Shinnecock Hills 1896: The U.S. Open's Wild West Beginnings
Back in 1896, golf in America? Still a baby. Barely out of diapers, really. But it was growing. Fast. Courses popping up like weeds. Club makers working overtime. That Scottish game? Yeah, we were starting to make it our own. And out on Long Island, at this place called Shinnecock Hills, things were getting seriously interesting. This wasn’t just another tournament; it was history brewing. The second-ever U.S. Open. And man, was it a doozy.
Shinnecock Hills: A Course Like No Other
Shinnecock Hills wasn’t some manicured parkland. Nah. This was raw. Wild. Willie Dunn had beefed it up to 18 holes, stretching to a whopping 4,423 yards. Think cop bunkers that’ll swallow your ball whole. Ditches ready to claim your drives. Even railroad tracks to dodge. And telegraph wires? Seriously, one guy found out the hard way they could swat his ball right out of the air. Plus, being so close to the Atlantic meant the wind was a constant, brutal factor. Like a British links course. It could absolutely wreck your scorecard. On the morning of the Open, after some overnight rain, the wind was howling. Just another variable on a day already packed with them. And all for what? A grand prize of $150. Same as the year before. Ballers, right?
The International Flavour: Brits and Scots Steal the Show
Let’s be real. Americans weren’t exactly dominating the game yet. We were still figuring it out. The real talent? It was coming from overseas. The champs that year? Amateur H.J. Whigham, an Englishman. And the Open winner, James Foulis Jr., a Scotsman. Both had landed near Chicago. Their trophies were gonna shine there until next year. Whigham, by the way, was married to the daughter of Charles Blair Macdonald, the 1895 U.S. Amateur champ. Talk about family bragging rights. Whigham didn’t even need all 36 holes to smoke J.G. Thorp, winning 8 and 7. Easy money.
Foulis, the pro at Chicago Golf Club, had a tighter race. He beat Horace Rawlins, last year’s champ, by just three shots. Foulis shot a killer 74 in the afternoon, the best round of the whole damn tournament. Rawlins, from Sadaquada Golf Club, put up a good fight, but Foulis was just too solid. It was a stark reminder: we had a long way to go to catch up to the old world of golf.
Echoes of Legends: Tom Morris and the New Guard
You look at golf history, and you think of names like Young Tom Morris. Won four British Opens before he was 21. A comet, that kid. Blazed bright and fast. Most guys take a bit longer to figure out the championship grind. Harry Vardon, the Channel Islander with that distinctive grip? He’d just won his first British Open at 26. That tournament at Muirfield might also be remembered as a farewell. Old Tom Morris, the Grand Old Man of Golf, pushing 75, was competing in his 34th Open. He didn’t even break 100 in the final round. Respect, though. The guy was there for the very first Open back in 1860. He’s a living link to the game’s origins.
And Foulis? The new American champ, just 24, knew the game’s roots. He grew up in St. Andrews, Scotland, practically next door to the Old Course. His dad, James Foulis Sr., was a foreman for Tom Morris himself. Young Jim learned from the best: Old Tom, Bob Martin, Sandy Herd, Andrew Kirkaldy. He brought that knowledge with him when he sailed to the States with his brother Dave. Became the pro at Chicago Golf Club. He was passing on his wisdom, even after a brutal fire destroyed his workshop and tons of equipment. Tough break, but he kept going.
Foulis: Power and Resilience
Foulis. Five-foot-six, mustachioed, built like a brick outhouse. A man of moderation, sure, enjoyed a cigar. But his golf? Anything but moderate. He was a monster. At Chicago Golf Club, he didn’t have many guys pushing him. But his game? It was turning heads. His drives? Pure power. When the wind and turf were right, he was hitting them over 300 yards. At Shinnecock, some of his tee shots flew over 200 yards from the tee box. He’d even had a scare less than a month before the Open. While fixing a driving club, a hammer slipped and left him with a nasty bruise on his left hand. He had to stop for a week. But it healed just enough. Didn’t seem to bother him much on Long Island. This guy was built for battle.
Controversy Erupts: Shippen and Bunn Face the Backlash
But before anyone even teed off, the air was thick with drama. A bunch of pros? They threw a fit. They protested having John Shippen Jr., a Black player, and Oscar Bunn, a Native American from the Shinnecock tribe, in the field. Their threat? If these local teenagers, both caddies at the club, were allowed to play, they wouldn’t compete. Theodore Havemeyer, the president of the USGA, wasn’t having it. He basically said the championship would go on, even if it was just Shippen and Bunn. Damn right.
The Shinnecock Nation? They were crucial to building this course, the one that bears their name. Bunn, who lost his father in a shipwreck as a kid, grew up just a couple miles from the course. He was good. Really good. He wasn’t at his absolute best in the Open, shooting 89-85, finishing 21st. Miles away from Foulis’ winning score. But his presence? It showed the potential for local talent. A glimpse into the future.
John Shippen Jr.: A Star Shines Bright, Then Fades
Shippen. Sixteen years old. Son of a Presbyterian minister. He was a whole different story. This kid was a contender. People in the Shinnecock area knew he had the knack. Willie Dunn, who was now at Ardsley, had taken Shippen under his wing at Shinnecock Hills. Taught him how to play, how to make clubs, how to teach. Shippen became Dunn’s assistant pro. An observer called him, “extremely sound and devoid of eccentricity, and he is good at every point.” A strong driver. Clever around the greens. Careful and skillful putting. The whole package.
Even with some folks unhappy he was playing, Shippen went out and shot a 78 in the morning round. Matched his best score at home. Tied him for second place with Foulis, Dunn, Willie Tucker, and A.W. Smith. Just two shots behind Joe Lloyd. His fellow caddies and club members were there, cheering him on. He was steady in the second round too, looking like he might actually pull off an American victory. But then came the 13th hole. Not a monster, but it got him. He favored the right side, hit it too far right. Ball landed on a sandy road. He struggled like hell to get out. Ended up with an 11. Shot 81. Finished tied for sixth, seven shots back of Foulis. Brutal. But damn, what a performance.
Willie Park Jr.: The Star Who Came Too Late
Everyone was buzzing about Willie Park Jr. Two-time Open champion back in Scotland. Last year, he’d been a sensation on this side of the Atlantic, playing challenge matches all over the Northeast, including at Shinnecock. He was money on the greens. Lost only one match on his tour. Incredible power, too. Some of the longest drives ever seen in American golf. Shinnecock even wanted to hire him as their pro, but it didn’t work out.
Adding to the hype, Park had just published his book, “The Game of Golf.” The first instructional book by a playing pro. A total primer. Reviewers back home said he “beats all his predecessors with as much ease as he had thrashed many an opponent on the links.” His dad, Willie Sr., had won the first Open in 1860. His uncle Mungo was champ in ’74. Park Jr. was expected to dominate. He was entered, supposed to be there by July 5th. But no sign of him. Doubt crept in. Then, he finally rolled into New York City on a steamship, just before 11 PM on a Saturday night. Too late. The second U.S. Open was already over. All that was left were toasts to the champion and regrets from those who missed out.
Park, having missed the championship, would be itching for match play. You bet he’d be looking to challenge James Foulis. That would be a hell of a match.
The Clubhouse Buzz and a Glimpse of the Future
As Park’s ship docked, the Shinnecock Hills clubhouse, designed by the legendary Stanford White (yeah, the guy who did Madison Square Garden and the Washington Square Arch), was buzzing. The USGA was thrilled with their host. Shinnecock got a special nod from the governing body for how they treated the players and the spectators watching from the bluff overlooking the ocean. Welcome breeze, indeed.
The men were front and center, no doubt. But women? They were a huge part of Shinnecock Hills since day one, five years prior. Mrs. Charles S. Brown, formerly Lucy Barnes, had won the first U.S. Women’s Amateur. And there was a young woman in the crowd, a name to watch for the ladies’ championship in three months. Beatrix Hoyt. Sixteen years old. Her mom was an original shareholder. Like Shippen, who impressed everyone until that one bad hole, Hoyt was ready to test herself. The game was growing. For everyone.
Looking Ahead: Chicago Beckons, Golf Evolves
There was talk that the 1897 U.S. Open might head to Chicago Golf Club. Foulis would be a nightmare to beat on his home turf. But that was 900 miles and a year away. For now, the focus was on the golf that had just been played. An imported game, taking root, and bouncing towards bigger and better days. The 1896 U.S. Open at Shinnecock Hills? It was a messy, dramatic, and utterly essential chapter in golf’s wild American story.