Putt-putt: the other U.S. open

Golf Digest, June, 2003 by John Barton

Falwell was waiting for us as we played the 18th. "Watch Ron," he joked. "He's known for making up his score."

I asked Falwell if he was a golfer, but he said he doesn't even have time to do Putt-Putt. He was wearing a "Jesus First" lapel pin.

"But he does bungee jump," offered Ron. "He did it once wearing a black suit. He's not afraid of anything."

The Reverend laughed, gave me a playful jab in the stomach, then wandered off, strolling around the Putt-Putt, tending to his flock.

There are many mental images that can prove beneficial to the tender, fragile art of putting--the ebb and flow of the waves, for instance, or the swinging of a pendulum. Jerry Falwell bungee jumping in a black suit, alas, is not one those images. After my first round of 30, six under par, I had stood in third place, but following this strange, unsettling encounter, it was as if my bottle of Gatorade had turned into a poisoned chalice: The stroke was lost, a run of bad holes ensued, and the tournament ended for me with a disastrous, dreaded four-putt. I finished nowhere.

All was not lost, however. Joe told me I had not disgraced myself, and he agreed to recommend me for membership to the Amateur Putters Association. I was going to the Nationals! I suddenly felt a great kinship with my fellow Putt-Putters and promptly chatted up one of the fuzzy-haired older ladies. Her name was Dorothy, and she'd scored a respectable 94--11 strokes better than I did--but she wasn't satisfied. "I normally do better than that," she said. "But I was nervous tonight. There were too many people here."

The runaway winner was Dave Gallier, a 19-year-old student with a linebacker's build and the touch of a brain surgeon, who shot three 27s for his first victory. There was a brief prize-giving ceremony and then, of course, it was back to ... more putting.

It's an addictive game. An empty first tee holds out the promise of perfection and is impossible to ignore. "It doesn't matter if you're Tiger Woods or a little kid," one player told me, "there's a universal appeal to a ball falling into the cup." Putt-Putt is a world in miniature, an endless series of tiny challenges and obstacles that can be overcome if you approach them in just the right way, with the right concentration, luck and skill. It is life reduced to manageable proportions, a small world that makes you bigger.

The madness sweeps America

Putt-Putt began 50 years ago because a 28-year-old salesman in Fayetteville, N.C., had a nervous breakdown. Don Clayton was tall, handsome and charming, an outstanding athlete, a good golfer and one of the top insurance agents in the country. But sometimes, driving in his car, for no good reason he would start crying.

His doctor prescribed 30 days of complete rest. But instead, Clayton became obsessed with the idea of miniature golf. He would spend hours designing tiny golf holes on index cards, then he'd lay them out on his living room floor with string. He bought some land on the busiest intersection in Fayetteville and opened the first Putt-Putt course there in June 1954. It was an immediate success. There wasn't much else to do in small-town America back then. He opened another course. Then another. And pretty soon, in the same era that saw the emergence of Holiday Inn, Howard Johnson, McDonald's, Kentucky Fried Chicken and other roadside attractions, the Putt-Putt franchise that would bestow millions upon the charismatic Clayton was born.