Little Grown-Up Golf
A Love Letter to Langford
Children at play in the fairway bunker of #4 of Portage Country Club in Akron, Ohio.
Do you remember what it felt like growing up? I’m not talking about the psychological experience of becoming a ‘grown up’ (still working on that one). I’m talking about the physical experience of growing, from a small child to a full-sized human. Do you remember what that was like? Things that were once massive in size and scale started to appear smaller, and the world becomes a much larger place than you once thought.
Some examples come to mind: the day we reach the kitchen cupboard that once required a step stool or climbing on the counter, or outgrowing that first bike, or needing to retire the race car bed because our feet now hang off the edge. As things around us appeared to be shrinking, the outside world also became more vast, as we began to realize places much more foreign--and perhaps farther away--than grandma’s house.
I grew up learning the game of golf on a 1918 William Langford design: Portage Country Club in Akron, Ohio. Tillinghast made a visit in 1936, and various frightening grounds committees have had their way of it over the ensuing decades, but the course has stood the test of time and I’m told it has largely retained much of its original Langford character.
A view of Portage CC in Akron.
It’s not long: just 6,300 yards from the back tee, a par 71 recently converted to par 70. The oak-filled property has a few rolling hills, dotted fairway bunkers, perched up green sites with plenty of tilt, and sunken greenside bunkers. It’s not the boldest or baddest Langford you’ll find in the midwest, but it’s a great walk and loads of fun.
In my early teens, I would buzz around 9 holes in an hour and 15 minutes most days, sprinting to keep up with my older brother's massive drives and effortless short irons. The place was a serious test for a runt like me, hitting my beloved ‘spoon’ into most holes, praying for a shot at a green in regulation.
Enter the growth spurt … A few things happened: my brother’s massive steel-headed drives became neutralized by our bigger titanium heads and stiffer graphite shafts, the sunken bunkers weren’t so bad once I learned how to open up my 60 degree sand wedge, and the penalizing fairway bunkers were now 20-30 yards in the rearview mirror.
I was introduced to other courses too: the nearby J.E. Goodpark was tighter, Canterbury was longer, Canton Brookside’s greens were more severe, and Firestone South was all of the above.
And yet, I still played most of my golf at Portage, and what used to feel like my ultimate golf-gladiator coliseum was now more like that first bike I grew out of.
Langford’s enticing green contours at Lawsonia Links.
The last year or two, thanks to a handful of Langford and Moreau disciples in New Club and the endless curiosities of friend Andy Johnson, I’ve had so much fun visiting Langford designs throughout the Rust Belt. Now with regular stops for the golf society at courses such as Kankakee Elks and Spring Valley, I always look forward to these visits.
There’s one Langford design, though, which stands above the rest: Lawsonia Golf Links in Green Lake, Wisconsin, a place that I get giddier to visit each time. It’s where our golf society will be headed this July for the second leg of our Summer Medal event, after our stop at the more modern and acknowledged Sand Valley Golf Resort.
Of all the Langford’s sprinkled throughout the midwest, this one takes the cake. It’s got fairways that roll like they were formed by tidal waves, greens with massive swales and contoured plateaus, and cavernous fairway bunkers with scale and steep walls like an empty swimming pool. From the volcanic 7th to the colossal 13th, this place feels gargantuan.
To most golf course architecture fanatics, comparing my childhood stomping ground of Portage CC to the bold challenge at Lawsonia (now a top 100 course in the U.S.) would be grounds for Langford sedition.
For me and my childhood memories, they couldn’t be more similar. Lawsonia is where I go to become a kid again.
When I belt my drive around the corner of the par-four 2nd, I instantly transform into my third-grade self trying to cut the corner on Portage’s short (now drivable) par-four 6th. When I’m in the greenside bunker of Lawsonia’s par-three 4th, I remember what it’s like to be 4 feet tall, hitting up and over the grass cliffs defending Portage’s 17th. The scale of features at Lawsonia can make us feel small again.
Looking back at the mighty 6th hole at Lawsonia Links. Photo by Dan Moore.
While courses like Lawsonia can still ignite the imaginations of grown-ups everywhere, courses like Portage are struggling to provide what they once did to the greatest number of players. A restoration would help to bring back more of Langford’s boldness, to expand and reposition bunkers to catch more modern drives; but in the end, I’m afraid that unless I replace my gamers with some hickories in the bag, Portage won’t make me feel like that kid again.
I’m at peace with that. My best scores today at Portage are the result of a strict bomb-and-gouge approach. The purist in me cringes, but I still enjoy every walk as I stroll past many childhood memories. Maybe next time I’m there I’ll play with a half bag of irons, so my drives can settle again in those places where I took countless divots 20 years ago.
There are many reasons why I’m thankful for places like Lawsonia: the golden-age greats that were built and protected in such a way that they stood the test of time. These places remind me that although I’ve changed quite a bit as a grown-up, I’ve always been the same golf-adoring kid deep down.