Boston Hills - Thanks For The Memories

The trees have a majestic but sad quality with their bright fall colors standing guard over empty greens, empty fairways, and empty tee boxes all overgrown and neglected. It is still a lush green from the morning’s rain and begs for throngs of golfers but the landscape is deserted and I’m the only one in the parking lot.

As I sit and stare at what used to be my golf course, I hold a red cube of wood in my hand. It’s nothing special – rough cut, chipped, and gouged with a metal rod protruding from one corner that used to secure it into the ground on the 14^th tee. However, on one end of this lowly cube are words written in black ink. Wed. 9/27/06 Boston Hills – Laura, Ruth, & Sue. Now it has meaning.

Over twelve years ago I came to Boston Hills looking for a new course for my EWGA golf league to play at. We were dissatisfied with our first golf course and were looking for a place where women were respected. It was the mid-nineties and still an “ol’ boys club” at most courses. The manager at BH seemed exited about having us and we soon filled five tee times on Wednesday evenings. Even the grounds keeper played from the women’s tees, at our suggestion, and quickly made a few changes to improve our enjoyment of the course. Good. We’d found a home.

Our group had to get to know each other that first year. Few of us had played together before and we needed to find a way to develop camaraderie. Pat stepped up to the plate to be our first team leader and help us organize. We soon found that twenty women with twenty personalities all had their own ideas of how the league should operate. Camaraderie was going to take a while.

Our format forced everyone to get to know one another. You were paired with a player of different ability for the season. Then your team played against all other teams. Some ladies were enthusiastic and others rebelled wanting to play only with their friends. Is it instinct that girls just have to form cliques?

Some of these pairings worked and those ladies are fast friends still today, even though some have moved away. Others, such as the bigoted bank president paired with a new golfer who happened to be African-American, didn’t last nine holes. We learned to bend our rules and trade partners for those ugly situations. We are human after all; we can’t all get along all the time.

I remember the first day of our second year. I was so excited to see so many familiar faces from the year before and horrified that I couldn’t remember their names. They had enjoyed the league and returned for more. Plus, they were truly glad to see each other and welcomed the new players. Several of us began to stick around and have a drink or two until all teams were finished for the evening. Camaraderie had begun!

In August of that year my boss came to me with a story of falling profits/rising costs and along with several others in the company, I no longer had a job. I wanted to crawl in a hole and cry for days. But it was Wednesday and I had timely information that had to be delivered to our ladies. I had to go to the golf course. I didn’t want to. I cried the whole way. Once there, I got sympathy, hugs and lots of encouragement from all. Then Michelle K. said to me, “Are you gonna go home and drink by yourself and cry all by yourself? Why don’t you stay? Golf, drink, and cry with your friends instead.” I did. Although I still felt like crap, I didn’t crawl in hole by myself. Yes. Golf is therapy.

It’s been therapy for so many of us over the years. I can’t tell you how many of our ladies have suffered great losses. Several of us have lost our mothers, fathers, sisters, or brothers. There was at least one divorce and many lost jobs. We would come to the course and receive the needed hugs, sympathy, and encouragement. Cards were signed and sent for these sad events and, then again, for many, many happy events – weddings, babies, and retirements. We were always there for each other in good times and bad. Kind of sounds like a country song, doesn’t it?

Speaking of songs…if it weren’t for our wintertime karaoke parties at a local bar, JoAnn’s husband still wouldn’t know how well she can sing. And her voice will live on in EWGA history with her recording of My Ball sung to the tune of My Guy at the annual Leadership Conference at Pinehurst.

One of the reasons we’ve been included in each others’ life-happenings is Laura. A good leader is the key to a successful league and we have been lucky to have had the best. She kept us informed of all EWGA events, produced our newsletter, planned celebrations, educated us, and made sure we got to know each other. Laura is and has been a friend to everyone.

The tables we occupied grew longer and longer and louder and louder through the years. We drank, ate, and laughed until we had our nightly fifty-fifty drawing, which will always be known as “Fiddy! Fiddy!” thanks to Lise. Boisterous would be a good word to describe several of our members. I’ll let you fill in the names.

We not only got to know each other but we became friends with the men’s league that also golfed on Wednesdays. Some of our husbands joined their league and some of their wives joined us. In fact, there were at least two weddings between the leagues – Debbie and Jerry and Tracy and George. Congratulations!

One year Boston Hills hired Chefs Bob and Stafford. Their food became legendary. For $3 - $5 we feasted on meals such as meatloaf, ribs, veal Francoise, and Shack Fried Chicken with portions large enough to take home leftovers for lunch the next day. The smell of deep-fried fish, grilled onions and simmering sauces wafted over the fairways every week calling us in from the course.

The clubhouse took on a party atmosphere every Wednesday night. No one tried to rush us out so they could close up early. They appreciated our business and we appreciated their service.

One of the things we must appreciate is that change is inevitable. We had known for a few years that change would eventually come for our league. The Ohio Department of Transportation made sure of that with the needed improvements to the four-lane divided highway that ran next to the 7^th and 8^th holes. Those two holes would be gone and the rest would need re-arranging.

We are not sure if this was the deciding factor in the owners’ decision to sell the property. There may have been many business issues that made them put the golf course up for sale. But when you crunch the numbers – revenues from golfers vs. cost of course maintenance vs. value of property for redevelopment – selling for a big profit too often wins out. We have seen this happen too many times.

The thought of losing our golf course lingered in the back of our minds over the last couple of years.

On one side, it didn’t really matter. Boston Hills was not the most carefully maintained golf course in Northeast Ohio. The budget was tight and there was little irrigation – only the tees and greens could be watered so Mother Natured ruled. The irony is that after many years of muddy springs and cement fairways of August, the course was in great shape this last summer. Thank you, Michelle and Mother Nature.

On the other side, we felt a little abandoned. Where would we go? Most of us had continued to golf at BH because of each other not the course. We really enjoyed our league and have become fast friends. EWGA had brought us together and we didn’t want to lose that camaraderie. Would it be the same at another golf course? How many would stick together? This is what change is about – a lot of questions about the future.

So there we were on September 27, 2006. Laura, Ruth, Sue, and I played as a foursome with just a few others that evening. It was the last Wednesday - open play - no structure - just show up and tee off. Fall was in the air but the sun kept us warm – a great evening for golf.

“Ok.This is it. Make it a good one.” was our sentiment as we got ready to tee off on the back nine. This was our last chance to have a hole-in-one on #14 or #16 or, at least, have a par on #11. It was our last chance to make some memories. We wanted each stroke to be perfect.

We joked about wanting to take things from the course as souvenirs. We all wanted flags. They actually pulled them in at night to make sure they weren’t stolen. Ball washers were a hot commodity; we carefully examined how they were fastened to the poles. Power tools would be needed. The bench on #16 kept moving closer and closer to the road each time we looked at it. Either it was trying to escape or someone had their eye on it. I even joked about taking the rain shelter; thought it would look great in my back yard.

There were many things worth pilfering. The least of which were the ugly little cubes of painted wood used as tee makers. They weren’t worth a dime. But as I was about to tee off on #14 (Going for my hole-in-one, of course.), I pulled a red one out of the ground, turned to my friends and asked, “You guys? If I steel this, would you sign it for me?”

“Sure!” said Ruth with enthusiasm. Laura immediately began looking for a black pen so our names could easily be seen.

Sue, who has a way of seeing everything in life as exciting, said, “Oh, Jan, I’m so glad I was with you when you took this!” And she signed it – happy to be an accomplice in this “grand” theft.

So there I was, feeling just a bit guilty but glad that I had my little prize. I had a fun evening with good friends one last time, making one last memory at Boston Hills Country Club.

Thanks for the memories.

Jan Schutte-Reed