Golf for Women magazine calls Alice Dye "the woman who changed the way we play the game." Hall of Fame golfer Nancy Lopez says, "Alice is one of the greatest amateur golfers ever." Husband and revered golf course architect Pete Dye adds, "She has a great understanding of the game of golf and a keen eye for course design."
Twice United States Senior Women's Amateur Champion and member of the victorious 1970 United States Curtis Cup team, Alice has influenced the game of golf for more than fifty years through her work as a member of the USGA committees, the first woman board member of the PGA of America, and the first woman president of the American Society of Golf Course Architects.
In From Birdies to Bunkers, Alice Dye shares her personal, passionate, and funny experiences of a life on and off the course playing with the great Babe Didrikson Zaharias, dining with Tiger Woods, her pioneering efforts on behalf of women golfers, and working with Pete to design many of the world's greatest golf courses. In addition, the magical names of Nancy Lopez, Arnold Palmer, Jack and Barbara Nicklaus, Byron Nelson, President George H. Bush, and others are woven throughout, providing a book that will improve your knowledge of golf and perhaps your own game.
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About the Author
Alice Dye won her first tournament at age 14 and continues at 75 to rack-up victories as a Senior Amateur. She has been awarded the prestigious USGA Ike Granger Award, the Don Rossi Award for Lifetime Contribution to Golf, and the Outstanding Achievement Award, as well as being named Captain of the Curtis Cup team.
With husband, Pete Dye, has Alice designed some of the most well known and feared golf courses in the world, including Whistling Straits, Harbour Town Golf Links, PGA West, and the Stadium Course at TPC with Alice’s famed par three “island green” which collects over 200,000 misplayed balls a year.
Read an Excerpt
From Birdies to Bunkers
Discover How Golf Can Bring Love, Humor, and Success into Your Life
From Horses to Courses
In 1927, when I was six months old, my mother held me in her arms as we gazed skyward to watch Charles Lindbergh fly over Indianapolis, Indiana. He had just returned from his historic thirty-three-and-a-half-hour solo flight over the Atlantic Ocean from New York to Paris. This same year, my grandfather Holliday purchased twenty-two acres from the north portion of land owned by the Crown Hill Cemetery. Grandfather, president of W. J. Holliday Steel Co., rerouted Forty-second Street to become the south boundary of his property. He named his new estate Shooters Hill, after his forefathers' place of origin outside of London, England.
Shooters Hill was bounded to the north by a steep ravine that bottomed to the canal and the White River. Butler University and the Shortridge High School football field were to the east, and the J. K. Lilly estate was to the west. My grandparents built their home, a teahouse, a caretaker's house, a barn, and a large vegetable garden on the western portion of the estate. A few years later my parents built our home on the eastern side, and my mother's brother, W. J. Holliday, built his home nearby.
My mother was an avid gardener. She surrounded our house with beautiful gardens and two greenhouses full of orchids. Her sport was fly-fishing, and she was quite an expert.
My father was a partner in the Thompson, O'Neal and Smith law firm. He loved golf. His baseball swing, descended from his college team sport, served him well at nearby Woodstock's nine-hole layout, built in 1916 by Tom Bendelow.
Country living was lonesome for a young girl. There were no neighborhood children to play with because of our rural location. In the winter months, school activities kept me busy. During the summer, the Woodstock Country Club, only a bike ride away, offered camp-style classes in swimming, diving, tennis, and golf. The club became the center of my social life. I formed friendships with other children my age; learned how to swim, dive, and play tennis; and was introduced to golf.
Golf professional George Stark ran the small wooden golf shop and caddie yard. The summer I was eleven, I joined his swing class, using a set of my mother's hickory-shafted clubs.
Mr. Stark taught the long, flowing arm swing popular with Scottish professionals. There were no practice ranges in those days, but there was not much play on weekday mornings. He instructed us as we hit balls across fairways between the few groups of players. I loved hitting the balls and did not mind having to run out and pick them all up. Without much more direction, we were sent out to play on the course.
After playing a few holes, the other kids went back to the swimming pool and tennis courts, but I went on alone. I loved the feel of contact with the ball and the challenge of a good shot. While I enjoyed my school's sports and Woodstock's swim team and tennis games, the individual aspect of golf intrigued me. It was just me, the club, the ball, the joy of hitting a good shot, and, eventually, the challenge of shooting a good score. My golf club became a wand that waved me into a successful future. What a gift to give a child!
Mother and most women of her generation considered golf a game for men. A few women played on weekday mornings, but the ladies' tee markers were only a few yards ahead of the men's, making for a discouragingly long course.
Horseback riding was considered a proper sport for ladies. From the first time my father took me to the riding stable at the Meridian Hills Country Club, I wanted a horse of my own. Nagging sometimes wins, and my parents eventually bought me a circus horse named Taffy. She knew how to gallop and hold her back steady so that a bareback circus rider could not fall. Neither could I.
Taffy was fun to ride, but her stable was miles from my home, and the swing class lessons at Woodstock had ignited a spark. With my wood-shafted clubs in a little light bag, I played alone on weekday mornings when the course was fairly deserted. I wanted to shoot a good score, so when I hit a poor shot, I dropped the bag, ran after the ball, brought it back, and tried again ... and maybe again. Dropping a different ball was not an option; I figured that would not count. I usually managed a score of about 45, playing by my rules. Having to chase a miss-hit ball and bring it back to try again really taught me to concentrate on every shot. Concentration became the mainstay of my golf game for the rest of my life.From Birdies to Bunkers
Discover How Golf Can Bring Love, Humor, and Success into Your Life. Copyright © by Alice Dye. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Table of Contents
|From Horses to Courses||1|
|Wood to Steel||4|
|I Can Do Anything Boys Can Do||7|
|Learning the Rules||16|
|His College--My College||21|
|Gripping with Charms||22|
|Hitting the Wall||24|
|Amateur or Professional||27|
|Babes in the Dirt||39|
|Our First Course||41|
|The Second Course||43|
|A Foolish Promise||45|
|Sam Snead Says ...||48|
|Advice from Barbara Nicklaus||53|
|Pass It On||54|
|When to Start Kids Playing Golf||56|
|Cut to the Rubber||61|
|Dye Three-Putt Rule||68|
|Trouble to Trouble||69|
|Keep It Simple||74|
|Arnold and Alice||76|
|Fix Your Equipment||77|
|Give Back to the Game||80|
|The Price Is Right||82|
|Gambling vs. Score||84|
|How We Lost Our Grooves||86|
|Beware of Free Clubs||87|
|Car Keys--Where Are They?||88|
|Losing Is No Fun||92|
|On Course with Nancy Lopez||94|
|Have an Attitude||97|
|Half a Portrait||104|
|He Said--She Said||107|
|The Hole Golfers Love to Hate||109|
|He Calls Me Ally||117|
|Unroll the Hole||119|
|The Dye Conglomerate||120|
|Sixty--Winner of the Dog Lottery||123|
|The Average Golfer||129|
|The New Technology||132|
|The Old Days||141|
|Two-Tee System for Women||148|
|And the Walls Will Come Tumbling Down||150|
|Dinner with the President||151|
|Oak Tree Almost Beats Seminole||153|
|Foot in Mouth||154|
|Great People in a Great Game||160|