At Millwood: Putting the Country in Country Club

At Millwood: Putting the Country in Country Club

The entrance to Millwood Country Club.

The driving range consists of two net-framed structures. A stream runs through it.

Photo by Vicky Moon and Leonard Shapiro

A Stream runs through it.

By John Sherman

Ask a member of the Millwood Country Club to describe it and you’ll almost certainly hear "hidden gem." A true definition of a "country" club. And so it remains.

Located halfway between Millwood and Boyce, the entrance almost begs to be passed by without notice. "Country Club Lane" and a sign visible from only one direction introduces a quarter-mile dusty bluestone drive, past a herd of Linebacks. The club has no asphalt, period—-no parking spaces, no cart paths.

The clubhouse, faced with American flags, bears its 1920s heritage with a wrap-around porch, rocking chairs, and a warning sign that no "spikes" are permitted. Inside, the only room receives limited sunlight. Round dinner tables are spread around for social functions. Silver trophies sit on one.

There's no restaurant nor obligatory minimums. The bar, backed with an array of glasses (but no bottles), barely accommodates one person. Fox hunting prints are remnders of the club's origins as a men's fox hunting club around 1910. Bowing to the growing social calendar, the new kitchen is large and fully equipped.

Millwood claims just over 200 members. On any weekday, a visitor might conjure up a rural Potemkin club. Virtually empty Har-Tru tennis courts. Likewise, the pool has a lifeguard watching over a handful of swimmers.

Most dramatic is the nine-hole golf course where a Saturday may bring two dozen players. On most weekdays, the line of carts is hardly broken.

The club has embraced a conservative approach to change. Perhaps the most dramatic in the past half century is the conversion of the old spring-fed pool to a modern hydro system. Newcomers simply found the old pool was too cold.

The story goes the club had the chance to expand the present nine-hole course to 18, but passed up the land, concerned that a full course would bring too many golfers from afar. The course just got an expansive new sprinkling and pumping systems.

Survey after survey, bearing a series of potential physical and policy changes, comes back with the near unanimous declaration: No change. Or maybe a boost in cart rental fees some years ago from $10 to $11.

What binds the members more than membership itself is the "honor system.” Each facility has a sign-up sheet. Want a beer or a coke? Just write your name. Lemonade and iced tea are free.

"This is a real club of like-minded people, not part of a corporation," said member Jeffrey Harris.

Franny Crawford, arguably the club’s best women's golfer, plays in far ranging tournaments. Asked to describe the difference between famous courses and Millwood, she got it just right.

"The Millwood Country Club is like very few experiences in golf” she said.

“Not the golf itself, though it is charming. It’s neither the most challenging nor the most closely groomed, though both are more than you could want. It’s the nuances of trust in signing up for carts, guests, drinks and a steadfast desire to remain as it has been for over a hundred years. Golf at Millwood is the definition of a supremely civil experience."

"Back then membership ranged from Paul Mellon to blue collar truck drivers," recalled Mazie McGuire, a member since 1952. "A small group of us would simply walk in and make ourselves dinner."

The club has no tee times, starters or rangers pushing golfers along. The “pro shop" is a shack with a dirt floor. A few unclaimed wedges lean against a wall. Tees and divot repair tools are for the taking.

The nine-hole course is short by most modern metrics: 2,600 yards. The back nine holes are played from changing tee boxes. Most decent players who have never played the course tee off with a certain confidence of crushing it. Along the way, that confidence begins to leak. The second hole has the only straight fairway on the It’s all on the honor system. course. The rest are up hill and down. Over gullies and streams. Greens are small and not as undulating as modern designs demand. If there's a "signature" hole, it's the par-four seventh—-uphill, dogleg to the left plunging down into a small bowl and a canted green.

The out-of-bounds are thick woods with greenbriar undergrowth. Most who hit an errant drive into the woods would rather not suffer cuts and scratches to find their golf balls. My Paris neighbor, John Miller, and I go foraging for lost balls in mid-March before the leaves appear. This year we retrieved 540 of vastly varying condition. A shameful number belonged to us. And for the rest of the year we hit them back into the woods with abandon.

Tom Gilpin, now in his 60s, grew up just across the road at "Kentmere." "The course was a lot rougher back then,” he said. “We had no irrigation, so on a hot summer day your ball would roll forever on the baked surface. Before fences, we used to run downhill and dive right into the pool. I finally reached an age when I was presented—-with apologies—-an initiation fee of $500."

He would return to a refrain that the "ambiance" remains exactly the same, and that's just fine with hidebound members who discourage any alterations. Except, maybe, an extra buck for a cart.

It’s all on the honor system.