undoubtedly has some VERY interesting information to present. If he'd prefer though, maybe I could pass on the necessaries...?

FBD.

[RJ_Daley]

Do you find it interesting how many mentions there are of the placement of pits and bunkers to the rear of various greens to stop overplayed shots into those greens that are described as having steep slopes behind and running down to streets and ravines and so forth?  And, the photo of the gents wearing derby, coat and tails while rolling stones to clear fairways, like so many Sisyphus's is priceless.

[Tony_Chapman]

Tom Bendelow designed a golf course in Beatrice, NE that was 18 holes on about 80 acres!! It was (and still is) wonderful, but they have redone some of his holes. I believe about nine of the holes remain as they were.

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